In the early morning, a thin mist drifts over the blue tiles and white walls, and the cobblestone paths of the ancient town still bear the coolness of dew. Turning a corner, I encounter an old lady selling osmanthus cakes; when the steamer is lifted, the sweet aroma fills the entire alley.

In the afternoon, I dive into the bamboo forest, where sunlight filters through the leaves like scattered gold. When the wind blows, the sound of the bamboo rustles conceals the cicadas' song. The stream in the mountain gorge is refreshingly cool; stepping barefoot into it, I stir up a trail of light spots from the crevices of the stones.

When dusk tints the horizon red, I sit in a teahouse on the mountainside. I watch the clouds cascade down from the mountain peaks and listen to the distant barking of dogs from the village. The tea cup sways with the entirety of the evening. It turns out the best journey is to let time slow down and have a good encounter with oneself.