The solemn temple, the dark red courtyard walls, the deep gray ridges of the halls, and the ancient towering trees with bare branches were all bathed in the misty sky.
Outside, the cold breeze fluttered, making one feel bone-chillingly cold from the heart.
In front of the thatched house, two men seemed to feel nothing of the chill, their faces calm and composed.
The old monk took a sip of tea and left a remark.
"This matter cannot be rushed; it requires slow recovery."
Bao Shaojin's face was gloomy, a hint of darkness in his black eyes.
The old monk looked at his nephew, let out a long sigh.
The next second, he saw a young girl strolling joyfully from the corridor pavilion.
The young girl came gracefully, her steps light and slow. Even in her fitted long coat, one could see her slim and graceful figure. Her long, smooth hair flowed down, and with each step, it swayed in the air, drawing a small arc.
In a trance, the old monk seemed to return to the past.
