I listened attentively.

The old shaman gave me a feeling that she was a secluding master who didn’t want to get involved with mortal life.

The aura from her body slowly calmed my restless heart.

Thirty years ago, Baisha Village was just a remote, desolate area. There was only a cottage on the mountain where a married couple dwelled, who was so laborious that they started working from dawn and only rested when the sun went down the mountain.

The man farmed and the woman wove fabric. Although they were poor, they were very happy. The husband loved his wife a lot. Every day, they would sit together and watch the sunset.

The woman thought that this happy life of theirs would continue this way.

However, when a horde of refugees came, her ideal life was shattered.

Since the wife pitied them, she gave them food and water.

She thought that they would remember...