The child Yang sleepily opened his eyes, and when he saw some light seeping through the paper window outside, he threw off his quilt and began to get dressed.
"Creak~" The door to the kitchen opened, and he went over to the water tank to check the water inside. Feeling it wasn't enough, he picked up the carrying pole and hoisted two empty wooden buckets to head out the door.
"The seniors will need to wash up after they get up, and I still need to cook porridge, this water isn't going to be enough."
As a Taoist Boy at Qingfeng Taoist Temple, although Yang was only ten years old, he was proficient in cooking, washing clothes, and mending garments, and he even had a smattering of knowledge about the medicinal properties of some alchemy ingredients.
These skills were all forced out of him, and those that weren't forced out had already died.
In that dark and dreary Taoist Temple, the only thing he learned was that people had to be useful; those who were useless were trash.
