The wind raged like a mountain, and the rain poured down like a river. An Zhaoran lost everything that day. The wild tang flowers in the mass graves were in full bloom. He knelt beside his mother's corpse. The rain and tears hit his mother's body together. He kowtowed to her, and the blood on his forehead exploded thousands of miles away. In the Fusheng Hall, Fang Jingxu was meditating and suddenly felt his mind shake. When he searched for the spiritual power and found An Zhaoran, An Zhaoran had fainted in the mass grave. Fang Jingxu waved his sleeves, "This child is destined to me." He leaned over and picked up the dying An Zhaoran. So far, there was a new disciple in Fusheng Hall. Spring passed and autumn came, and many years passed. The skinny boy in the past was now comparable to his master. Until An Zhaoran's fifteenth birthday, which was also the day when An Zhaoran's mother passed away, Fang Jingxu looked at the facial expressions that were slightly similar to hers and suddenly thought of a hundred years ago. Former An Zhaoran's mother asked for a stick of incense for An Zhaoran. Although he couldn't bear it, he still told the truth, "Your mother's death was not an accident. It was because she gave up 20 years of her life to buy your peace. But your spiritual roots are special. The next peace is your turn as a teacher."
Intention: Make progress every day