Zhang Yangping's feet stirred the wind as he sped along, gliding over the forest like a celestial being riding the clouds.
While the Great Zen Temple had agreed not to pursue him, there was no guarantee they weren't playing word games. If not the monks from the Great Zen Temple, what of the people from Northern Zhou? Never underestimate them, thinking the monastic order wouldn't lie; the Buddhist art of honeyed tongues can speak false truths with genuine words.
It is said there are two kinds of men whose words cannot be trusted: unfaithful men and monks.
Zhang Yangping deeply agreed with this sentiment, being a Taoist himself, he had experienced the prowess of numerous monks.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, his pace quickened even more.
However, unbeknownst to him, he found himself straying first into isolation, and then into an unnamed valley.
The first half of the valley was desolate, but after a turn, there appeared a quiet and vibrant green space.
