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The sword-wielding war slave remembered meeting a monk by chance in a bamboo grove.
The monk extended a Buddhist salute toward him and smiled. "Amitabha. My name is Santong. I understand Buddhist scriptures, Daoist arts, and the human heart just a little."
The scene gradually faded and turned into a warm and gentle afternoon. A silver-haired girl in a white dress lightly spun once before the swordsman.
"Daoist Master, does this look good?"
He had forgotten how he had answered. The memory was far too vague; only scattered fragments flashed repeatedly, most of which featured the girl and the old monk.
The scene changed to him sitting in a great palace. With a heavy mood, he faced the sacred images of the Three Pure Ones.
"Qinglin, do you know what the word Qing in your Daoist name signifies? You are a sect master candidate. According to the Shu Sword Sect's rules, a sect master serves no more than two hundred years. Before long, I will hand this burden to you. In all matters, our sect's pure reputation must come first. You must not disgrace the forefathers."
"Yes, Sect Master. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
Because of his responsibilities, he never could bring himself to face the girl's heart.
***
Wang Sheng withdrew...
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