It was the late autumn of the second year of Da’an, and it was the season when the poplar forests turned gold. In the southern basins of the Western Regions, a rare sight appeared: desert and lake coexisting side by side. Amidst the pale yellow sands grew towering poplars in golden hues, each one shaped with ancient dignity, becoming the finest accent to the desert’s autumn scenery. A jujube-red horse stood by the desert lake, its head lowered to drink. Nearby, a giant poplar tree bent gracefully overhead, its golden leaves dazzling. Beneath the tree sat a pile of travel packs—and a reclining Daoist. Leaves had already fallen onto the packs, and onto the Daoist himself. Having reached this spot, the Daoist found he truly didn’t want to move anymore. After twelve years wandering the world, he had seen many kinds of autumn. The bleak forests outside Yidu, veiled in white clouds; the reed paths by Mirror Island Lake, their white plumes swaying like carpets in the wind; the blood-red maple groves atop Yunding Mountain; the endless fields of rice and wheat across Hezhou and Guangzhou; the golden prairies of Yanzhou; and now, the fall foliage and quaint wooden cottages of the Western Regions, like a realm apart from the mortal world. And yet, the sight before him was still among the most breathtaking. It was desolate, yet resilient; ancient, yet upright. Born in the desert, yet flourishing brilliantly—this contrast struck the heart with awe, as if witnessing a fierce will to survive in the harshest of places. They say these trees have “three millennia” to their name: a thousand years alive without dying; a thousand years dead without falling; a thousand years fallen without rotting. Whether or not that was true, no one could say. And no one knew how many years this particular tree beside him had stood. But to arrive here, at this time of year, just as the trees displayed their most vivid colors—it truly felt like a stroke of fate. Along the journey to this place, the climate had shifted again and again. From the sacred mountain, cold as the northernmost winter, to the autumnal chill of Green City... Crossing the mountains felt like midwinter, while passing through the desert felt like the height of summer. Only upon arriving here did the temperature finally become pleasant. Song You lay back, quietly enjoying the brilliance of this land—another kind of autumn gifted to him by the Western Regions. Just then, the swallow flew back and perched on a branch above his head. Then came the sound of footsteps, accompanied by a bleating sheep. Their little companion had returned from hunting. “Daoist priest!” Lady Calico’s voice was clear and crisp, with no emotion to it. “I caught a wild lamb—not fully grown yet. It looks very obedient. Today, I will make flatbread-wrapped lamb for you!” The lamb’s bleat was just as delicate. A single golden poplar leaf drifted down with the wind. The girl had already begun drawing her blade. Lady Calico showed no emotion. Before the lamb could even let out a second bleat, she had carried it to the lakeside—where it met its end beneath the cleaving edge of the water-splitting blade. Bleeding, skinning, gutting—it all happened swiftly, in one smooth motion. Even the horse instinctively stepped a little farther away from her. Then she returned, dug a pit, and started a fire. She scooped flour from the bedroll, fetched water, rolled up her sleeves, and began kneading dough in a basin. Dressed in her tricolored robes with her hair tied into twin buns, her frame looked small and delicate. Her fair face made her look every bit the part of a little girl. Even her pale, slender arms spoke of youth—but the way she kneaded dough was steady and practiced, her expression calm and focused, like a seasoned cook with years of experience. Once the dough was done, she chopped the lamb and green onions, then marinated and seasoned it. Then she wrapped the lamb and onions in the dough, shaping it into a round, flat disk. Chef Lady Calico worked with meticulous care, crafting her flatbread-wrapped lamb to perfection. By this time, the fire in the pit had burned low, heating the sand until it was scorching. She cleared away the ashes, placed the lamb-filled dough into the pit, then buried it again with the hot ash and sand. The residual heat would slowly roast it to perfection. Only then did Lady Calico let out a long breath. She turned and walked toward the Daoist, planning to tell him he could take a nap. When he woke up, there would be freshly cooked flatbread-wrapped lamb made by her own hands. But what she saw was the Daoist sitting beneath the tree, holding the crystal bottle and drawing out icy qi. He was cultivating and comprehending the spiritual resonance within. She hesitated for a moment, then turned back and quietly walked away. She didn’t feel resentful that she had been working while the Daoist was resting. In fact, it felt just right. Her heart was full of satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. With nothing left to do for now, she sat down to entertain herself. Knives, sand, and lake water—everything was fun to play with. The poplar forest blazed gold, the lake shimmered under the sunlight, and the little girl sat on the sandy shore, picking up stones and tossing them into the water, sending ripples spreading out. The surface glinted with countless silver sparkles. Only after a long while did she finally go to call the Daoist. She dug the flatbread out from the ashes and sand. The bread had been roasted to perfection—its surface uneven, the hollows a beautiful golden brown, the raised spots slightly charred. Lady Calico seemed immune to the heat, pulling it out and brushing off the ash. Thanks to her careful handling, almost no sand clung to the crust. Finally—crack!—she struck it open. A burst of steam and rich fragrance wafted into the air. The green onions and lamb had been thoroughly roasted inside, as though slow-braised within the flatbread. The meat had released its juices, which were all locked within the crust—before cracking it open, one would never have imagined that inside this hard shell could be something so tender, savory, and juicy. The girl pinched off a piece and took a bite. Chomp, chomp. She squinted her eyes in contentment. It was a flavor humans would definitely enjoy. “Eat!” Only then did Lady Calico speak to the Daoist. “Thank you for your hard work, Lady Calico,” Song You said, sitting down on the sand beside her. But then he asked, “You didn’t sneak any mouse meat into it, did you?” “...!” The little girl froze, her expression full of shock. “Thanks again, Lady Calico. I’ll dig in now.” The Daoist picked up his chopsticks and reached into the flatbread, picking up a piece of lamb and putting it into his mouth. “It’s absolutely delicious.” Lady Calico had picked up this technique in Green City, blending it with the roasted flatbread from Jade City. On top of that, she had made her own adjustments, incorporating the more refined spice-blending techniques she had learned from Song You. As evening slowly descended, enjoying a meal in the desert—there was nothing more to ask for. “In just a few short years, your cooking skills are already about to surpass mine. At this rate, won’t she leave me in the dust before long?” “...!” The little girl’s expression grew serious. “Alright, alright. Lady Calico, you’d better cook less from now on—otherwise, with too much practice, you might surpass me too soon.” The little girl’s expression turned serious again. Night fell. The desert sky filled with stars. The firelight reflected in the girl’s eyes, making them appear especially resolute. Nearby, the horse had already lain down to rest in the sand. There were many insects near the desert lake, and Yan An had long since eaten his fill and now perched silently in a tree, watching them and listening quietly to their conversation. “I’m full.” The Daoist wiped his mouth and held up the crystal bottle, saying to the little girl, “Here, Lady Calico, take this and put it in your brocade pouch.” “You’re not going to use it anymore?” “I’ve more or less finished comprehending what I needed to from it these past few days. I won’t make much more progress in the short term. Rather than let the icy qi go to waste, it’s better to save it.” He smiled gently at her. “Even though this bottle can contain the sacred mountain’s icy qi, it still slowly releases a little. If you keep it in your brocade pouch, the inside will stay cool all the time—like winter. That way, lots of food can be stored in there and won’t spoil easily.” “Mm!” The little girl took it carefully with both hands. One more perk of flatbread-wrapped lamb—besides being easy to make—was that the flatbread served as both the staple and the container for the meat. Once you were done eating, there were no dishes to wash. Indeed, very convenient. The Daoist went to the lakeside for a quick rinse, then returned to sit by the fire. In the flickering firelight, he opened Yudi Jisheng. Lady Calico returned to her original form and climbed up beside him, leaning in toward the yellowing pages and asking, “Where are we going next?” “Only Xingzhou and Yunzhou remain.” “Xingzhou and Yunzhou...” The cat repeated the names, her gaze dropping to the map. Without needing the Daoist’s help, she found the two places—Xingzhou and Yunzhou—on the page all by herself. In between them, there was a place called Yizhou. It looked... oddly familiar... Ah—right! Lady Calico is a Yizhou cat! That thought flashed through the calico cat’s mind, and her gaze swept across the rest of the simple map. She looked at every region, one by one—only to be startled by the realization that she recognized almost all the places on this map. It was as if she’d already been to them all. Only Xingzhou and Yunzhou remained. The cat’s eyes widened in a daze, and a strange feeling suddenly rose in her heart—something she couldn’t quite describe. She often heard people say how vast Great Yan was. “Great Yan is vast, Great Yan is vast,” they’d say—as if it were self-evident. But now, looking at this huge swath of land, had she really traveled across almost all of it? “We’ll exit the Western Regions through Xingzhou, then pass through it to return to Yizhou,” the Daoist’s gentle voice came, mingled with the soft crackle of the campfire. “After that, we’ll cross Yizhou and reach Yunzhou. I’ve heard the final spiritual resonance lies there.” “Yizhou...” The cat kept her eyes on the map, mumbling softly, her gaze flickering. No one could tell what she was thinking. Maybe some old memory had stirred within her mind. That night, they slept in the desert, beneath the poplar trees. The Daoist didn’t rush to leave. Instead, he stayed a few more days—not remaining in the same place, but wandering daily along the lakeside, meandering through the golden poplar forest, taking in the desert’s autumn beauty from every possible view. Only when the golden leaves had all fallen and the splendor faded did he finally depart. One man, one horse, one cat and one swallow walked into the desert. “When we first left Yizhou, if we’d headed straight south, we would’ve reached Yunzhou first. From Yunzhou, we could’ve gone to Xuzhou,” the Daoist said as he left behind a trail of footprints in the sand. “Lady Calico, do you know why I chose to go east instead, skipping Yunzhou?” “Because I thought that I’d visit Yunzhou later, and in between, return to Yizhou once more.” “Then now you can go back!” “Yes...” The Daoist nodded, heart full of emotion. He walked on, leaning on his staff, never pausing. The road ahead would span another ten thousand li, from autumn into winter, then from winter into spring. Barren lands turned green. Wind and snow chased the clouds. They crossed countless mountains, passed by countless lakes. The weather changed again and again, and the scenery shifted endlessly. These days, the world felt barren. Most of the journey was simply traveling—step after step through a thousand rivers and ten thousand mountains. When he opened his eyes, his sight was full of the beautiful scenery; when he closed his eyes, his heart was full of memories. There were no clutter nor distractions—everything melted quietly into experience and cultivation, becoming part of the long path of life.