This is not a novel, it is a past experience of folk teachings in Southwest China that I have personally experienced.
There are no heavenly masters who fly into the sky and escape from the earth, only ordinary people who exchange spells at a price.
I have taught in Henan, you can choose one of the five characters on the bottom of the bowl; at the Twelve Flower Camp Meeting, the Dharma is perfect and the people are even better.
And I, a high school student who was supposed to be in college, became the inheritor of all this because of a ghostly attempt to commit suicide.
They saw me as "Mr. Dong", living in a corner and living an ordinary life.
What they can't see is the stroke of fate that is quietly crossed out by me every time I practice the Dharma.
There is a long way to go, but the story is still long. If you want to hear it, I'll start with the dark shadow under the bridge that night when I was eighteen.
