The night was as dark as if someone had knocked over the ink bottle and splashed it all over the barren mountains.
The old site of Xuanduguan has almost been taken over by overgrown weeds. Only a few crooked broken walls and broken tiles are left, which can still let people know that this place used to be prosperous.
Jiang Wang has spent the past three years here.
He is guarding the grave of his master Xuanjizi here.
Every day, it is untouchable. I have to sweep the monument, sprinkle the water, and recite sutras.
No matter it's windy or rainy, he works hard like an old scalper.
Tonight, a heavy rain is coming.
