He was once the chief disciple of the Lingxiao Sect. He was extremely talented and had formed an elixir at the age of three hundred.
Once he killed his master and betrayed his family, his cultivation was completely ruined, the demonic energy engulfed his body, and he fell from the clouds to the bottom of the mud. Although the world is big, there is no place for him - everyone says he deserves to die.
On a rainy night, he broke into a temple and met a stranger who called himself a doctor.
The man handed over a bowl of medicine. It was so bitter that it stung the throat, but there was a hint of cold fragrance from the pine forest after snow.
"Fellow Taoist is injured."
"Don't treat the dying."
"It's difficult to treat, but it doesn't mean it's impossible to treat."
For three hundred years, the sect has abandoned him like a worn shoe, and for twenty years, no one has remembered him in the barren mountains and lonely tombs.
But some people banged in front of the fire for three days and nights in order to renew a broken sword for him; some people used their broken palms to dig into the cracks in the cold iron in order to pull him back from the ice; some people guarded a stone tomb and waited for twenty years, just to deliver the sentence "Spring Mountain is Hopeful" to him.
Later he asked the man: "You plotted against me or saved me, which one is true?"
The man said: "It's both. There is no contradiction."
Later, they stood together in the eyes of the Fengshan Formation - in front of them was a certain death situation, and behind them was the way they came.
He said: "Together."
Another voice came from the rain curtain: "Okay."
Spring mountains are in sight.
Not on the other side.
At the turning point.
Intention: After obsession is burned out, what remains is instinct. Where the instinct is, the spring mountain is already at your feet.