42: Swords have been drawn, and a storm is brewing.

The day after the Pangolin team's ignominious return, the Yuntai Mountain Development Leading Group held an emergency meeting.

The scale of this meeting far exceeded previous ones—the County Head personally presided, the heads of over twenty departments were present, and even the Municipal Culture and Tourism Bureau sent observers. The meeting room was filled with smoke, and the atmosphere was as heavy as iron.

On the projection screen, photos of the Pangolin team's damaged equipment were displayed: shattered screens, scorched circuit boards, twisted antennas.

"This is the result of last night's 'exploration,'" Zhou Mingde said, his voice hoarse, standing in front of the screen. "A professional team of seven people, equipment worth over two million yuan, all scrapped overnight. The mental state of the team members... the doctor said they need psychological intervention."

A deathly silence fell over the meeting room.

The Director of the Culture and Tourism Bureau cleared his throat: "Could it be... an operational error on their part?"

"Seven people making errors simultaneously?" The Secretary of the Political and Legal Affairs Commission tapped on the table. "And all of them experiencing hallucinations?"

"If science can't explain it, you attribute it to hallucinations?" The Deputy County Head in charge of safety snorted coldly. "I've worked in fire safety for twenty years, and I've never seen any fog that could simultaneously scrap precision instruments. Unless..."

He paused: "Unless there was a strong electromagnetic pulse."

"Where would the Daoist temple get electromagnetic pulse equipment?" someone questioned.

No one could answer.

The County Head, who had been silent, finally spoke: "Old Zhou, just state your conclusion."

Zhou Mingde took a deep breath: "My conclusion is—Li Muchen is not an ordinary person. We can no longer treat him with conventional methods."

"What do you mean, not an ordinary person?" General Manager Zheng of the development company couldn't help but interject. "Minister Zhou, you don't believe in all that supernatural stuff, do you?"

"I don't believe in ghosts and gods, but I believe in facts." Zhou Mingde turned to him. "The fact is, all our attempts to probe have failed. When we tried to communicate, he wouldn't budge; when we tried to legally seal it, he didn't care; when we investigated at night, he completely wiped out a professional team. General Manager Zheng, you've been in business for many years, have you ever seen such an 'ordinary Daoist priest'?"

General Manager Zheng was speechless.

"So what do you suggest we do?" the County Head asked.

Zhou Mingde was silent for a long time before slowly saying: "Two paths. First, abandon the idea of incorporating the Daoist temple into the core scenic area, and instead designate it for peripheral protection, giving Li Muchen maximum autonomy. Second..."

He paused, his voice heavy: "Proceed with mandatory procedures, but be prepared for... an unconventional response."

"Unconventional response?" The County Head frowned.

"It's exactly what you're thinking." Zhou Mingde nodded. "If Li Muchen truly has extraordinary abilities, compulsory measures might trigger unpredictable consequences for us."

The meeting room fell silent again.

"I disagree!" General Manager Zheng suddenly stood up. "The plan has been set, the contracts signed, and bank funds are about to arrive! Now you're talking about giving up? Who will bear the losses? Who will be responsible for our credibility?"

He looked around at everyone, his tone agitated: "Just because a Daoist priest is playing tricks, we're supposed to abandon an investment of hundreds of millions? If word gets out, how will Yuntai County attract more investment?"

These words hit a sore spot.

The County Head looked at the Director of the Culture and Tourism Bureau: "Old Zhang, what do you say?"

The Director of the Culture and Tourism Bureau hesitated: "From an economic perspective, we certainly can't give up. But from a safety perspective... I suggest increasing enforcement efforts, but also preparing emergency plans. Multi-departmental coordination to form an overwhelming advantage, making him retreat in the face of difficulty."

"What if he doesn't retreat?" Zhou Mingde asked.

"Then enforce it by force!" General Manager Zheng quickly answered. "This is a society ruled by law; can he really turn everything upside down? Gather enough personnel, bring reporters, and record the entire process. If he dares to resist, it's violent obstruction of justice, and his crimes will be compounded!"

Everyone discussed, most leaning towards a tougher stance.

The County Head pondered for a moment, then made a decision: "Then it's settled. Establish a Joint Law Enforcement Team, led by the Political and Legal Affairs Commission, with elite forces drawn from Public Security, Firefighting, Housing and Urban-Rural Development, Religious Affairs, Health, and Market Supervision. Three days from now, go up the mountain to forcibly execute the sealing order."

He paused, then added: "However, pay attention to methods. Avoid conflict as much as possible. It would be best if Li Muchen leaves voluntarily."

Zhou Mingde smiled bitterly to himself: Leave voluntarily? How could that young man possibly leave voluntarily?

The meeting's decision was quickly relayed to all departments.

Over the next three days, the atmosphere in Yuntai Town suddenly became tense.

Many unfamiliar faces appeared in town—wearing police uniforms, other uniforms, carrying cameras. Hotels were full, restaurants were booming, and discussions filled the streets and alleys.

"I heard they're going to forcibly demolish the Daoist temple?"

"Not demolish, but forcibly execute a sealing order."

"What about Daoist Master Li?"

"Who knows... the arm can't twist the thigh, after all."

The Zhaojiaao Village was even more in a state of panic.

Zhao Desheng locked himself in his house, refusing to open the door for anyone. Fourth Zhao's farmhouse had two 'reporters' staying there, who roamed the village all day, asking questions.

Village Party Secretary Zhao Jianguo was called to the town for three meetings, returning pale-faced each time. Villagers saw him, after the last meeting, squatting under the old locust tree at the village entrance, smoking half a pack of cigarettes.

Villagers who had signed letters of intent began to regret it.

"Can we really get that three thousand yuan?"

"If the Daoist temple is really demolished, will Daoist Master Li..."

"What a sin, we're committing a sin..."

But the money had already been received—after the letters of intent were signed, the development company first gave each household one thousand yuan as a 'sincerity deposit.' With the money in hand, they couldn't speak up.

Only Zhao Xiaowen was still persistent.

She stayed up all night writing a long article, meticulously detailing the entire incident, from the short video's explosion in popularity to government intervention, from coordination meetings to the forced sealing. The article concluded:

"What exactly are we protecting, and what are we destroying? When a century-old Daoist temple is labeled a 'safety hazard'; when a Daoist priest who heals and saves people is depicted as a 'sinner hindering development.' Is this progress, or regression?"

The article was published on her personal public account, and its readership exceeded one hundred thousand overnight, but it was quickly blocked.

The platform sent a notification: "Upon verification, this content involves false information and has been deleted. The account is suspended for seven days."

Zhao Xiaowen hugged her computer and cried all night.

On the mountain, however, the Daoist temple was unusually calm.

It had been ten days since the decision to seal, and Li Muchen's routine was as usual: chanting scriptures in the morning, sweeping in the late morning, sitting in meditation in the afternoon, and watering the ancient cypress tree in the evening.

The only change was that he no longer wore his moon-white Daoist robe, but had switched back to the simplest blue cloth Daoist garment. The robe even had patches, like a true ascetic Daoist priest.

That afternoon, Zhao Desheng finally mustered the courage to go up the mountain.

He saw Li Muchen repairing a leaky tile on the side hall, his movements skilled, his expression serene, as if the turmoil below the mountain had nothing to do with him.

"Abbot..." The old man's voice choked.

Li Muchen turned, saw him, and smiled faintly: "Layman Zhao has come. Just in time, help me hold the ladder."

Zhao Desheng quickly stepped forward, holding the bamboo ladder. Li Muchen climbed up, placed a new tile over the gap, and smoothed it with mortar.

Sunlight fell upon him, his blue cloth Daoist garment washed white, almost transparent in the light.

"Abbot, you... you know everything now, don't you?" Zhao Desheng finally asked.

"Know what?" Li Muchen looked down at him.

"They... they're coming in three days..." The old man couldn't continue.

Li Muchen nodded, climbed down from the ladder, and clapped the dust from his hands: "I know."

"Then you... aren't you going to prepare?"

"Prepare for what?" Li Muchen countered. "Their coming is their choice. My being here is my duty. Each does their part, that's all."

He said it so lightly, as if speaking of something unrelated to himself.

Zhao Desheng grew anxious: "Abbot! This time it's different! I heard there will be dozens of people, with equipment! You... you should avoid them first!"

"Avoid?" Li Muchen looked at him, his gaze clear. "Layman Zhao, this Daoist temple has stood here for a hundred years, enduring wars, famines, and turmoil. Has it ever avoided anything?"

"But this time..."

"This time is the same." Li Muchen interrupted him. "If they come, I will greet them; if they leave, I will see them off. That is all."

He walked to the ancient cypress tree, looked up at its verdant canopy, and said softly: "Layman Zhao, look at this tree. When the storm comes, does it avoid it? No, it just stands, its roots digging deeper."

Zhao Desheng followed his gaze.

The ancient cypress tree towered, its branches strong and vigorous, its bark cracked like dragon scales. Three hundred years of wind, frost, rain, and snow were etched into those patterns.

He suddenly understood.

Some people, some things, cannot retreat.

If they retreat, they cease to exist.

"Abbot..." He took a deep breath. "Anything I can do, please just tell me."

Li Muchen thought for a moment: "If they come in three days, please do one thing for me."

"Tell me!"

"Stop the villagers from coming up the mountain." Li Muchen looked at him. "This storm is between me and them; it shouldn't involve the innocent."

Zhao Desheng was stunned: "But if they..."

"They cannot harm me." Li Muchen smiled faintly, a smile filled with an indescribable confidence. "Only the laws of Heaven can harm me. And the laws of Heaven... are on my side."

He patted Zhao Desheng's shoulder: "Go back. Tell the villagers, no matter what happens, live your lives in peace. As long as this Daoist temple stands, the mountain stands; as long as the mountain stands, your homes stand."

The old man bowed deeply, then turned and went down the mountain.

When he reached halfway down the mountain, he looked back.

Li Muchen had returned to the front of the side hall, continuing to repair the leaky tiles. Sunlight shone on him, his blue cloth Daoist garment fluttering gently in the wind, his figure slender yet erect.

The mountain wind blew, bringing the sound of distant thunder.

This time, the thunder was very close, and very heavy.

Zhao Desheng suddenly remembered the opera lyrics he heard as a child:

"Wind fills the tower before the mountain rain, dark clouds press upon the city, threatening to crush it."

He quickened his pace, almost running down the mountain.

It was going to rain.

A great rain, unlike any he had ever seen.