"The grand carriage spread illumination over the desolate retreats, as auspiciousness birthed radiance. Master Yang's distant ascent to our temple has been met without due reception, for which I hope for your generous forgiveness."
Nearing the mountaintop, clouds and mist drifted like an ocean.
Pines stood in continuous ranks, myriad treetops swaying with the wind, forming wave upon wave.
The abbot of Wanshan Temple personally came to greet him.
Yang Dongxiong engaged in conversation with him.
The two men guiding the way fell behind, lost in silent contemplation.
The pair had thought the group before them to be from wealthy households, possessing no ordinary strength, conversing as though they were officials of the seventh or sixth rank, commanding with authority—perhaps amongst them were Beacon Fire Martial Masters or even Great Martial Masters of Tiger Hunting.
But...
What had the abbot just said?
Master Yang!?
