So that morning, Ou Yangrong, with his sharp and critical gaze, took a taxi to Donglin Temple. When he arrived, he saw, "Goodness gracious! Not only was Mo Daojun early, but there were even people earlier than him. The queue of worshippers stretched all the way down the mountain. Ahead of him were mostly people his age, huddled in the cold wind, scrolling through their phones.",And a white silk cloth wrapped around her forehead in a circle, like a headband, covered a rather sizable wound. It still throbbed with pain at times.,His face lit up, he wiped his face fiercely, 'spat' out two mouthfuls of muddy water, and started scrambling up the rope, ignoring his image.。