Three days later, a stone tower was completed on a high slope outside Bansheng City.

The tower body is made of piles of white stone slabs of uneven thickness, with a rough feeling of edges and corners. It looks like a tomb made of books at close range, and from a distance, it looks like a peeled steamed bun.

This is on the west bank of the Heishui River.

The West is the sunset, just like the end of life.

In common sense, this Black Water River may be a bit strange. As the saying goes, the water flows eastward, but this river flows from east to west.

It originated from Daqingshan, collecting the waters of many rivers such as Wubeitan, Shuimiao, Gun Basin, etc., nurtured a group of Tatar children, and merged into the Yellow River in the northern part of Tokto and connected to the veins of the descendants of Yan and Huang.

This way, it is unruly, and finally it cannot escape the "life always hates water and east" ". [Xianmo: When you write martial arts, you are going against the trend. As a result, in the end, it is nothing more than "life always hates water and east". In fact, this is the normal state of life. Life is used to fail. God gives you a life and finally takes away your life. That's it,]

Amid the dull horn sounds, twelve yellow monks wore felt hats and yellow robes. They tilted the prayer drum with their right hand and held the prayer flag with their left hand. They surrounded the big lamas who held the urn with their hands and walked towards the stone tower.

"Canthadrani, Onaronaro, Dili, Duludulu, Yizhibind, the clerk, the clerk, the clerk, the clerk..."

The great lama recited the scriptures, placed the urn in the pagoda and sealed it. Then he led the monks to circle the pagoda and change their careers. He recited the scriptures and wrapped the prayer flags around the pagoda.

What they recited was the eleven-sided Guanyin Mantra.

It is said that the Rakshasa ghost has ten heads and faces, which are extremely arrogant. Guanyin Bodhisattva changes out eleven heads and subdues them. There are five layers of Guanyin's head on the eleven side, three layers below, three faces on each layer, the fourth layer and one side on the fifth layer facing the sky.

In fact, the ten heads of the Rakshasa ghost are not real, but are a metaphor for all kinds of delusions, sorrow, anger, jealousy and other demonic emotions. If these emotions are present, all sufferings will arise. If all sufferings are present, then people will be like living ghosts. In the world, there will be one more head, and they will face the sky. This is the thought of liberation, towards the Buddha's heart. With this one mind and one thought, you will be able to achieve great tranquility, all false thoughts will disappear, and the pain will no longer be repeated. The ghost becomes a Buddha, and the world will become a paradise.

This mantra is what Guanyin Bodhisattva keeps to eliminate all worries, illnesses and sufferings of sentient beings.

People in later generations often misunderstand Buddhism and place their hopes on the next life. The real Buddhism actually exists to save the world for the sake of universality. It can completely solve real problems and improve the current situation of life, rather than make people devote themselves to the pursuit of nothingness. Just as some people read books, while others follow the books and do the results.

The funeral was going on solemnly. After the lama finished chanting, he put his hands together, walked past the tower one by one, and said his final farewell to the deceased.

I have said too much to each other, so I am silent now.

A quarter of an hour later, people left quietly.

There were two people left in front of the stone tower, standing quietly.

Zhong Jin took a step forward.

Chang Sihao slowly turned his head, his eyes fell, and stopped on her two bandaged hands.

Seeing the apology in his eyes, Zhong Jin put his hand behind him and whispered: "Go back,"

Chang Sihao turned his face back.

A gust of wind blew, and the prayer flags on the tower suddenly rose up like a revival. The yellow grass around it was pressing down, and the light waves in the world flowed away.

The grass leaves rubbed and made a rustling sound like drizzle. In the rain, laughter like iron wind chimes from the eaves came.

The two of them looked at the same time. In the distance, two children were running among the weeds, one woman and the other were seven or eight years old. The girl was a Tatar, wearing a white fur hat and long hair. The boy was a Han nationality, wearing a glittering silver chain between the neck. They ran and jumped, playing and chased, and had a bright smile on their faces, like a carefree deer. The kneeless grass covered their chests, which was like a jungle.

The morning sun was shining brightly, and the sun was flooded from the hair and backs of the two children, making them bright and bright, bringing endless warmth.

Looking at this scene, Chang Sihao felt relaxed and relaxed, and the depths of his bones seemed to be shining with sunlight.

Zhong Jin thought, maybe this reminded him of his daughter, so he shouted: "Hey," waved to the two children.

The girl and the boy ran closer when they heard the sound, but the smile on their faces remained, but Chang Sihao's expression suddenly frozen.

He found that the silver chain on the boy's neck fell long, and the other end was held in the little girl's hand. [Xian Mo: I thought we were friends, it turned out that I was your dog... The nation lived in harmony, and it was like this. The girl's heart was pure and had no other thoughts. Just think that tying the chain was routine and a game. However, is the adults tied the slaves to the children for this chain?]

Zhong Jin was stunned and suddenly became speechless.

The little girl looked at them speechless and felt a little strange. She gently pulled the chain and took the boy to the river. The boy turned her head and asked her: "Hey, Wuxia, what are you doing to pile towers?" The girl: "Because someone died," The boy: "Why do you want to pile towers when you die?" The girl: "You can worship," The boy: "What is worship," The girl thought for a while: "To never forget," The boy: "What's wrong with forgetting," The girl laughed and said, "Then she's really dead," The boy: "If you die, you're gone," The girl: "If you die, you're gone," The boy: "Isn't it okay?" The girl hooked her lower lip with her fingers, and she lost her voice, as if she didn't know how to answer, [Xianmo:

The two children's answers were exactly eleven sentences. It can be seen that the eleven truths in this chapter do not refer to the eleven truths of Guanyin, but the eleven sentences of these two children. What is the first sentence, "For martial arts, what to do for building towers?" The boy untied the first sentence, and understood everything. It can be seen that this great sword is the tower that the author has built for martial arts. It is nostalgia, emotion, and even more so that he will not forget that the "graves made of books" written in the previous chapter is its place. "The Great Sword" carries the author's martial arts dream. Now, he has finished this dream, and with his youth, he has buried it into the earth together, and it has all returned to the dust. Good things, after going to the grave, there are still lifes of living people,]

On the shoulders of the two children, a shepherd boy rode a pony, shaking his whip and driving a cloud across the river, humming an ancient pastoral song from his mouth.

The child's voice is loud, but it always suddenly becomes a sudden sense of breakage, as if tuning for the heaven and earth.

Chang Sihao listened to this pastoral song and translated it into Chinese word by word in his heart:

The thousand-year-old copper pot in the yurt was dripping, and tears fell down and climbed up to the scale.

Is death just a broken place in life? Why do you and I lose the time?

A piece of wind slowly flows into the flesh with warmth, and a dream gives me a crystal clear and clear atmosphere.

The sunshine was covered with silver-haired tassels on the clouds, and she ignored whether I was dead or alive.

Who is who is who is? Hold hands to teach me how to herd cattle and horses. Who is who is who is who is who, and listen to me ringing the watermelon.

Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Don't wash your braids or tie your face.

Mom, mom, dad, dad, follow me, follow me.

Brother, sister, sister, brother, come with me, come with me.

We burned the sunset, put on our saddles and rode on our horses.

We grind our butts and thrust our heads, we waved our whip and shouted "Black".

Wula, Wula, Wula, Wula, Wula, Wula, Wula.

Where is home, where is home, where is home, where is home.

He listened and translated, repeating the sentence in his heart, "Where is home, where is home," before he knew it, tears flowed down his face, [Xianmo: It is so sour to read from his family, and tears cannot flow out]

Zhong Jin couldn't bear to look at each other and whispered: "Time is a hurdle. Everyone will trip up one day. Don't be sad anymore. Everyone here is your relatives. Come home with me."

Chang Sihao shook his head.

Turn around and walk towards the sun.

Zhong Jin followed up and shouted, "You, where are you going,"

Chang Sihao did not look back, but just raised one arm high.
Chapter completed!