Xuan Chen's Return Journey

Continuous green mountains, like sleeping giants, straddle the border of the dynasty, and Qingniu Village is huddled in a gentle valley at the foot of the mountains. The morning fog has not yet dissipated, and the moist vapor is wrapped in the smell of grass and soil, permeating the scattered huts. Lin Xuan walked briskly on the village road with a half-full bamboo basket on his shoulder. The bottom of the basket was covered with a few broad tung leaves, with a few dew-stained herbs lying on it. There were also two plump pheasants, whose wings were tied firmly with straw ropes, and occasionally made a few dull cooing sounds.