The evening sun, casting its light on Linghe Temple, appeared both gentle and cold.
A gentle breeze blew.
The monk's robe was swaying lightly in the breeze before him.
An Ning almost couldn't remember the first time she saw him, and in this moment, his image was clear again.
Her nose tingled with bitterness.
Her eyes were already red and teary.
Her throat choked with emotion.
Yet when she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm.
She said, "Gu Xingchuan."
There was no doubt, it was him.
The monk was currently lowering his head, drawing water.
His slow and fluid motions became noticeably stiff upon hearing her voice.
After a while, he seemed carefree again.
He did not respond.
Nor did he acknowledge or deny it.
"Why did you come here?" An Ning asked him, standing behind him.
It seemed she did not require his answer, she had already confirmed his identity.
The monk finally managed to fill two buckets of water.
Just as he was about to leave with the two buckets,
