Song Qingshu's heart stirred. Looking downstairs, he saw two men and two women enter. One was a monk around fifty, dressed in plain robes and straw sandals, his face seeming to glow with a precious radiance. At a glance, he was clearly a supreme master.
The other young man had the air of a scion from an illustrious family, with a face like carved jade and a refined, gentle temperament. He was gazing intently at the profile of the young woman in lotus-colored robes beside him.
The young woman's brows were faintly furrowed, her bearing delicate and timid. She was Wang Yuyan, whom he had met once at Mantuo Mountain Villa.
Not far behind them, a black-clad young woman gripped her sword hilt as she followed at an unhurried pace. She was Mu Wanqing, whom he had parted from at Mount Hua.
"Mohakakala, whose fundamental vow is to uphold the pure and perfect precepts—why should Ming Wang get angry with a young lady? Why not come up and share a cup of wine with us?" In his previous life, Song Qingshu had often encountered business partners who affected elegance by professing Buddhism, so he had deliberately spent some time studying Buddhist teachings. That was why he identified the Great Wheel Ming King's origins at once.
Mohakakala was a Sanskrit transliteration of the Great Wheel Ming King's title. Jiumozhi had not expected anyone in Jiangnan to recognize him at a glance. Looking up and seeing only a young man, he was puzzled. He led Wang Yuyan and Duan Yu upstairs, while Mu Wanqing, upon seeing Song Qingshu, revealed a flicker of delight in her eyes. Yet she quickly seemed to recall something, her expression dimming as she followed with a complicated look.
"I'm dead, I'm dead! Where did such a beauty