She still remembers that day when she and a group of new disciples followed Master Lingxi to the Zhiwang Hall to pay homage to the Lord. It was there that the scenery filled her eyes.
The white figure leaned lightly against the bodhi tree, and the ink behind him vented all over the ground. He held an ancient book with yellowed paper in his hand. Bodhi leaves rustled in the wind. Among the fallen leaves, a silver leaf slowly fell to the ancient book. His slender white fingers, intent on turning the pages, gently brushed off the silver leaf. With this movement, a strand of long hair beside his ear fell to the side of the book, and there seemed to be a faint smile on the corner of his mouth, but it was not real. . .
Looking back later, maybe it was at that time that the book was the scenery in his eyes, and he had become the scenery in her eyes. . .