「Outside Anyang City, Zixia Temple.」
In a side hall, the air was thick with incense.
An old Daoist in a purple robe sat cross-legged on a zafu. With a ruddy complexion, a youthful face, and crane-white hair, his gaze was placid. He looked just like an enlightened master, exuding an air of otherworldly sagacity.
"Master, this truly has nothing to do with us! You know yourself that Purple Mist Mountain is full of deep ravines and gullies. Junior Brother Chu Yun wasn't right in the head before. It's completely plausible that he could have lost his footing and fallen from a cliff."
"Why would we possibly harm Junior Brother Chu Yun for no reason..."
"He was just a fool. Who would go out of their way to hurt him?"
Before the purple-robed old Daoist stood several disciples, dressed in Daoist robes with their hair tied in Daoist buns, all of them looking deeply uneasy.
One of them, a Daoist named Fei Luo, argued vehemently, a note of indignation in his voice.
