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Beyond the San Francisco Mountains stood the ruins of an indigenous temple. Its architectural style was entirely different from Western temples. It had a trapezoidal base with a square shrine sitting at the very top.
At present, this ancient temple site had been converted by the Western Daoist Order into a temporary stronghold, gathering a considerable number of personnel.
Inside the temple were numerous murals recording the history and mythological legends of the indigenous people.
A man stood there holding a lantern, studying the murals while softly reciting a poem.
From Dongwu, I gaze toward Yuhang.
The sea of clouds in the distant skies, boundless and vague.
When shall merit be fulfilled and fame attained, so I may return home?
How I yearn to drink and laugh with you endlessly,
Without the need to speak of parting cups.
Such drinks lay in a different sorrow.
Tonight, I send you off under the cold light by the river pond.
Shedding tears, though bearing another name.
The man was tall and powerfully built, with Eastern features and attire. His appearance...
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