Wei Chen took out the crumpled paper and checked it.
[To the esteemed Wei Chen,
From this solitary height, where the air is thin and the view encompasses a world that feels ever-distant, I, Meng Die of the Immortal Dream Garden, pen these words.
The silence of the Immortal Dream Tower is a profound one, broken only by the whisper of wind and the turning of pages. It is a winter of exquisite stillness.
Yet, even in the deepest winter, a promise endures.
Outside my window, a single plum branch has dared to bloom,
a defiance of the cold, a testament that the most fragile beauty can be the most resilient.
Its fragrance, carried on the wind, is a secret message that spring is not a forgotten dream.
It is that same hope which compels me to write to you. I have heard the echoes of your journeys, and in the tapestry of this secluded life, your adventures are like vibrant threads of a world I long to understand.
