Keep the Center

Zhou Xiaohua, the last little Taoist priest who guards Zhongguan, does three things every day: buy tofu, bask in the sun with the yellow dog, and squat on the wall to eat sweet potatoes. He never thought about going down the mountain, he never thought about becoming the king, and even his master didn't teach him the techniques. Until the mine collapsed. Fourteen-year-old Ergouzi was buried under the rocks. The supervisor squatted at the entrance of the cave and counted several donkeys dead first. That day he realized that in this world, human life is cheaper than coal and lighter than a donkey. The mountain-protecting formation was shattered, and the remnant soul of the ancestor from six hundred years ago awakened in his sea of ​​consciousness. The imperial edict came down the mountain, the Seven Sects moved their swords, and the shadow of the imperial city reached the top of Zhongheng Mountain. Shouzhuo burned up his thousand years of life, punched thirty-seven times, and was shattered into pieces in the sunlight. Ah Ying finished sewing the last piece of shirt, ran into the imperial mausoleum with her sword, and never came back. It turns out that what I have been guarding for six hundred years has never been a mountain or a sutra. It's everyone in the world who doesn't want to be casually included in the calculation. "I can't bear it."