The voice was a moment away in the distance.
The next second, it seemed to be right beside him.
Ding Ling looked toward the sound and saw an elderly man not far away on the ancient mountain path, his face glowing, his eyes fixed brightly on the roasted deer leg and dishes Ding Ling had made.
He kept shouting, 'So fragrant, so aromatic!'
He walked very quickly.
Close enough.
Seeing more clearly now.
He had a long square face, a short beard beneath his chin, large coarse hands and feet, and his clothes were covered in patches but very neat, without a speck of dirt.
He held a green jade-like staff in his hand and carried a large vermilion lacquered gourd on his back.
Full of righteous qi.
Clearly someone extraordinary.
Especially when Ding Ling noticed he only had nine fingers, his heart couldn't help but skip a beat, and a name suddenly surfaced in his mind: 'Nine-fingered Divine Beggar Hong Qigong!'
