Wei Yuan reached out and gently stroked the yellowed paper, his movements light, as if afraid that a little too much force would completely shatter the paper in the erosion of those two thousand years.

The last move that his former mentor decided to destroy but never completed was the core of the Taiping Division, named the *Taiping Yaoshu* (Book of Great Peace), but it was also the most tragic and direct sword technique. When there was no peace in the world, it was the last means of resistance for ordinary people, a technique to sever the dragon veins.

Wei Yuan never thought that he would see this secret technique again nearly two thousand years later. Even though he had personally witnessed Zhang Jiao sever the dragon veins, he only learned the sword technique to sever the luck.

He didn't understand the truly complete technique of severing luck.

Later, during his last trip to Sakura Island, he taught it to the little Taoist A Xuan.

A Xuan used it to strike at the luck on Sakura Island, which was like a circling venomous snake. The luck overflowed and was swallowed by the Yamata no Orochi, transforming into the form of Xiang Liu. However, Wei Yuan's heart sank slightly when he thought of that terrifying and ferocious Ara-Mitama Xiang Liu. Xiang Liu's strength at this moment was extremely formidable. If he encountered it when he went to Sakura Island, it would be another fierce battle.

Wei Yuan raised his eyes and looked at the young monk in front of him.

He had encountered him several times in a row. The first time, he only felt that this was a monk who was willing to lend a helping hand to others. But now, in their second encounter, the other party had even taken out a fragment of the *Taiping Yaoshu*. Wei Yuan keenly sensed Dao Yan's special nature.

The young monk's expression was calm, he extended his hand, and his voice was even, saying:

"Museum Director Wei, please feel free."

He saw the strange phenomenon just now.

When Wei Yuan touched this piece of yellowed paper, a flowing divine charm overflowed from the places where his fingers made contact.

Wei Yuan slowly withdrew his gaze.

This place was a museum.

Although he had already seen that the young monk in front of him harbored secrets that might be detrimental to him.

Wei Yuan still closed his eyes calmly.

His fingers slightly clenched, and the strands of Qi and spiritual rhyme intertwined like snakes. Wei Yuan closed his eyes, and scenes appeared before him -

Thousands of years collapsed into quicksand, flowing away from the present world.

The surrounding scenery suddenly changed.

Wei Yuan was still sitting here, but in front of him was no longer the young monk. The surrounding museum seemed to have turned into a simple building that felt rough, and the more distant buildings had turned into a blurred background.

Wei Yuan saw in front of him, the no longer young Taiping Taoist reaching out and pressing on the shoulder of the young disciple beside him, looking at the distant fragments of the Taoist scriptures, his eyes were complex, and finally he just sighed softly that the mandate of heaven was like this. Wei Yuan's heart stung slightly, seeing Zhang Jiao so close in front of him, he almost subconsciously reached out his hand.

But this extremely clear picture, the teacher, the former self, the place where he once lived so truly.

All of it collapsed and disappeared in an instant, turning into fine sand with the luster of amber years, disappearing between his fingers. This was the last afterglow of the Yellow Turbans of the Three Kingdoms, and also the earliest and most profound "memory" in this fragment of the *Taiping Yaoshu*.

Immediately, the true spirit aura in this fragment of the *Yaoshu* completely unfolded before Wei Yuan's eyes.

………………

When Wei Yuan closed his eyes, Dao Yan opened his eyes and looked at the young museum director in front of him.

Yes, very young.

But this was not something incomprehensible.

Because after he had lived for more than six hundred years, he was also so young, even younger than the museum director in front of him. Being able to make this scroll recording the method of severing the dragon veins react, it seemed that he was indeed the doctor from back then.

Dao Yan thought of his past experiences, his expression complex.

His family had practiced medicine for generations and had a slight reputation in the Jiangnan area. As the嫡zi (legitimate son), he naturally had to inherit the medical skills and the medical hall. This was a family business with many years of reputation, but he didn't like those boring medical skills. Instead, he liked Taoists, Buddhas, and those legendary but absurd stories of wild foxes seeking enlightenment and tigers meditating.

His father had been angry about this more than once.

The elegant and gentle doctor in the eyes of outsiders, was so angry that he said:

"If you are unwilling to learn medicine and let the medical skills of our ancestors be lost, I will pretend that I don't have a son like you!"

"I, I, I, I'll have another one!"

The young Dao Yan also had a stubborn temper, saying:

"Then I don't have a father like you."

"If you have the ability to give birth, then go ahead and give birth!"

"You, you, you, you unfilial son, you're asking for a beating..."

The doctor, who had a son in middle age, was extremely angry. Although there were no Seven Wolves back then, some feelings were the same. He directly picked up a bamboo pole and was about to hit him.

Relatively speaking, in that era, doctors' children definitely received more beatings.

After all, ordinary families were afraid of beating their sons badly.

But doctors were extremely experienced and knew how to hit accurately, knowing where to hit these little brats to make them hurt without leaving any problems. Most importantly, the family was a doctor, so after the beating, they would treat the injuries. It was really a case of beating them to death as long as they didn't die.

What, are we short of your two *jin* of medicine?

Just when the child thought it was going to be another severe beating, the bamboo branch did not fall for a long time.

A young man in a blue shirt stopped the doctor.

When Dao Yan cautiously opened his eyes, he saw that doctor for the first time.

At that time, Yuan was temporarily living in the family's medical hall, knowledgeable and was called "Sir".

His age was unknown, and his origin was unknown.

Only his medical skills were almost divine.

He seemed to be in his thirties, seemed younger, and seemed older.

But Dao Yan grew from a young child to a tall youth, that Yuan remained in his thirties. It was this Yuan who allowed him to get rid of the fate of being a doctor one year in advance, so that he had the magnificent experience that followed.

But it was also he who made him lose his destined fate.

Dao Yan's heart was complex, as one could imagine.

With a sigh, Dao Yan came back to his senses, staring at the museum director in front of him.

The other party was so defenseless at the moment. He mocked himself in his heart. Even that Yuan, who claimed to have no past and no memory, could not have been so naive and scheming, unable to see that he had secrets, and actually closed his eyes and meditated so peacefully.

Wasn't he afraid that Dao Yan would suddenly attack and directly take his life?

Foolish!

Could it be that he had become slack over the past few hundred years?

Dao Yan didn't know why, but an extremely complex anger rose up, instead of an opportunity to strike. He tapped the table with his fingers, and a chopstick was controlled. This was a profound method of Taoist sword cultivators using Qi to control swords. Buddhist monks with a profound realm like him could also do it, but not with skill, but by using a force of Qi to drive it.

The chopstick went straight for Wei Yuan's brow.

Suddenly,

Two slender white fingers clamped the chopstick.

The young monk was stunned.

Looking up slightly, a girl with a clear and peaceful temperament appeared on one side at some point. Her ponytail was smooth, and there were red hair ties mixed in the long hair at her temples. In that peace, there was a solemn and ethereal quality like a goddess. One hand clamped the chopstick, and the other hand held a scroll of books behind her back, her voice cold.

"Is the little monk a guest?"

With a flick of her finger.

The chopstick flew back, and a clear breeze circulated, hitting Dao Yan's brow.

Then it landed steadily in its original position.

What a profound wind manipulation technique!

Dao Yan was instantly vigilant.

While being wary, he also had a feeling of sudden realization, staring at Wei Yuan -

Was it because this woman was here that the Yuan, who was extremely calm and cautious after experiencing something, and had many backup plans, would be at ease and close his eyes in front of him to study this thing?

To actually trust someone so much.

However…

A strange look flashed in the young monk's eyes.

How is this possible?!

Is this still Sir Yuan…?

In an instant, he even had the illusion that he had found the wrong person.

Jiangnan Suzhou was naturally a prosperous place.

And the water towns of Jiangnan had many beauties.

Yuan, the learned, elegant, and refined doctor of the Yao Family's Huichun Hall, naturally had many admirers.

People who came to propose marriage broke down the threshold. Some people had heard of the story of Pan An being pelted with fruit. Back then, there were indeed women who plucked up the courage to throw fruit at that Yuan. However, it always benefited the gluttonous little monk at that time. Who knew how many handkerchiefs those young ladies tore up when they saw Yuan smile gently and pick up the fruit, only to feed it to the little monk when he returned.

There were even courtesans who came to consult and emptied their wallets to reserve the medical hall, temporarily inviting everyone else out, shyly, learning from the Tang Dynasty woman Xue Tao's *Huanhua Jian*, using the rare fresh petals of the time to dye the letter paper, writing a poem with hidden characters in a beautiful script. At that time, it went crazy in the workshops. Even Dao Yan, the little monk, knew that the drunkard's intention was not in the wine.

And the result?

That Yuan could actually write a full three pages of medicinal materials.

He directly ignored the hidden character poem on the colored paper made of who knows how many petals.

And he told the woman to pay attention to her health and not stay up late, so as not to age prematurely.

Such a Yuan actually found such a woman in the present world?

After the initial difference, the mood that emerged in the second instant was disbelief and the feeling of relief after the six-hundred-year-old doubts were resolved, as well as a certain emotion that had accumulated for six hundred years, similar to the relief after the question of "when will Mr. Wei marry himself off" was resolved.

This was a six-hundred-year-old obsessive-compulsive disorder, that kind of relief could not be explained to outsiders.

He put his hands together and said silently:

"All conditioned dharmas are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows, like dew and lightning."

"Unpredictable and immeasurable."

Before this, Dao Yan had dealt with Wei Yuan several times. It wasn't the first time he had seen him. He had been interrupted several times when he came here, so there wasn't much hostility left in his heart. Seeing the unfathomable girl, he simply drank tea peacefully.

He said to Yuanjue next to him:

"This poor monk suddenly feels that perhaps the Buddha really exists."

He sighed and muttered silently.

Even Mr. Yuan had a confidante.

It wasn't unbelievable that the Buddha was still alive.

Yuanjue was stunned, then put his hands together and said seriously: "There is no Buddha in the world."

Dao Yan: "…………"

This poor monk was just joking.

He saw Jue sitting next to Wei Yuan, quietly reading a volume of the Book of Songs. The monk next to him was chattering endlessly about how there were no Buddhas or gods in the world, and everything depended on oneself; the water ghost in a tailcoat had a hot towel in one hand and a tray in the other, his movements elegant, with a black happy water in a goblet.

There also seemed to be a battle spirit diligently practicing drawing his sword and a paper doll and red embroidered shoes playing games.

The young monk fell silent.

Goddesses and ghosts coexisted, Buddhist monks and resentful ghosts lived together.

This was almost synonymous with chaos and disorder.

Amitabha,

Dao Yan twitched at the corner of his eye.

What exactly is this place?!!

And at this time, Wei Yuan also saw something he had not expected -

That was the incident entrusted by Zhurong.

ps: Today's first update…………