At the first awakening of morning light, the land of Qianyang still lay veiled in a thin gauze of mist.
Then Tianzhushan lifted its head from within that veil — the tallest peak rising as though someone had placed a green jade brush slantwise into an inkstone, its tip still wet with fresh and brilliant color.
The surrounding peaks seemed no more than casual strokes left behind by that single brush, lying low on either side in a gentle undulating line, softly gathering the waking houses and fields of the valley into their embrace.

The drone rose like a dragonfly straying into an ink painting.
Beneath its lens, the rice fields were green and tender, the paths between them traced like brushwork. White-walled homes lay scattered among them, with cooking smoke yet to rise, while only the faint sound of chickens drifted up from the valley below.
Above the peaks, however, the sky was quietly spreading out its own brocade.

At first, it was a thousand golden scales, dense and glimmering, swimming like fish through the blue.
When the wind stirred, the gold seemed to come alive — at one moment surging toward the ridges and edging the main peak in orange-red light, at another sinking into the valley and turning the rice fields into warm bronze mirrors.
Within moments, the orange deepened into purplish crimson, like a tide washing over rocks, bathing all of Tianzhu in a dreamlike halo.
Every cloud seemed touched by invisible fingers, its edges translucent, its center soft and full, layer upon layer unfolding into embroidered splendor.

The main peak remained silent throughout.
It had witnessed countless mornings like this — clouds arriving and departing, light fading and returning, generations of valley dwellers passing on, and the rice in the fields turning from green to gold and back to green again.
And yet this morning’s scroll of cloud-brocade still held its full attention, as though it were seeing such beauty for the first time.
The lower peaks seemed to imitate its stillness, standing quietly while the rosy light flowed across them like another river.

As the drone slowly descended, its shadow fell into the middle of the rice fields.
The cloud-brocade in the sky had not yet gathered away, while on the ground the human figure had already begun to lengthen in the slanting light.
Even the one who captured this painted scene from above was illuminated by the glow of dawn.