Huixian loved Bamboo Spring Mountain.
The wind through the bamboo grove brought coolness, tranquility, peace of mind. He had grown used to the rustling of bamboo leaves and the sweet mountain spring water. This was his home.
The Stone Slab Path beneath his feet seemed to have been laid two thousand years ago, perhaps three thousand. He could not remember. The young and old of Bamboo Spring Mountain had carried the slabs up one by one. He knew every single one of them. They were all memories.
Seeing several freshly dug dirt holes beside the path, Old Hui Xian felt that the mountain's Bamboo Rats had grown rather plump.
He climbed step by step, as though he had forgotten the glittering Auspicious Clouds in the sky behind him. After turning several bends and ascending the stone steps along the cliff, he soon stood above the swaying emerald sea of bamboo.
He listened to the wind.
It was still that familiar Bamboo Spring Mountain. Amid the swaying bamboo sea, the eaves of the Dilapidated Temple occasionally peeked out—new tiles and old tiles alike.
Bamboo Spring Temple had been built brick by brick, beam by beam, by Old Hui Xian's own hands.
Digging earth to open roads, digging wells to draw water.
It was shabby and downcast, unable to compare with those magnificent temples of gold and splendor. But it was quiet, peaceful to live in, and gave him more time to think.
Yet there were always too many things that disturbed the peace.
Hellish Evil Ghosts, and these glittering... fellow disciples before him?
Suddenly, some sort of sound came from the golden clouds.
Moo—!
The Bamboo Spring Temple group intercepting them in the sky seemed to have suffered a heavy blow. Aside from the Long-faced Heavenly King, whose expression remained grave,