glanced at the big monk on the night of the funeral, and always felt that something was wrong, even if it looked different, but the eyes were the same as Wang Xiaosong.

If you have nothing to do, there must be a ghost in the middle.

"Monk, ......"

"Can you change your name? I always feel like you're scolding me. ”

"Aren't you a monk?"

Great Monk: "......"

"It's an eventful time, and I'm busy, next time! ”

"This matter is very important, I can't afford to wait!"

"Then you get busy first, I won't bother!" said Funeral Night, about to slap his ass and leave.

Just kidding, what kind of cultivation does the great monk have? Can it be easy for him to do something that even he finds tricky?

Don't go!

Last time, the blind cat met the dead mouse and stepped on the spot, but not always lucky, the funeral night is self-aware.

"The poor monk really wants to kill someone now!"

The great monk looked at the funeral night, his face was very calm, and he felt that he was talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

But his eyes flowed with murderous intent, and it was very intense!

It's not pretending, it's not a joke, the big monk's eyes are really murderous, and you can feel it on the night of the funeral.

"Poor monks are rarely serious, and they rarely ask for help, but this time...... I hope you can help me!"

For some reason, the great monk compromised, and the murderous intent in his eyes disappeared.

He's kind, he's funny, he's friendly, he's talkative.

This is the great monk who is familiar on the night of the funeral, and this is the great monk who shares the suffering with him.

The rivers and lakes have changed.

Is there something else hidden? Is there anything else that means?

Funeral Night didn't know, but he felt it wouldn't be that simple.

"I beg your pardon, there are some things that the poor monk can't say right now. If you are still a poor monk and it is your friend, or a friend you can make, please help. If you feel that the poor monk is not qualified to be your friend, and you don't want to make a friend of the poor monk, then ...... Let's go! The poor monk will not stop you!"

He didn't say anything on the funeral night, he kept observing, every word and even every expression of the great monk, he saw it in the funeral night.

If it's just a simple threat, then I'm sorry, I don't care who you are!

But if it's a friend and talks about feelings, then the funeral night is very difficult.

Because of his friend...... Not much in itself!

"Is it dangerous?" he asked after a moment's thought.

The great monk nodded: "Danger, you may have to face a few undercurrents, not a gang on the surface of the rivers and lakes, nor a master on the leaderboard, but it may be more dangerous, they are killers hidden in the dark!"

"That is...... We're going to die, maybe we're going to die?"

The great monk nodded again, and at the same time stated his position: "Even if it will die, the poor monk will fight for it." ”

Funeral Night smiled: "It seems that we are not all the way, we have met once, I wish you success!"

The funeral night was gone, and he walked very simply, not dragging mud and water at all.

His back is very resolute and clean, and even if he leaves, he will not take away a little dust.

The great monk stood in place for a long, long time, looking into the distance for a long, long time, turning bone beads in his hands and reciting scriptures in his mouth.

He's cursing.

"Amitabha, since the fate is exhausted, you can't force it!, then disperse!" The great monk slowly turned around and walked in the other direction.

Ziyun Mountain is located in the hinterland of the deep mountains, shrouded in fog all year round, and is a branch of the 100,000-mile barren mountain.

Some people also say that Ziyun Mountain is a cloud mountain, or a mountain floating in the void, it has no fixed position, it is always moving, always changing.

But whether the rumors are true or not, not many people know the inside story.

Recently, an undercurrent has been flowing on the seemingly calm rivers and lakes, including the great monk.

On the surface, there are no waves, no ups and downs, everything is calm, like pastoral life.

They are mixed in the crowd, maybe they are novices, maybe they are the rich second generation of Sao Bao, maybe they are down-and-out scholars, or they are emotionally amnesiac.

In short, you can't see how special they are, just like the great monk or Wang Xiaosong!

The tea shed is the scenery of the road and the embellishment of chivalrous.

The old storyteller carried the erhu, played the song that belonged to the rivers and lakes, drank the tea that belonged to the rivers and lakes, and heard the stories that belonged to the rivers and lakes.

He knows people who many people don't know, or walks on roads that many people haven't set foot in.

This is a special group of people, people who wander between happiness and hatred and the secrets of the rivers and lakes, and they are also the people with the most stories.

The great monk put some broken silver on the table, pushed it in front of the old man, and then served a cup of steaming bitter tea.

When he has nothing to do, he likes to listen to music, likes to listen to rivers and lakes, likes to drink bitter tea, basks in the sun, and enjoys this rare Qingning.

Gradually, the song ended, the tea cooled, and the great monk shook his head and sighed.

The old man stared into the distance, staring at the mountains, as if he wanted to say something, but as if he had nothing to say.

After being silent for a long time, the old man stretched out his hand and pointed to the sheep intestine trail in the distance, "Let's get on the road! ”

"Amitabha!" the great monk got up, folded his hands, bent slightly, and walked towards the road ahead.

It didn't take long for an old Taoist to come to the tea shed, like a great monk, put some broken silver and bitter tea, close his eyes, bask in the sun, and listen to a little song.

After the end of the song, the old man also showed him a way, but not the one of the great monks.

"Immeasurable Heavenly Venerable!" Old Dao got up, made a salute, and then set out on the road.

There are many, many such people, including monks, Taoist priests, scholars, wealthy merchants, and tenant farmers.

There are men, and there are women.

Every road is different, and every song is different.

The only thing they have in common is that they will all come to drink tea, they will all come to listen to music, and they will all follow the path guided by the old man.

Gradually, there were fewer people, the tea was gone, and the surroundings were quiet.

The old man put away his erhu and planned to leave.

Suddenly, a flying knife passed through the tea shed, smashed the teapot, and landed on the top beam.

The tail of the knife was tied with a red scarf, as bright red as blood.

It floated before the old man's eyes, as if it were the focus of fate, and like a robber in the way.

The owner of the tea shed was standing in the back, carrying a pot of tea in his hand, and the mouth of the pot was steaming white, which should be hot tea that had just been baked.

Bang dang!

The teapot fell to the ground, and the hot tea splashed everywhere, staining the feet of the owner of the tea shed, but he didn't cry out in pain, and he didn't have any expression.

He stared into the distance like a wooden man, staring at the group of people who were approaching.

"Time, life!"

The old man sighed lightly, then sat down on the bench next to him, played the erhu, and played a low and negative tune.

The music is not melodious, nor is it beautiful. Like a resentful woman in the depths, and like an unjust prisoner in a cage.

There was no flying knife in the old man's eyes, no oppression, only the erhu in his hand and the music played by the erhu.

The people who came were also quiet, very serious, without hustle and bustle, and acted in an orderly manner, as if they were very cultivated.

They sat on empty seats in the tea shed, closed their eyes, and listened to the music.

No noise, no noise, no joy or anger.

But their arrival was as thick as a dark cloud and as heavy as a dead mountain.

(End of chapter)