Kushan Mountain, secluded and tranquil.
Sunlight filtered through the deep forest, cutting into fragmented shadows, spreading on the ground, bright yet cool.
On the mountain steps, fallen leaves piled up, soft and cushy when stepped on.
The rarely-visited mountains exuded a unique hidden charm.
Mo Hua stepped on the fallen leaves on the mountain steps, and arrived at the decaying temple once more.
Inside the decaying temple, it remained as usual, still as run-down.
The roof continued to leak, the walls continued to let in drafts, and there was nothing on the offering platform, not even stale steamed buns, only aged rainwater settled at the bottom of a bowl, dirty and murky.
Lord Yellow Mountain's clay statue wore a bitter expression.
When people are poor, life is hard.
When the Mountain God is poor, life is equally tough.
The moment Mo Hua entered, the smoke-like form of Lord Yellow Mountain slowly floated out from the clay statue, bowing to Mo Hua, forcing a smile:
