Soft and fine drops of rain drizzled upon the lush greeneries atop Mount Shaohua. One might notice the broken walls that stood motionless. An enduring monument to the great conflict that had once befallen the Shaolin Temple.
The pattering sounds of footsteps on mud and the occasional sloshing and squelching of shoes could be heard from the fresh mountain breeze that blew by. Two old men with bamboo staffs meandered up the rear mountain of the Shaolin order with a few other monks and a group of warriors and members of the Jianghu in tow.
They passed through the woods and stopped before the huge red rock. One of the elder monks - whose age was easily past fifty - wore a frail expression that hinted of hidden affliction or injury, clasping his palms together. He uttered a Buddhist chant reverently in a low voice before he spoke, "This was the site where Duo Ercha had met his end. They say he died in a most grotesque manner."
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