On the soul-measuring platform, the stone surface remained motionless.
Lin Xuan took his hand back. The audience burst into laughter. The false spiritual roots, according to the old rules of Chunyang Palace, were removed from the mountain.
No one saw the golden light in the cracks of the stone. The voice of the founder of the Chunyang Kai Sect fell down after thousands of years: The spirit stone tests the roots that have already appeared. If your roots have not yet appeared, it is not non-existent.
What he brought was not included in any of the exercises: a worldly Bible reader full of scriptures, and the fate of a single stroke of the pen while copying Chapter 48 of the Tao Te Ching.
People in the world seek the Tao by adding more to themselves. Spiritual stone pills are piled up layer by layer. He has to take it to heart. For learning, day by day, for Tao, it will be lost day by day, until it reaches the empty place, the root will appear by itself.
But the mountain gate cannot tolerate a handyman who relies on his words to make a career. When the manager made things difficult, the senior brother asked where the Chunyang Taoist seed was; in the shadow of the pillar three steps behind Wang Hu, a pair of pale, pupil-less eyes flashed with blood.
Why are the traces of the ancestor's hands that have not been seen for thousands of years waiting for only one Bible reader? Whose name is written on the old inscription on the stone wall behind the mountain?
Lin Xuan didn't answer. He just opened another page in the scroll.
