A lock hung on the Dilapidated Temple's door.
The past and the rest of one's life were nothing more than climbing a mountain, descending it, then climbing it again.
It was rather strange. A nest of extraordinary beings relied on an iron lock to guard their door whenever they went out. Bai Yujun recalled forging it back when she had been a blacksmith: ordinary brass fitted with an exquisite lock mechanism. It was useless, really—the junk inside the Dilapidated Temple was not worth as much as the lock itself.
They locked the door, hiding the key in a crack in the stone wall beside it.
The rain had stopped...
After a light rain, droplets still hung from the tips of the bamboo leaves, not yet fallen.
The mossy stone path through the shadowy forest was slick and wet.
The strange group went down the mountain. Little Stone carried a book chest as tall as himself, hopping along at the front. The Snake Demon Boy dutifully served as a Guardian Spirit Beast beside Old Hui Xian. Bai Yujun, with dragon horns and pointed ears, walked without her shoes touching the water, while the hunched, bow-legged monkey brought up the rear.
Desolate mountains and wild waters, fields steeped in farmers' sorrow.
Bai Yujun found it strange that no powerful nobles exploited the lands around Bamboo Spring Temple.
It was inconceivable.
The fertile fields and paddies surrounding the bamboo grove belonged to the farmers who worked them. That defied all reason. How could those greedy creatures who ate people alive and sucked their bones dry possibly let such land go? Especially when the place was peaceful, with no demons or cultivators enslaving anyone—yet not even a single petty landlord could be seen.
The monkey seemed to have guessed what Bai Yujun was wondering.