LEDAAL LING BAO
The sight of such beautiful mounts prepared by the goddess made Bao forget everything about poetry to gaze at their majestic beauty. Afterwards, he found himself struggling to remember even the smallest detail of the latest poem he was concocting. It had something to do with the letter b, probably.
Bao dismounted at the sight of others. He took note of the numerous and diverse group in front of his own and questioned why the warriors among them seemed so on edge. Ah, thought Bao, the boulders are preventing them from advancing further.
The old man calmly stretched his body as the caravan guard shouted at his party. He saw the guard as a man of action, a man of violence and rash decisions and little appreciation for art and wonder. Of course, he thought of most people this way. But Bao looked down especially on this one guard in particular, him and the drawn sword that he carried so confidently. Couldn´t he cast the weapon aside and be more welcoming?
“Our intentions? I wish to become one with the world.” replied Bao serenely. He began to hobble around his party´s mounts and ignore the tension in the air. Travelling around had filled Bao´s head with inspiration and he was eager to share it with the world, regardless of what they thought. “But before I can do that, I must share my findings with the rest of man.” He cleared his throat, and withdrew a scroll from one of his sleeves, a warning of what was about to come. His group had spent enough time around the artist to know what was about to happen.