Wild Taoist Priest

In Sichuan in the 1990s, Li Qingniu returned to secular life and moved bricks in a brick kiln. During the day, I received a monthly salary, and at night, I received incense according to my duties. Halfway through learning Taoism, my hands are still shaking; pages are missing from the manuscripts, the yellow paper is damp, and the money for incense is often not enough to buy incense. When someone asked him to see something, he first asked if it was far, and then asked if he would pay for the fare. Whether it works or not is another matter, but the account cannot be confused. In that era, people had to speak up when building a house, when moving, when doing business, and when people were dead or alive. Li Qingniu carried half a book on his back and ran back and forth between brick ashes, red plum smoke, construction sites, mourning halls and commercial buildings. Siyan used physics to demolish him, Huiming wore a cassock and took his job, and the junior sister put yellow paper in the textbook. No one dares to say to death whether Taoism is true or false. They only know that every order is ridiculous and someone has to take part in every order. The Taoist temple is gone, but the scriptures are still there. Li Qingniu, dressed in gray and with a crooked talisman in his hand, walked forward alone.