South Sea, Taiping Mountain.
A young Daoist appeared at the entrance of the ticket office.
He was wearing a cyan Daoist robe and cloth shoes, with his ankles exposed.
His long hair was casually tied at the back of his head, with a few loose strands falling on either side of his cheeks.
His face bore a sleepy laziness, giving off an overall laid-back vibe.
His name was Zhang Xiaoyi, the only disciple of Shu Mountain Daoist Temple.
Zhang Xiaoyi looked at the plaque on the high stone gate, inscribed with: Qingfeng Temple.
As for the stone bearing the name of Shu Mountain Daoist Temple, it was thrown into a corner like garbage.
With a grim expression, Zhang Xiaoyi walked into the Daoist temple.
"Hey, hey, hey? Stop, I'm talking about you, Daoist!"
The gatekeeper stopped him, looking Zhang Xiaoyi up and down suspiciously:
"Don't think you can enter the temple just because you're a Daoist, you need to buy a ticket."
Zhang Xiaoyi held back his anger:
