On the second day after the Nirvana of the Arhat Miao Shan.
The sky was filled with a sweeping snowstorm across the Snowfield, the cold biting to the bone.
A barefoot figure advanced swiftly across the snow, his robe fluttering wildly in the icy wind.
It was Wuxiang Head Monk, who had received the news while wandering outside, hurrying back day and night.
Inside the grand hall.
Wuxiang paused before the altar, his eyes filled with reflection and solemnity, bowing deeply with a sincere gesture.
"Disciple Wuxiang, here to bid farewell to uncle-master."
Standing quietly on one side was Chen Sheng, serene and dignified, nodding slightly.
Wuxiang had lost his mentoring master at a young age and never formally established a master-disciple relationship with Arhat Miao Shan, but constant companionship, guidance, and care had long equaled that of master and disciple.
"Brother need not be deeply mired in grief."
