Cyan Mountain Daoist Temple. The courtyard was silent.
Qi Yun sat cross-legged beneath the dead, old tree. The stone slab beneath him was cold. His eyes were downcast, his gaze fixed on a spot not far in front of him.
There, two tiny ants moved tirelessly across a miniature landscape of "mountains and rivers."
Two months had passed since the day he had treated Qian Xin Master's old ox, resolving the karmic crisis of Nine Kings Mountain.
In those two months, Qi Yun had not performed a single Circulation, not absorbed a single wisp of Heaven and Earth Primordial Qi, not read a single Jade Scroll recording a Daoist Skill.
He just sat there day after day, as if he had become one of the courtyard's unyielding stones, a piece of dead wood.
He used this tedious meditation to forcibly suppress and settle the increasingly turbulent and restless feelings in his heart.
'It's been too easy.'
