She took the kasaya off the shelf, and slowly like she was unfolding a sheet of drawing paper, spread it out, and then she rose and swung the kasaya like a pair of cicada’s wings from the top of her head onto her body, leaving the bamboo couch still looking covered. Her leg was raised, and her ankle was wagged like the head of a writing brush, writing out the strokes of characters clearly yet invisibly. She seemed to have written something of great importance, which, at that moment however, was beyond Master Contentedness.