This place was never large to begin with; two corners of the main hall had collapsed, and more than half of the side chambers were also in ruins.
Ironically, the Taoist temple's gate remained intact—awkwardly, aside from this gate, all the surrounding walls had fallen, leaving only a line of foundation.
That very gate stood, lonely and stubborn, isolated in its existence.
Even so, Qing Ruyan approached with what one might call "politeness," knocking on the door, intending to enter through the front.
After she knocked three or four times, an impatient voice finally sounded from inside, "Just come in."
Qing Ruyan, with utmost respect, pushed one side of the door open just a crack and slipped in with Chen Gu.
In front of the main hall stood an incense burner, over a meter tall, comically split in half as if someone had cleaved it with a single strike.
