Ahead, the sound of reading came from a straw hut. The voice sounded aged.
When the sound of reading reached one's ears, it made one feel as if they were standing in a desolate night.
This was literary talent infused with the power of the soul.
Is the reader a great scholar? Han Muye wondered.
Is he a scholar or a master to be able to saturate people's hearts with his words?
Han Muye looked up. The window of the straw hut was open, and a white-haired old man in a linen robe was sitting at a desk. In front of him were five or six boys sitting at a few dilapidated wooden tables.
Isn't this White Deer Mountain Elder who left his writings?
As if sensing that Han Muye was at the door, the old man stopped reading and turned to look out the window.
"Hehe, we're destined to meet, night travelers. Do you want to come into my straw hut?"
The old man put down the book and smiled.
