A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming an ancient tune under the silver moonlight. Its watery fingers trace the roots of old willows, carrying tales from distant mountains. An old fisherman sits by the bank, mending his net with gnarled hands. He remembers the day a golden carp leapt into his boat, its scales gleaming like lost coins. It whispered a secret before returning to the dark water—a rhyme about buried stars and blooming deserts. Now fireflies dance above the curr...
