The eighteen-year-old Taoist priest Lin Que came down the mountain. The master said that to conquer demons and eliminate demons, he relied on Taoism. He turned around and took out a brick and slapped the ghost on the face - physical salvation, do you understand?
The system gave him a seven-hand van, but it was not him who was driving, but a rooster that soared across the Qiu Ming Mountains. The passenger seat was a husky who was as timid as a mouse and would pee when he was nervous.
Ghost hunting? Doesn't exist. We smoke ghosts with exhaust fumes, smash ghosts with bricks, and bribe bad guys with ghost coins on the mahjong table. Headless ghost racing provocatively? The modified hearse killed him directly. Black and white impermanence comes to collect the car? Sit down and rub it twice, and you will win three to one.
Now the team is called Hell F1, and it is competing with the King of Hell on winding mountain roads for the championship.
Don't ask me why I use Hades coins to buy modified parts, and don't ask me why the Lord of Hell invited me to play cards on his birthday.
Poor Taoists don't talk about Taoism and Dharma, but only talk about human nature and sophistication - I am more familiar with the underworld stuff than they are.
