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Higher than the sea of clouds, the fierce winds howled like knives.
An old monk with a yellow face and tattered clothes was flying rapidly, unprotected from the elements. The gales that hit him head-on surprisingly dissipated on their own, without lessening in the slightest.
If someone had gotten close to him, they would have heard him muttering nonstop.
"Damn you, heavens, what kind of cursed fate is this?"
"Do they really all have to die?"
"I even specifically chose the hardy ones..."
"I am to be the next abbot of the Hanging Monastery, the future Buddha of the Pure Land. Can't you bless me a little, Buddha?"
"Jing Shen, you must hold on, don't follow Jing E's footsteps!"
The man was flying high in the sky.
Meanwhile, on the ground below, powerful divine thoughts surged towards the sky from time to time.
Each time this happened, a small bell at the old monk's waist would gently jingle—
