On the ancient road of Qingzhou, a hundred years of vicissitudes had passed, and withered leaves littered the roadside. A sharp, cold wind blew, carrying the leaves toward the end of the pitch-black ancient road. Deep within the ancient road, a donkey cart slowly approached. The donkey was so emaciated that only skin and bones remained, its head drooping listlessly.

The donkey cart moved sluggishly, accompanied by a man walking beside it. Long hair covered half his face, but one could still see a fierce, greenish birthmark stretching from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. He carried a long bundle on his back, and with each step the man took, the bundle swayed slightly. The bundle seemed to have become part of the man’s body.

The cold wind carried withered leaves as it struck, blowing open the curtain covering the donkey cart. Behind the curtain appeared the face of a woman in her thirties, her expression haggard. Beside her was actually a four-chi red coffin. The red coffin emanated wisps of cold air, causing the woman to shiver involuntarily, but she still gritted her teeth and persevered.

The man glanced inside the cart and said in a low voice, “It should be just ahead. I remember there’s a Floating Cloud Temple.”

The woman didn’t raise her head, her eyes fixed tightly on the red coffin. She replied, “Alright, I’ll listen to you.”

The curtain fell back down, and the red coffin and woman disappeared behind it.

After the donkey cart passed, the man suddenly stopped and looked toward a grove of withered trees on the left, his gaze bursting with an oppressive, cold, and chilling intensity. After staring for a moment, a confused expression appeared in the man’s eyes, and he caught up with the donkey cart.

Shortly after the man left, someone suddenly emerged from beneath the thick layer of withered leaves on the ground. His eyes flickered with a bewildering light. He stared coldly in the direction where the man had disappeared, his lips curling into a bone-chilling smile. He murmured, “Die, all of you die, hehehehe—”

In the mountains lives an immortal whose face none know, beneath the floating clouds he sits in silent meditation.

Before Floating Cloud Temple in Fuyao Mountain stood the smiling temple master Kong Yuzi. As the man and donkey cart gradually approached, Kong Yuzi swept his whisk and said, “For Warrior Meng to step upon this golden sunset again, Kong Yuzi is deeply honored.”