"To bake sweet potatoes deliciously, you should wrap the outside of the sweet potatoes in a layer of grass husk!"

Ye Bufan's voice sounded leisurely in the clearing outside the forest, and his tone sounded with a little sigh, as if he had met someone to bake potatoes on the fire here, but because of the waste of things, he couldn't help but give advice, don't lose the innocent and wild fun of baking potatoes in the quiet night breeze.

Ye Bufan walked unhurriedly in the red firelight, as if because after coming out of the darkness, he was not used to the light for a while, he squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly.

Only he knew that it was to hide the warm heat that gushed from the bottom of his heart in his eyes.

Jing Lian neither shouted nor was she at a loss, and when she suddenly saw a strange monk on this deep, quiet night, he still looked so lazy and relaxed. However, he kept staring at Ye Bufan with curiosity in his eyes, and immediately took away the purple-skinned sweet potato that had been roasted by the fire.

Zen Buddhism is the practice of the most important mind, and as a line of tantric teachings, because it needs to distinguish between good and evil and protect good deeds, the Zen mind is particularly sensitive to the thoughts of good and evil. Jinglian had long sensed that there were monks in the woods spying on her, but her Zen heart was not led by evil thoughts to cause a trace of vigilance and fluctuation.

On the contrary, what made him strange was that he felt a kind of licking calf that came from the same blood as the master.

His parents died early, and he didn't hear of the existence of relatives, there were no monks in Middle-earth Divine Prefecture at all, and today was also the first time he had left the realm of mortals, so Jinglian was very strange, why would there be a monk who had a calf licking for him.

After watching the calm monk bypass the fire, he naturally sat cross-legged beside him, that calm and natural, like pushing open the door of his best friend's house, taking off his shoes and getting on the kang without saying a word, waiting for his best friend to put on the dining table, serving the meal, serving tea and wine.

This situation seems abrupt, but it is also very sincere.

The first time Jing Lian left the mortal world, the first thing he came into contact with was the Tiancang Sect, with his childish sensitivity, the disciples of the Tiancang Sect were alienated and arrogant from outsiders. He always responded with a smile, but his heart was extremely awkward.

Otherwise, why would you go out for a walk and see the scenery after dark?

He liked this feeling very much, and when he saw the monk sitting down peacefully, he happily handed over the heavy branch in his hand.

"It's all baked, can you take a look?"

Ye Bufan took the slender branch wearing three purple-skinned sweet potatoes, picked the already hard and crispy crust on the sweet potato, looked at the holes pierced by the branches, and shook his head with some regret.

Jing Lian smiled shyly: "I used to roast like this. ”

Ye Bufan smiled innocently, looked at the expression of some chagrin on Jing Lian's beautiful face, his eyes were hot again, and an overlapping figure appeared in his eyes.

He looked down left and right in disguise, and was lucky to see a core grass not far away, stretching its wide leaves and growing in a narrow stone crevice.

Ye Bufan leaned out, stretched out his hand and pulled out the whole core grass, held this large core grass, shook it at Jinglian, and said mysteriously, "Actually, you shouldn't use branches to bake sweet potatoes." ”

Jing Lian looked at the curly grass with many wide leaves, and with a Zen thought, she impatiently took out three purple-skinned sweet potatoes with large skin and some tender fibrous roots from the ring beads on her wrist.

Ye Bufan curiously glanced at the string of secluded and simple Canaan wood ring beads on Jinglian's wrist. took the three large sweet potatoes, and without saying more, he began to concentrate on fiddling with three small purple-skinned sweet potatoes.

Carefully wrapping the purple-skinned sweet potato with the broad leaves of the curly grass, Ye Bufan stood up again, and on the ground not far away, he used a dead branch to pluck the leaves and dig out a piece of damp soil underneath.

Back at the campfire, Ye Bufan's hand reached into his shirt, and when he pulled it out, he held a small blue-patterned porcelain vase, which was the bottle of the strongest taste of bad wine he bought in the shop on Heqian Street.

After spreading out the widest blade of grass and placing the damp piece of soil, Ye Bufan carefully began to pour bad wine on the soil.

A spicy smell of wine was forced by the heat of the bonfire to overflow in an instant, and Ye Bufan slowly used his fingers to grasp the damp soil into a puddle of mud with a strong smell of wine.

Jing Lian was agitated by the smell of wine, and in an instant, her face was slightly dizzy, her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes looked at Ye Bufan more clearly, and her heart became more and more curious.

At first glance, this monk was sincere and bold, but after a closer look, Jinglian had an extremely close and mundane atmosphere.

With thick eyebrows and big eyes, a straight nose and a wide mouth, looking at the side face of Jinglian, there is a very thoughtful face, with the unique calmness of a middle-aged man when he does not say a word, but he has the simplicity and honesty that only a country farmer can have, but when he turned his head by chance, the two crossed scars on the right cheek protruded and spread, looking extremely ruthless and hideous.

The contrast between the left and right sides of the face is strong, forming a positive face, giving people the impression that good and evil are difficult to understand.

Now that no one was around the monk fiddling with sweet potatoes, Jing Lian could finally look at the hideous scars on the monk's face without shying away.

After a few careful observations, Jing Lian found that the two scars on the monk's face, starting from the tip of his forehead and ending at the bottom of his jaw, were crooked and distorted, forming a clear figure that seemed to be a scimitar.

This is not an unintentional scar cut by some sharp weapon at all!

Jing Lian lowered her head and recalled the many anecdotes she had read. After a few breaths, his heart was filled with wordless compassion.

The scar on this monk's face should be a very old blood oath that has been passed down in the mortal world.

With this blood oath, the dearest relatives will inevitably be changed.

Jinglian's right hand is lowered, her hand is pinching the Zen seal of King Ren, and her Zen heart is sad to seek the Pure Land, and she is silently reciting the Sutra of Reincarnation in vain.

Ye Bufan didn't know anything about this, and after he grabbed the thin mud, he carefully smeared the thin mud with the smell of wine on the purple-skinned sweet potato wrapped in the core grass leaves.

Putting aside the red carbon scattered by the bonfire, Ye Bufan threw the purple-skinned sweet potato into the fiery red carbon fire, and in an instant a smell of wine overflowed, Ye Bufan clapped his hands, rubbed off the wet mud that was already some dry on his hands, turned his head to look at Jinglian, who was slightly drunk, raised his eyebrows, and showed a playful smile.

The first time I took my son to bake sweet potatoes, the scene at that time was very similar to now.

Tantra rarely transforms the deceased and is grateful for the living. Jinglian is just out of nature, and he is very fond of the closeness of this monk, so he has compassion to meditate the reincarnation Sutra, but he has not empathized with the changes of his loved ones, and he is a young man who does not know the sorrow of the pure heart. Looking at the extremely playful smile on Ye Bufan's face, the compassion in his heart was washed away without a trace in an instant. His dark eyes gleamed in the light of the fire, and he looked at the three lumps of mud in the charcoal fire with novelty, and immediately understood that it was true that branches should not be used for baking sweet potatoes.

Having no teacher, he picked up another abandoned branch beside him, carefully plucked some scattered red carbon, and tightly covered the three purple-skinned sweet potatoes wrapped in mud and grass husks.

He covered the three mud lumps, and his heart was even more curious, with his perception of the Tiancang Sect Master and disciples on this day, he could not imagine that there would be a monk who was so "unprofessional" and proficient in roasting purple-skinned sweet potatoes.

Seeing that the middle-aged monk was silent, with a look of happiness and satisfaction on his face, he stretched his waist for a long time, as if he was about to get up and leave, Jinglian's heart suddenly swelled with strong reluctance, and she felt that if she was let go like this, maybe there would be no possibility of seeing each other again in the future.

With her hands folded and bowed, Jing Lian asked anxiously, "Which sect is the senior monk from?"

Ye Bufan did have the intention of leaving, although the young guy next to him and his son Ye Tian's face looked like they were from the same mold, but after all, he was a stranger, his recklessness just now was not mistaken for ill intentions, and he got along so well, Ye Bufan really felt very satisfied, and he thought that he had a dream that could wake up with a smile.

But even if it is a beautiful dream, there is a time to wake up.

However, hearing the question from this young man who didn't look like a mortal and didn't look like a monk, Ye Bufan fainted his mind to leave again.

"Sect?" Ye Bufan smiled and pointed to the emblem on his shirt, "I am a servant of the Ouyang family. ”

"Senior, what is the servant offering?" asked Jinglian with a confused expression. Although he knew a lot of common knowledge about the monks, he had never heard of servant worship.

Being called by the seniors one by one, thinking about his cultivation and identity, Ye Bufan twisted his body a little awkwardly,

"Don't call me a senior, how can I be called a senior's cultivation" Ye Bufan's face was a little astringent, "The servant apprentice is a wild cultivator recruited by the family." ”

After speaking, Ye Bufan looked at Jing Lian very strangely, making sure that he was not a monk, because no monk would ask such a question.

Jing Lian let out an "oh", her face still had that very interested expression, and when she heard Ye Bufan's somewhat self-deprecating answer, she said as a matter of course: "Ye Xiu is very good! ”

Ye Bufan couldn't cry or laugh, he was a little moved in his heart, and waved his hand; "You still don't call me senior, it sounds awkward, my name is Ye Bufan, you can call me Brother Ye, and I'm also very happy to call me Brother Ye." ”

This kind of Zhongzhou Xing, who is respected as a cultivator, already has an obvious secular atmosphere, and the reason why Ye Bufan said this is because he had a flash of inspiration just now, and he thought of a sentence with some enthusiasm,

"My sister-in-law is my mother, and my eldest brother is like my father. ”

This kind of mundane aura happens to have a great attraction to Jinglian.

"Brother Ye!" Jinglian shouted happily.

Ye Bufan nodded heavily, rubbing his big hands against each other, and his eyes were hot again for a while.

He lowered his head in disguise and picked up the dead branches on the ground and gathered the carbon fire covered with purple sweet potatoes, and said with a somewhat hoarse voice: "You recognize me as Brother Ye, I should know what to call you this little brother." ”

"My name is Jinglian, and I am a Zen monk from Houtu City. ”