I wake up one morning as the Primordial World’s innate spiritual root, the Enlightenment Tea Tree.
Rooted at the foot of Mount Buzhou, I plan to live through the three great calamities: the Dragon-Han War, the War of the Liches, and the Investiture of the Gods.
Who knew the Three Pure Ones would come by every day for tea, that Nuwa would want a cup after tiring herself out molding clay, and that even the Dao Ancestor would need two taels of tea leaves before giving a sermon?
I brew tea while watching the mighty beings fight to the death, keeping my contributions to myself.
Until one day, Luohou's demonic flames reach Mount Buzhou, and the entire Primordial World cries out: Fellow Daoist Tea Tree, help us!
Opening this book feels like stepping into a secret realm of dialogue with oneself. What wanders among the words is not only the plot, but also the whisper of thoughts. It is not eager to tell you the answer, but gently opens a window to let light into the dark corners of the heart. Every page you read is like peeling off the shell of life to reveal its soft core. Those sentences grow quietly, clinging to the walls of memory, opening up new understandings. When you close the book, the world is still the same, but the way you look at it is different. This may be the meaning of reading - not to arrive, but to start again.