Zhao Yin carried the barely breathing Master Yuding on his back, rushing into the Taoist temple with a frantic expression.
Inside the temple, the air was filled with curling incense smoke. An elder sat quietly on a meditation mat, like an ancient and serene statue.
He was Master Wudao, the foremost expert in Qingyuan City.
His face was thin yet exuded an extraordinary aura; his skin like bronzed silk, with deep lines etched by time, each telling a tale of past hardships.
His eyes were deep and bright, as if containing endless stars; with a mere glance, he could perceive the mysteries of the world.
Long white hair, like frost and snow, spread over his shoulders, gleaming with a sacred luster in the temple's dim light, with a few strands of beard gently swaying in the breeze, adding to his ethereal demeanor.
He wore a loose Daoist robe, as deep as the night sky, embroidered with ancient runes in silver thread. As he breathed, they shimmered slightly, as if alive.
