That night when Qingyu Temple was surrounded, what Chai Guotai remembered was not the green eyes all over the mountains and plains, but his master's smile.
The old man who had been sitting there for thirty years, even refusing to be seen coughing up blood, smiled like a child who had finally waited for his return at the moment before his whole family was about to be destroyed.
He stuffed the two books into Chai Guotai's arms. A cyan book called "Xuan Jing".
The other one has no name, is completely dark, and is cold to the hand.
Chai Guotai held it for a long time before he realized that this book had a heartbeat.
"Don't let them know." Master said.
"Who?"
The master didn't answer, except for the last sentence: No matter what happens, don't look back.
Chai Guotai looked back that night.
Just once.
From then on, Qingyu Temple was filled with six people, and he was the only one left alive, with a black book that was getting hotter and hotter in his arms.
