The faint morning light grew brighter and brighter, so white it seemed to want to illuminate every dark corner in the world.
At the mountain peak, the time of decline had come for the jade orchids, their slightly wilted white petals lifted by the wind, then drifting slowly downward.
Xiao Song had just arrived in front of Yuncong Temple when he saw, under some withering willows, a young man in a pale wide-sleeved robe, his hair slightly disheveled with a few strands of dry grass sticking to his head, and his face and body covered in dust—an image of utter desolation.
The moment the young man saw Xiao Song, his fair face flushed with anger, and he hurried over to him, teeth clenched, saying, "Despicable villain!"
Xiao Song's eyes flickered darkly. Sang Chen, a scholar without the strength to truss a chicken, had managed to escape from his capable guards. Indeed, aside from a belly full of "Confucius says," he also had some brains.
