[He went up.]
[I saw him. I'm not blind.]
[I said, he went up.]
[I said, I saw him. I'm not blind.]
[Hahaha, you damned bald donkey.]
[Hahaha, you damned Taoist.]
Lin Feng climbed the twenty-seven steps and stood on the ritual altar representing heaven. Only then did he see the modern notebook.
To be honest, he felt a mixture of So that's how it is and Just as I thought.
Lin Feng reached out and touched the black leather notebook, unmistakably a modern product.
The notebook was probably quite old. After all, very few of these retro leather notebooks were made anymore.
The words [Mount-Viewing Kiln Culture Festival] were printed prominently on it. It was probably a complimentary gift.
[Mount-Viewing Kiln Culture Festival]?
Lin Feng committed those words to memory.
He moved the fountain pen off it and opened the notebook.
When Monk and the Taoist appeared, the Headless Taoist behind him had shown no unusual reaction. Now, his Bronze Mace pointed toward the notebook.
Or was it pointing beneath the notebook?
So this was his destination.
That was what Lin Feng thought.
The instant he opened the notebook, Lin Feng felt his blood run cold.
Because the very first thing he saw was a familiar name.
In simplified Chinese.
Zuan.
It was written in blue fountain pen ink, the strokes sharp and powerful, seeming to pierce through the paper.
Someone had left him a message in this notebook.
[Hello, Zuan:
By the time you read this letter, I will probably have left this place to investigate somewhere else.
Our last meeting was far too brief. I had so much to say, but could not bring any of it up, so I can only leave a message here. I do not know whether you will ever see it.