The blood moon hung high in the sky, the night was as dark as ink, the deserted village was deserted, and the wind sounded like it was complaining.
There is a dilapidated ancient temple at the entrance of the village. The front of the temple is covered with weeds, and there are broken walls and tiles everywhere. Among the ruins, there was a very old statue that had collapsed, leaving only half of its body leaning crookedly on the stone base.
Inside the temple, there was smoke and dust everywhere, and there was a rotten smell of old rotten wood in the air.
Xuandu wrapped his worn cassock tighter and walked slowly on the cold and hard stone floor with his bare feet.
This Xuandu is just an ordinary-looking young man, with a bit of dark skin, and there is so much tenacity in his eyes that you can't find it even if you don't look carefully.
He was just a sweeping monk in Fumo Temple, and he lived a poor and ordinary life. He never thought that he would end up in this desolate western realm.
