The Great Xia Empire, 1938.
On a battlefield torn by artillery fire.
A young Daoist priest with a long sword strapped to his back and a tattered robe lay in a trench nearly half his height.
Though he looked only eighteen or nineteen, the veins stood out on the back of his hand as he gripped his rifle.
Not far away, enemies carrying cherry blossom flags crowded the field.
They wielded weapons far superior to theirs and pressed relentlessly toward them.
“Master, we can't hold them any longer!!!”
He roared and fired the last bullet in his rifle.
Then he slowly turned around.
He gazed silently at the old priest sitting cross-legged on the ground opposite him, his hair and beard entirely white.
The old man's dark blue Daoist robe was in tatters.
After being soaked in blood, its color had grown even darker.
“Master... Dao Xuan really can't hold on any longer.”
The young priest murmured, his eyes bloodshot.
Trembling, he reached out and brushed the dirt from the old priest's face.
He still remembered how, three days earlier, his master had resolutely closed the Daoist temple.
He had led every disciple down the mountain to enlist and resist the invaders.
On the way down, one of his senior fellow disciples had asked,
“Master, when will we return?”
His master had replied,
“When peace comes.”
The senior disciple had pressed him,
“What if we can't go back?”
His master had smiled openly, his expression resolute.
“Then we won't go back!”
Even now, Chen Daoxuan remembered that unrestrained, carefree spirit clearly.
A very wonderful work, the storyline is connected and compact, I hope there will be more.
Very cool. Great writing.