Master Yuan Chi, at the venerable age of one hundred and nine, draped in a faded kasaya, gently caressed the cracks on the meditation mat with his emaciated fingers. Outside the window, the ginkgo leaves fluttered onto his shoulders, yet no one dared to brush them away.
"Xiao Feng, He Jia." The aged voice resonated within the vast hall, startling the swallows and sparrows between the beams into a flustered flight.
Upon hearing the call, two disciples swiftly stepped in. Ren Xiaofeng, clad in a moon-white monk robe, was surrounded by a faint golden aura, a sign of having mastered the Lesser Yang Divine Technique; He Jia carried a goose-shaped saber slung across his back, the hem of his dark outfit stained with the morning dew of Mount Song.
"Master." Both knelt in unison, their gazes drawn to the yellowed secret bulletin in Master Yuan Chi's hands.
