The cultivators who came to Yunji Town each had their own purpose.
The middle-aged scholar had wanted to ask Jing Jiu to treat a member of his family. Since that had come to nothing, he naturally left.
His retreating figure seemed calm, but was in truth desolate.
Presumably, he would never come here again.
They did not know who in his family was ill, but his affection must have run very deep for him to have come here, and to have left like this.
Watching that figure recede into the distance, everyone felt melancholy and sympathy.
But they were all Daoist cultivators, after all, and those feelings soon vanished without a trace. They continued crowding around Zhou Yunmu and Lu Jin, asking incessantly what exactly had happened in Jing Garden.
Zhou Yunmu said nothing. Utterly helpless, Lu Jin had to explain that the True Person had forbidden him to speak, and asked his fellow Daoist friends to forgive him.
There was nothing more they could do, so they made way.
No one noticed that after the master and disciple disappeared into the clouds, several cultivators exchanged glances, then silently left.
Morning light illuminated the Turbid Waters, and winter snow covered the rice paddies-a beautiful scene.
Several years earlier, that streak of sword light had slain every monster in the Turbid Waters in a single night. The people on both banks no longer had to worry, and their lives were much easier than before.
As life grew easier, prayers to gods and Buddhas naturally grew fewer, and the little mountain god temples in the countryside gradually ceased to receive visitors.
There was one such abandoned mountain god temple in these mountains. Old tiles bore white snow, and cold wind leaked through broken walls, giving it a desolate look.
Lu