We Agreed On Experiencing Life, So Why Did You Immortals Become Real?

No one knew how long passed before Xiao Mo finally spoke slowly.

His voice was not loud, but every word was like a heavy mountain stone, pressing down on Tushan Jingci’s heart one after another.

“This humble monk has always only regarded Miss Jingci as a friend. In my heart... there is no love.”

When his words fell, Xiao Mo stepped forward and walked up Mount Sikong without looking back again.

The woman stood there blankly, unmoving, like a statue that had lost its soul.

No one knew how long she stood there.

RUMBLE...

Above the firmament, dark clouds gradually gathered, pressing heavily downward and covering the last trace of sunlight.

Rain poured down in torrents. Raindrops struck the leaves, soaked the earth, and drenched that plain white dress.

...

“It’s raining! It’s raining!”

Inside Sikong Temple, the young monk Xujing, who had still been sweeping with his head lowered, hugged a Buddhist scripture in one hand and gripped a broom in the other as he hurried toward the eaves of the great hall.

But because he failed to watch his step, Xujing ran headfirst into someone.

“Abbot...” Xujing quickly steadied himself and bowed properly. “Were you not annotating scripture? Why did you come out?”

“Can this old monk not come out for some air?” Master Yuankong smiled and lightly tapped Xujing on his smooth little head. Then he raised his head and looked at the curtain of rain pouring down from the vast firmament.

“Grandpa Abbot...” Xujing lifted his face and asked with curiosity all over it, “Just now, there wasn’t a cloud for ten thousand li, and everything was perfectly fine. Why did such heavy rain suddenly start falling?”

“Because...” Yuankong sighed softly, his tone distant and desolate. “This is the Buddhist Way lamenting.”

“Lamenting?” Xujing scratched his smooth little head, his face full of confusion. “Lamenting what? Grandpa Abbot, why are you always so vague when you speak? I don’t understand any of it.”

Listening to his young disciple’s bellyful of complaints, Yuankong did not grow angry. He merely asked calmly, “Xujing, let me ask you—the ten precepts of the Buddhist school. What are they?”

“This disciple does know that much.” Xujing seriously counted on his fingers as he recited, “Do not kill. Do not steal. Do not engage in sexual acts. Do not speak falsehoods. Do not drink alcohol. Do not wear adornments. Do not sing or dance, nor watch or listen to such entertainments. Do not sit or lie on high, wide beds. Do not eat at improper times. Do not hoard gold, silver, or treasures.”

“That is correct.” Yuankong nodded, his gaze still fixed on the rain pouring across the sky.

“And this Buddhist Way...”

He paused. His voice drifted leisurely into the sound of wind and rain, carrying a few traces of a sigh.

“Is lamenting...”

“Lamenting that a monk with limitless prospects in the Buddhist Way, a monk who had always strictly upheld the precepts, in the end still... broke one of them...”