On the mountain trail, the road was tough for horse-drawn carriages and even less feasible for ox-carts. Yet an old man, wrapped in a blue cotton quilted jacket, sat snugly in his cart.
The cart wasn't pulled by an animal, but by a man.
The man walked with a limp, a sword tied around his waist. Even on this rugged, stony path, he managed to pull the cart steadily.
Beside the cart walked a woman. She wore a black veiled conical hat, masking her face. However, her graceful waist and white Chu boots hinted at her strength. She showed no signs of fragility; on the contrary, she exuded an air of competence.
The old man reclining in the cart held a fan in his left hand and a wine gourd in his right. Sewn to his waist was a patched pouch containing dried tofu and fennel beans.
A piece of dried tofu, two beans, washed down with a gulp of Yellow Wine, all savored with the mountain breeze... TSK. Such a taste, it was exquisite enough to make one's bones melt with pleasure.
