----

Shen Shizheng.

The horse's hooves ran like thunder, rushing through the mud.

Zhao Wujiang pulled the reins and slowed down.

He has arrived in Lanlin City.

Lanlin City has many ancient temples. Although there are few people, the world around the world seems to be covered with a layer of gray fog, and the fog is mixed with the scent of incense and candles.

The raindrops as big as beans hit the hat and straw raincoat, and the water droplets splattered into water mist.

In addition, the hour of You is approaching, heavy rain is not stopping, and the sky becomes darker, as if it is about to night.

Zhao Wujiang held the hat and narrowed his eyes slightly. Looking around, the mist between the sky and the earth was vast, like blue smoke, with a faint hint of strange light blue.

It's like coming to a wild tomb in the deserted village and entering the ghost world in the Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio.

Perhaps it was because the ancient temple was staggered in groups... Zhao Wujiang sighed, and golden light flowed in his eyes, and his momentum gradually became as strong as the sun.

The temple has always been a very magical and weird thing in Zhao Wujiang's mind.

As a firm materialist, the leader of nine years of compulsory education, and the successor of all-ism, although he was not feudal and superstitious, he was more or less abiding by ghosts and gods in his heart.

In his opinion, the temple is a place where ghosts and gods live.

Gods and Buddhas during the day, ghosts and monsters at night.

So sometimes he goes to burn incense and worship Buddha. When he goes there during the day, he is often reserved, but fearless and horrified.

But when it was dark, the Bodhisattvas and Arhats in the hall seemed to have lost their solemn appearance. The golden bodies seemed to be peering at the darkness of the palace.

It's more gloomy and weird.

As the heavy rain pours, the sound of chanting scriptures and ringing bells cannot be heard.

Zhao Wujiang followed the map route and bent around the east and west of Lanlin City. Finally, he found Lanruo Temple in the dark sky.

He turned over and dismounted, led the horse on the muddy path, and looked at the slightly dilapidated and gloomy ancient temple in front of him.

The surroundings were covered with weeds, over half a foot of horse's hooves. The ancient temple stood under the dark sky, and the sound of rain ticking, and the sound of monks chanting scriptures could be heard faintly.

The horse neighed and stamped its feet, like something in Lanruo Temple that made it afraid of.

"You can't stay in the rain all the time, right?" Zhao Wujiang rubbed the horse's head, and the horse's bangs looked even more messy, and he woke up.

"Don't be afraid." Zhao Wujiang gently pulled the reins again, and the horse reluctantly moved his hooves. He smiled gently:

"Can there be an ancient well in the ancient temple? Is there a Chu man in the well beautiful?

This is Lanruo Temple. Even if there are ghosts in Lanruo Temple, it is like Nie Xiaoqian.

White cuffs are fluttering and have a stunning appearance. As long as you are brave, it is not impossible..."

The horse couldn't understand what Zhao Wujiang was saying at all, so it stretched out the horse's face.

Zhao Wujiang came to the temple gate and knocked gently. The sound made a dull sound in the rain, alarming the flying crows in the woods around him.

After a while, the footsteps approached, the door bolts sounded softly, and the mottled red painted door was opened.

There was a little novice monk in a gray-blue monk's robe standing inside the door, holding a bronze oil lamp, the lights were weak and swaying slightly.

The little monk was puzzled:

"donor?"

“The rain is hard to measure and it is getting more and more heavy.

Now that night is approaching, I am going to pass by Guibao Temple and want to stay for a day or two. I wonder if the little master can do it."

Zhao Wujiang smiled warmly, which made people feel good. Without waiting for the little monk to answer, he gently pushed open the door and led the horse in and walked in:

"Thank you, my mercy, and the Buddha's blessing."

The little monk scratched his head, and his shallow and hard and dark hair was covered with fine small droplets of water.

"Give... donor, left, left." His thoughts seemed to be slowing down, and he came to his senses. He quickly put the door bolt, blocked the swaying candlelight in the raindrops with his hands, and followed quickly.

He was a little confused in his heart.

In the past, the pilgrims were all the simple and honest people nearby. Why did two donors with extraordinary temperament come one after another today?
Chapter completed!