The Elder Qu Ping wandered, his soul lost and broken, walking to the banks of the Miluo River, his complexion haggard, his figure withered, his eyes likewise vacant.
At times he gazed at the river, at times at the distant mountains, at times at his own reflection cast upon the river's surface.
Wherever his eyes fell, all things were stained with endless sorrow.
The sky, originally a clear blue with not a single cloud for ten thousand li, in an instant grew overcast and dim, and a fine, gloomy rain began to fall.
The distant mountains, originally as green as painted brows, suddenly lost all color and turned to gray.
The Miluo River, whose banks had once been scented with irises and orchids, suddenly lost all vitality. The river turned to a raging torrent, angry waves pounding the shore, just like the heart of the Elder Qu Ping at this moment—unable to find peace.
