The setting sun in the west coats the Silver Lake with a layer of golden light. In the deafening sound of horses, a pure white horse and with the flying mane, appears on the hillside in a blink.

The grassy hill is only two or three hundred meters away from the Silver Lake. Within a few breaths, the white horse exceeds all other horses and comes to the lake.

Other horses behind it proceed orderly. Gracefully, it lowers its head. It stops after taking a tiny sip of ...