Horizontal is a slash, vertical is also a slash. Everyone knows that retreating would mean certain death, so they gritted their teeth, abandoned the thought of going back, and proceeded straight ahead.
Fortunately, the upcoming mountain path was no different from any other usual mountain path, except it lacked the chirping of birds and fragrant flowers, no blooming flowers or green grass, everything appeared very calm.
They reached a turn, and the mountain path gave way to reveal a river with smoke billowing across, with neither a stone bridge nor piers above it, only a single-log bridge, shaved bald, allowing only one person to pass at a time.
The colorful smoke below the river swirled, resembling a sea of clouds bathed in the light of the sunrise, occasionally rolling up to smack the lone log bridge.
On the path leading to the single-log bridge, there stood a small wooden table, upon which sat a barrel of wine.
