Twenty-eight miles northwest of White Horse Manor, a solitary peak stood tall as if surging from the core of the earth.
This peak had no name, only a decrepit Daoist temple that had lost even its name plaque over the years. Looking around, one would only see ruins everywhere.
Once, this place had young servants and old Daoist priests bustling about, with household smoke curling up like serpents. Now, the gate was deserted, rarely visited by pilgrims. The only remnant was an ancient pine standing in front of the temple, majestic and strange, its needles lush and green, basking in the Daoist serenity.
"Brother Yue!"
A shout broke the tranquil night. Fei Bin, who was hiding at a temporary campsite, was surprised and pleased to see Le Hou approaching.
Suddenly, a flock of crows flew south from the jungle behind, circling the trees three times, cawing urgently.