There stands an ancient temple that has kept its front gate sealed for a thousand years. Whether emperors and generals arrived, or commoners came to burn incense, the gate has never once been opened.
This mountain temple has nurtured countless enlightened monks. The most recent and famed among them is the secular named Yang Taishui, currently serving as the imperial teacher for two dynasties and likely destined to guide a third. According to records, over three thousand revered monks have passed away within the temple across dynasties, with more than two hundred honored as national preceptors. Starting from Hinayana meditation techniques, to Zhi-guan meditation, then during the Northern Wei dynasty thirty-six living bodhisattvas simultaneously established translation halls on the mountain, spreading the light of Buddhism. Eight hundred years ago, the Zen Patriarch, who attained supreme enlightenment, crossed the seas on a single leaf and taught Mahayana wall-gazing meditation, ultimately establishing this place as the ancestral home of Buddhism.
In recent centuries, as Buddhism and Taoism vied for supremacy, every decade a debate was held between the traditions. The debates always featured monks from this very temple engaging the Dragon-Tiger Mountains in philosophical confrontation. Yet unlike the Taoist ancestral temple which upheld strict hierarchy, this temple maintained few rules or formalities; anyone could ascend the mountain and go anywhere upon it. The mountain is high, the temple lofty, its monuments and pagodas soaring, its Buddhist teachings sublime. Though the mountain is lofty and the temple name akin to “Liangchan” (Two Chan), it ironically lacked a proper name, always leaving people in ambiguous confusion.
This is the world’s most renowned temple—Liangchan Temple.
There are many stories surrounding the temple’s name, Liangchan, perhaps referring to “self-Chan” and “other-Chan”—the meditation of self and others. However, over a thousand years, there has never been an official, unified explanation, and the temple itself has never provided clarification.
At the foot of the mountain’s shadowy rear lies a forest of pagodas, the burial ground for generations of Liangchan’s revered monks. Over a thousand pagodas of varying sizes, each adorned with carvings and inscriptions, form a dense thicket visible at a glance. Although Liangchan Temple never intended this area to be forbidden, it remained untouched due to the reverence of devotees. Over time, few ever visited this site. At the edge of the Pagoda Forest stands the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas, whose walls are adorned with hundreds of meters of illustrated martial manuals. The floor inside bears one hundred and eight indentations believed to be imprints left by Arhats. So diverse are its forms that each visitor perceives a new martial art, hence the saying, “All martial arts in the world emerge from Liangchan.”
To the east of the Hall of Ten Thousand Buddhas sits a humble thatched hut, home to a nameless white-robed monk. Were it not for his shaven head and saffron robes, no one would mistake him for a monk. This middle-aged monk drinks wine, eats meat, and most shocking of all, is actually married—with not only a wife, but a daughter who grew up within the temple’s walls.
He appeared full of transgressions, yet aside from his lax lifestyle, he harbored no ill will. He had taken in only one disciple—just as unruly in temperament—and his daughter, naturally spirited, loved to climb all over the mountain. The temple’s head abbot, said to be the oldest, adored this girl immensely. Whenever the white-robed monk had accidentally caused trouble and was pursued by strict senior monks from the disciplinary hall, he would always send his daughter to the abbot’s quarters to fetch several strings of candied hawthorns to pacify them. The old abbot would calm instantly just at the sight of the child—this worked every time.
This middle-aged monk, who guarded the Pagoda Forest, had produced an extraordinary disciple. Though young, the boy had already become a speaker at the temple and was granted the right to wear the lightly red-tinged saffron robes covering only the left shoulder. His Dharma name was “Yichan,” a rather peculiar name, but not nearly as strange as his master’s.
One fair and sunny day, a pitiful little monk labored before the thatched hut washing a large basin of his master and mistress’s dirty clothes, sighing and groaning. The Lantern Festival had just passed, when he’d gone down the mountain to view the lantern displays but inadvertently been dragged off to Mount Dragon and Tiger. There, he had even exchanged a few words with Master Bai Lian inside the Celestial Master’s Palace, and fortunately, had escaped being beaten and locked inside. But upon returning to the temple, he had paid the price. The mistress was indeed quite lazy, allowing such a large pile of soiled laundry to accumulate without washing, leaving it to rot indoors until he returned before finally addressing the mess. And escaping to play had been entirely “Dongxi’s” idea. Yet when the master and mistress saw Dongxi, they wore the same kindly expressions as always, only turning cold toward him. At mealtimes, even the rice in his bowl had visibly diminished. Sighing again, the little monk realized that right now Dongxi was likely with the mistress, heading down the mountain to buy powders and cosmetics. His master, truth be told, was pitiable too—hidden beneath the bed, the begging bowl used to store his savings hadn’t gathered even a single coin in years.
A tipsy white-robed monk stumbled out of the hut. Tall and broad, he plopped heavily down beside the little monk, wearing the same sullen face.
The small novice couldn’t even be bothered to steal a glance.
In truth, the master had his own troubles.
With each rub of the laundry, the boy’s arms ached and his back ached even more. Bored beyond belief, he finally spoke up, “Master, on my way up the mountain, I heard a famed monk from the South had arrived at the temple—supposedly he’s already battling Master Huineng for territory. Who do you think will win?”
The monk yawned gruffly, “Foreign monks always chant the best sutras. And your Uncle Huineng’s fighting skills are about on par with yours. He’s likely to lose.”
The little novice scowled indignantly, “You won’t teach me any profound martial arts—what am I supposed to do? I’ve studied the fighting manuals painted across three walls of the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas for years, but I still can’t tell how powerful they’re meant to be.”
The teacher half-heartedly quipped back, “That’s why Dongxi calls you an idiot.”
The young monk sighed in a manner far beyond his years, “Master, do you think I could ever produce sarira in this life? If not, maybe I should just take up martial arts. Dongxi always goes down the mountain—and I’m afraid she might get mistreated. I wouldn’t stand a chance if I had to fight.”
The white-robed monk pondered, then said, “Well, you could start by using the little novice boys, the eight- or nine-year-olds who are just beginning their training, as sparring partners. If you keep practicing like that, you’ll become a master in no time.”
The boy cried out, frustration spilling forth, “You’ve already told me that before! Last year I listened to you and beat up one of those little monks, but then his master came storming in to scold me. And you—oh, you just vanished! I nearly had my ears ripped off by the mistress that day!”
The older monk feigned shock, “Oh? Did that really happen?”
The resigned little monk bowed his head, scrubbing the dirty clothes with renewed vigor.
After a silence, the young novice turned and glanced at him, only to find his master gazing blankly into the cloudless sky. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Master, what are you looking at?”
The white-robed monk extended one finger and pointed upward.
Like clockwork, the little novice first looked at his master’s finger, then received a resounding rap on the head. His master scolded him, “I told you you’re a fool, and yet you still don’t believe me. I’ve given you the answer, and yet you’re still looking at my finger! With such dull wit, how do you expect to produce sarira after death?”
The boy shook the water off his hands onto his pants, then rubbed his head as he prepared to demand clarification—otherwise he’d have taken the beating in vain. “Master, you still haven’t told me what you were looking at.”
The master replied seriously, “The moon.”
The little monk rolled his eyes, “Master, it’s broad daylight, how can you possibly see the moon?”
No wonder his Dharma name was “Mei Chan” (“No Zen”).
The white-robed monk kept his gaze skyward and murmured softly, “Ah… The first time I saw your mistress was beneath the moonlight and blooming flowers. Oh, Ben Nanshan, I miss your mistress again.”
The little novice snapped back, “If you miss her so much, go find her yourself!”
The master asked knowingly, “Don’t you miss Dongxi too?”
Ben Nanshan immediately broke into a silly grin. Even as he washed the clothes, his hands moved faster with a new vigor, chuckling happily, “Of course I do. Of course I do.”
Another rap landed on his head, and the master lectured again, “If you miss Dongxi, why tell me? You know she’s my daughter. You speak of her to me, and then expect not to be hit. You foolish boy, haven’t I taught you enough difficult Buddhist truths?”
The little monk shouted furiously, “You keep hitting me like this, and you might just trigger an awakening. Then I’ll become a Buddha on the spot, and I’ll burn to produce sarira—then we’ll see who Dongxi chooses to spend time with!”
The master scoffed, “The concept of sudden enlightenment comes from my own teachings. As for producing sarira, that’s not even something I care to pursue. So don’t try to play the hero with me. If you’re so bold, go boast in front of Dongxi or your mistress.”
The young novice, filled with resentment and sorrow, remained silent.
He only learned after descending the mountain that his own master, Mei Chan, possessed slightly deeper Buddhist wisdom than he had assumed. Down below, stories spread of how the master, who grew up on this mountain, in the sixth year of Ganlu, read all the scriptures under heaven. Finding sects too numerous, teachings conflicting and confusing, he vowed to devote himself fully to his quest and travel thousands of miles in search of the great truth—thus he journeyed westward, spending fifteen years abroad. Even the famous Nalanda Monastery at the far western borders wasn’t distant enough for him. He fetched the “Yoga-sastra” to resolve the doctrinal disputes, studying it deeply for ten years in a remote temple in the extreme west before returning in the thirty-first year of Ganlu. When he arrived at Tai’an City, rumor held that the emperor himself left the palace to welcome him, while hundreds of thousands of people lined the roads to witness the white-robed monk’s return. Hence, the temple constructed a “Standing-in-the-Snow Pavilion,” with the five words “White Snow Reflects the Jewel of the Mind” inscribed by the late emperor himself.
If the tale ended there, the small monk, Ben Nanshan, would certainly have thought of it as merely an old story. But later on, his master proposed the idea of “sudden enlightenment” within this temple—a notion contrary to orthodox Zen teaching. His fifteen-year absence became a farce, nearly resulting in expulsion from Liangchan Temple. His claim that “every rising or falling of a hand or foot is within the dharma realm; in this mind and these emotions, one ultimately returns to the ocean of nature,” gained recognition only in recent years. Regardless, those days of the capital’s tens of thousands kneeling together in worship were long gone. Yet, one thing earned him deep admiration from the young novice—no matter how people from the outside viewed or argued with him, their words held less weight than a single sentence from the mistress or Dongxi. Sometimes, even a slightly harsh word from Dongxi could leave the master heartbroken for days.
The white-robed monk smiled gently, “Ben Nanshan, I no longer have the will to argue about such things. It’s up to you now to spread the doctrine of sudden enlightenment.”
The little monk cried in dismay, “Master, no! You have the mistress; all I have is Dongxi. I probably won’t even have time for your Chan!”
The white-robed monk looked troubled, rubbing his bald head and chuckling, “Truly, I envy you, you foolish boy. I’ve got no Chan left to contemplate.”
With that, the small monk, too, joined him in a deep sigh.
The master said softly, “It’s going to rain soon.”
“But it’s so sunny out, you sure?”
“It will come.”
“Master.”
“Hmm?”
“You always spout useless nonsense.”
“Isn’t that how Buddhist teachings are?”
“Keep it down. If the abbots or the master abbot hear you, they’ll deduct our copper coins again.”
“Such vulgar concerns! With that mindset, how can you ever hope to produce sarira?”
“What do you mean? The only reason I even want to become a Buddha is to earn money for Dongxi to buy cosmetics. Otherwise, why on earth would I burn myself up for sarira?”
“Hmm, good, good. You’ve got understanding. Not bad, not bad. Truly, my disciple.”
“Master, if you say that, then at least help me wash some clothes?”
“Are you asking for a beating?”
※※※
Among the famed things of the Lake Pavilion Prefecture along the Jiangnan Road, it was not the lush, luxurious peony blossoms used as tribute that were the most notable, but rather the scandalous lifestyle of a certain widow, Madame Xu. She had come all the way from the northern land of Beiliang, having successively brought death to two husbands, both of them renowned young noblemen of the locality. One was the second-place scholar in the imperial examination—an event already of great happiness following his grand wedding—but he met an untimely fate. The other was similarly accomplished, placing third in the examinations, but he too died suddenly after marrying the widow. Thus, the people of Jiangnan often joked, asking when it would be the turn of the next Zhuangyuan (zhuangyuan), the first-place scholar.
Recently, however, the widow had taken up with a well-known scholar from the neighboring Jiangxin Prefecture. The man was a gentleman of culture and status in the Jiangnan literary circles, whose father and ancestors were all famed men of letters. He was named Liu Liting, styled Chengzhai, a man who, at age fourteen, could already compose elegant parallel prose, was skilled in musical tones, particularly known for his mastery of the guqin, and further renowned for his exceptional culinary skills—a rare combination among Jiangnan literati. His wife, also of noble background, was virtuous and gifted, yet once Liu met this widow, he became possessed, his senses lost, and he grew obsessed with divorcing his lawful wife. What began as a private affair between two families soon escalated into local ridicule—until it was discovered that Liu’s wife had close ties to an imperial concubine in the capital whose influence was immeasurable. It was this lady who authored the “Admonitions for Women” that all women in the empire were expected to study.
Upon hearing of this scandal from Jiangnan, the imperial concubine flew into a rage. She, who was highly favored within the palace and considered a sister by Empress Zhao, had little difficulty commanding authority second only to the emperor’s own anger. Thus, the local officials along the Jiangnan Road could no longer afford to remain mere spectators. Bracing themselves, they launched fierce verbal attacks. Although Liu could write exquisite moral essays, there was little manliness in his actions. Upon learning that even the palace lady had grown furious, he was jolted back to his senses. First, he composed a farewell poem and delivered it directly to the widow’s doorstep. Then, he returned to his wife with tears and sobs. He even went to his circle of refined scholars and noble gentlemen to lament and decry how this bewitching widow had seduced him. In no time, the poor widow from the north found herself surrounded from all sides. Had it not been for her family’s formidable background, she would have been drowned beneath waves of scornful gossip. Liu’s wife even personally visited the Baoguo Temple and struck the widow with a slap, calling her a harlot. The widow, however, neither grew angry nor sad, merely offering a faint smile—whether bitter or mocking remained unclear.
The scholars present at the scene were deeply moved.
Baoguo Temple was world-famous for its peonies. According to noted geographers, the land’s fengshui of Lake Pavilion Prefecture was especially suitable for peony cultivation, resulting in the astonishing array of colorful blooms. In the past, the prefecture’s Yaohuang (Yaohuang) and Wei Zi (Weizi) peonies were presented as tribute to the imperial court. When these flowers bloomed, the capital city would erupt into celebration for twenty days. Baoguo Temple alone boasted more than a hundred varieties of peonies. Alongside the Yaohuang and Wei Zi, which were both hailed as peony queens, other rare and precious types such as Azure Dragon Resting in the Lake (Qinglongwo Hu), Zhao Fen (Zhaofen), and Flesh Hibiscus (Rou Furong) were also present.
The temple’s most devoted patron was none other than the current scandal-widow, Madame Xu. Without fail, rain or shine, she arrived at the temple every first and fifteenth day of the lunar month to burn incense and pay homage. She loved the flower called “Zhaofen” most of all. In the monastery’s courtyard stood a magnificent Zhaofen peony larger than a Fight (dou, a traditional measure), with sprawling branches and luxuriously clustered blossoms that reached dramatically beyond the eaves, radiating splendor and beauty. Due to her prestigious lineage and her defiant behavior, the rare and revered peony had practically become her personal property.
On the fifteenth of this month, it was the same day she had been struck by Liu’s wife on the first. Accompanied only by her personal maid, she stepped into the temple’s rear courtyard. Though she had brought many servants and maids from her family upon marriage, she rarely took interest in any of them—except for this girl of humble origins, barely of age, whom she inexplicably favored. While she ruled her household with an iron fist, instilling fear among her servants, this maid—named Erqiao—remained devoted and protective. As they walked through the temple today, whispers followed them like shadows. When no one was nearby, the young maid turned to her, her face etched with anger, “Madam, these incense-burning visitors are truly despicable! Why do they sneak peeks and laugh behind your back?”
The young widow, not yet thirty, pinched her handmaid’s cheek playfully and smiled enchantingly. “Still, you’re the only one who still has a conscience, my dear.”
The little maid pouted with indignation. “Madam, Liu Liting is just too outrageous! Those days, he was sticking around you like a leech, yet in the end he dares to play the victim. Don’t those learned scholars see clearly? Why do they all stand by his side?”
The charming widow couldn’t help but chuckle, bending down to admire a blooming peony. She gently pinched off a small petal the size of a fingernail, smelled it, and smiled with half-closed eyes. “Aren’t most men like this, my dear? What’s there to be angry about? It’s not worth ruining your mood.”
The little maid asked timidly, “Madam, may I ask something?”
The widow teased gently. “Oh, what’s on your mind, thinking about romance again? Who among the scholars caught your eye?”
The maid shook her head vehemently, biting her lip and looking up with determination. “Madam, that wicked woman in Liu Liting’s house is too despicable. I heard she often visits the Qing Shan Temple. I want to slap her face! Please, don’t plead for her when the time comes, Madam. It doesn’t matter even if I were to be beaten to death; I just want to vent your anger for you! I know Madam is already not having a good day, so please don’t worry about me.”
The widow was stunned for a moment, gently crushing the petal between her fingers, and then laughed. “You really deserve my affection. However, you’re just a little girl, meddling in such affairs. If you get slapped, what’s the big deal?”
The little maid burst into tears, sobbing. “No, I just can’t stand the thought of Madam being bullied for no reason. I want to fight that wicked woman to the death! If Madam hadn’t rescued me back then, I would have been abused by evil men long ago. I may not have gone to school or learned to read, but my parents always taught me to remember kindness. I will always remember Madam’s goodness!”
The widow wiped away the little maid’s tears gently. “Alright, alright. I didn’t want to say this before, but since you care so much, I’ll tell you, to ease your silly heart. I actually saved that slap on purpose. You know that I have a younger brother who does whatever he pleases. He’s quite busy with his current mission. I wasn’t sure before whether he would visit his second older sister first or come directly to see me, his eldest sister. If he heard about that slap, wouldn’t he surely come straight to me? His second sister is a noble-hearted lady who doesn’t count such trivialities, but I’m different. I always like to fight back. Life rarely has pleasures without pain, and this is one of the few joys I have.”
The maid nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I know, Madam. Your younger brother is the Crown Prince of Beiliang. Servants in the mansion often whisper about the Prince, but they quiet down whenever they see me.”
The widow fondly pinched the maid’s ear. “With your keen ears, who dares to gossip in this mansion? If I ever heard of it, I’d have their skin peeled and bones stripped!”
The maid finally smiled through her tears, knowing her Madam’s mood always brightened whenever mentioning the Prince.
The widow’s brows indeed loosened, and she smiled softly. “My younger brother has always been handsome since childhood. Our family didn’t grow many peonies, but every time they bloomed, I would bring him to admire them. I would pick the flowers and put them in his hair—it made him look even prettier than a girl. Unfortunately, it will start raining in a few days. I wonder if he can arrive before the flowers all fall.”
The maid wiped her face with her sleeve and said innocently, “I’m sure the Bodhisattva will keep it from raining for Madam.”
The widow whispered softly, “A little girl like you wouldn’t understand the pain of being separated by merciless winds and rains.”
“What did you say, Madam?” the confused maid asked.
The widow teased, “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
Afraid that this girl might do something foolish again.， Nami Shuang spoke softly.：“ Wait until my younger brother arrives at the Jiangnan Circuit.， You would then realize those proud young scholars and wealthy sons who usually consider themselves superior to others.， Actually, it is nothing at all.。”
※※※
On the mountain summit, the Taoist Priest’s Mansion gathers purple aura and yellow clouds.， At the foot of the mountain, only a lonely master and apprentice remained, guarding the dilapidated old Taoist temple.。
The old Taoist master entered a period of intense cultivation in seclusion for his apprentice.， It could be said that one’s lips were worn out from persuasion.。 At first, he used his ultimate technique kept at the bottom of his trunk.“ Grand Illusion of the Spring and Autumn Period”， This arcane Taoist technique, which even the Four Great Immortals had no chance to witness.， The apprentice stubbornly refused to learn.， Not even willing to listen。 One day， The old Taoist suddenly had a clever idea.， Carrying the crown prince of Beiliang’s letter on purpose.， Casually mention it in front of the apprentice.：“ Xu Fengnian wrote in the letter:， May Huang Man’er learn this profound art of sleeping for five hundred years.。” Unexpectedly, this move indeed proved effective.， The dazed apprentice immediately perked up his ears.， Began to study diligently“ Grand Illusion of the Spring and Autumn Period”。
Reciting the incantation is not difficult.， The difficulty lies in how to circulate the energy within one’s body.。“ Great Yellow Court” Emphasize a robust and substantial breath.， Then“ Grand Illusion of the Spring and Autumn Period” Quite the contrary.， Pursuit of Breath“ Thin and insubstantial”， Cultivate to the realm of mystery.， He was almost devoid of all vitality within his body.， Only a single line of true energy remains.。 The reason why the old Taoist valued his apprentice Xu Longxiang so much was…， Even traveled a thousand li humbly to plead with the Northern Liang King.， It is because Xu Longxiang possesses innate supernatural strength.， Since birth, he has already entered the terrifying Diamond Realm.， If one practices further, one will attain…“ Grand Illusion of the Spring and Autumn Period”， Then the balance between Yin and Yang will be truly realized.， Like a tiger being given wings。 Zhao Xituan surely longed for another true immortal like Qi Xuanzhen to appear on the mountain once more.？ As for whether Xu Longxiang is truly descended from the Tian MasterFu orthodox lineage.， Zhao Xituon did not care at all.。 This lifetime， Who hasn’t spoken behind his back, calling him a heretic?？
Previously， It was Xu Longxiang who refused to learn.， Master was extremely worried.； Now， Zhao Laodao was still worried.， Because this young fellow has become utterly obsessed.， He spent all twelve shichen of the day in a state between sleep and wakefulness.。 This is the beginning of a grand tale, woven with threads of fate and shadows of forgotten realms. A journey awaits, where courage shall be tested and destinies shall intertwine beneath the watchful gaze of ancient stars.“ The Great Dream of Spring and Autumn”， It’s as if the Grandmaster himself tailored it specifically for Xu Longxiang.。 At the beginning， The old Taoist priest could still sit beside his apprentice and watch the ants together.， Look at the creek water， Although the apprentice did not utter a single word， At least he still had someone to listen to his ramblings.。 Now， The old Taoist priest had absolutely nothing left to do.， It was too lonely.， Could do nothing else but calculate by counting fingers.， Wondering when the young prince would ascend the Dragon and Tiger Mountain.。
At this moment， He was of a very high generation on the mountain.、 The eccentric old Taoist priest was squatting by the Qinglong Stream, lost in thought.， Worrying when he would finally lay eyes upon the fair maiden who was said to be floating down the river on a bamboo raft.。
To everyone’s surprise, the apprentice who never spoke broke the tradition by stepping out of the Taoist temple.， Crouching beside him。
The old Taoist felt immense delight.， Hehehe laughed：“ Apprentice!， You finally decided to come out for a breath of fresh air.？”
As expected.， There was no response.。
The old Taoist priest spoke to himself, saying,：“ We have cultivated the path of immortality with great hardship throughout our lives.， Always unable to see clearly， I always feel as if the sky is veiled in clouds and mist.。 Now Behold you， Only then did I come to know This is the beginning of a grand tale, woven with threads of fate and shadows of forgotten realms. A journey awaits, where courage shall be tested and destinies shall intertwine beneath the watchful gaze of ancient stars. Dao Ah， I simply cannot explain it.。”
Xu Longxiang merely gazed blankly at the stream.。
The old Taoist priest sighed with emotion.：“ He descended the mountain one day.， Your master will take you to meet an elder.， If you can endure for a hundred moves,， That shall suffice.。”
I do not know when…， Huang Man’er plucked a leaf from a tree.， Handed over to the master。
The old Taoist priest took the leaf.， could not help but smile bitterly：“ I certainly do not play tunes on leaves.。 Huang Maner， Are you missing your older brother?？”
Xu Longxiang, the Foolish Dreamer， He nodded with a smile.。
The old Taoist priest felt a sudden tremor in his heart.， Whispered softly：“ When the hawthorn fruits are formed on the mountain， Your older brother should be arriving soon.。”
This is the beginning of a grand tale, woven with threads of fate and shadows of forgotten realms. A journey awaits, where courage shall be tested and destinies shall intertwine beneath the watchful gaze of ancient stars. Although the old Taoist priest had heeded the advice of the heir of Beiliang,， When descending the mountain, one must always be dressed neatly and properly.， He even specially borrowed a Zhong Kui peach wood sword from his disciples and their followers.， But returning to the mountain, he remained disgustingly slovenly.。 Straw sandals are handwoven by oneself.， The Taoist robe was tattered and worn.， Covered in dust。
Right then At this moment， Huang Maner Lowered his head， He extended his withered, skeletal arms.， Gently brushing the dust from the old Taoist priest’s body.， One by one, softly and gently， Gentle breeze Then Carefully。
This lifetime Mad for the Dao、 The old Taoist priest had no wife or children.， Frozen in place, he stood motionless.。
In an instant， Tears streamed down his aged face.。
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