As a monk, the poor monk has not smelled the smell of meat for many years. The silk clothes on his body were mended again and again, and the patches were better than those of the sixth elder of the Beggar Clan. There was also the rice basket that had been with the poor monk for many years. It was so riddled with holes that even the poor monk himself could not bear to look at it. Actually, I don't want to, I really don't want to.
I remember that back then, the poor monk was very high-spirited and scolded Fang Qiu. Anyone who saw the deity did not call out "King", but who would have expected that things would change so suddenly. Now, as one of millions of bald donkeys, the poor monk really felt extremely painful.
I am incompetent in copywriting. In short, it is just a monk's earthly fate, past and present life.