Ancient monastery, red walls faded, golden tiles dimmed, bearing the weight of history, in the morning glow, as if one can still hear the sounds of evening drums and morning bells echoing across a thousand years.
The courtyard was overgrown with weeds, quite desolate, and the main gate was half collapsed, yet a small part stubbornly stood, the red bricks shattered, uneven.
Qin Ming stared at it, this main gate seemed to have been punched through by someone, leaving only the remnants.
The bronze plaque had only a small fragment left, covered in spider-web-like cracks, most of it had disappeared, leaving only the last character: Temple.
What temple it was remains unknown.
As Qin Ming approached and attempted resonance, he found only emptiness here, with no trace of the past.
He touched the broken bricks and wall remains, gently knocked them, even after thousands of years, they remained hard, showing no sign of decay.
