Yanjing, Wen Zhongyuan stood on the Xiangshan Observatory, eyes closed in meditation, then slowly opened them to gaze upon the entire outline of Yanjing. Beside him stood an old monk, none other than the one-browed abbot.
At this moment, the sun had risen, and the weather was clear and warm. After several consecutive days of overcast rain, the arrival of such sunny skies would surely lift one's spirits.
Wen Zhongyuan was in a good mood, a faint smile habitually gracing his lips. The one-browed abbot stood nearby, eyes barely open, displaying an image of frailty, as if at death's door. Yet, who knew how long he had lived, and how much longer he could live?
Wen Zhongyuan turned to glance at the one-browed abbot and said, "Abbot, you have chosen wrongly."
As a follower of Python Slaves and in opposition to those who aided the Dragon, when Wen Zhongyuan, a supporter of the Dragon, said the abbot had chosen wrongly, he was plainly referring to the matter of allegiances.
