Gu Jianlin could hardly imagine there was a Buddhist temple in this silent grave. Perhaps it was because Taiqing and Taihua were both orphans who grew up in temples in their early years, that their inheritances were rich in Buddhist elements. He silently walked through the mist, and the compassionate Buddha light became brighter, as if stepping into another world.
Perhaps it was Nirvana, or the other shore of Rebirth.
He remained vigilant, raised his hand to probe into the Void, and the Qilin Wedge was drawn out inch by inch, the sword handle resembling the cross of Hell, the seven-foot-long pitch-black sword body gleaming with bizarre and profound patterns, flowing with illusory fire.
The Colorless Jade was faintly glowing.
When he emerged from the thick mist, his expression became bewildered.
Because he heard the laughter of children.
Nine stone towers stood in the Buddha light-shrouded Zen Temple, with a golden ginkgo tree at the center.
