47: Spring rains have refreshed the mountains, and the Taoist temple has reopened.

The day after Wu Yuanshan descended the mountain, the official red-taped document from the Yuntai County Government was withdrawn.

It was not abolished, but "temporarily suspended." The document was quietly retrieved and filed away, as if it had never been issued. Simultaneously, news spread throughout the county: the Yuntai Mountain development plan would be re-evaluated, focusing instead on ecological protection and cultural Legacy.

The villagers of Zhaojiaao Village were the first to feel the change.

First, the checkpoint at the village entrance was removed. The two stern-faced staff members who checked appointments every day packed up and left one morning without even saying goodbye.

Next, the enforcement vehicles—the police cars and urban management vehicles that used to patrol the village—suddenly disappeared. The village returned to its former tranquility, filled only with the chirping of birds and the crowing of roosters, with no more engine noise.

What surprised the villagers most was the attitude of the development company.

General Manager Zheng personally came to Zhaojiaao Village and held a brief meeting in the Village Committee Courtyard. He no longer mentioned "enforcement" or "standardization," but instead wore a broad smile:

"Folks, after careful consideration, we have decided to adjust the development plan. The original large-scale construction plan is canceled, and we will switch to an eco-tourism model of 'light investment, heavy protection.'"

He unrolled the new blueprint—there were no cable cars, no glass-walled visitor centers, only a few ecological trails and observation decks. A red line was drawn around Qingfeng Temple, marked as the "Core Protected Area, Development Prohibited."

"Then our compensation..." Fourth Zhao couldn't help but ask.

"It will be paid!" General Manager Zheng said readily. "The contract is effective once signed. However, there might not be as many jobs as previously mentioned, but the annual dividend for each household will be three thousand yuan, not a single cent less!"

The villagers exchanged glances, unable to believe it.

How could the people who were forcefully trying to seal off the mountain just a few days ago be so agreeable today?

After the meeting adjourned, Zhao Desheng was asked to stay behind.

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General Manager Zheng handed him an envelope: "Old Zhao, this is a special subsidy for you, five thousand yuan. From now on, you will be the village's 'Temple Liaison,' responsible for coordinating relations between the temple and the village. You will also receive a five hundred yuan monthly allowance."

Zhao Desheng was stunned and did not take it.

"General Manager Zheng, this... why is this?"

General Manager Zheng patted his shoulder and lowered his voice: "Old Zhao, you are familiar with Daoist Master Li. Help us pass on a message—we apologize for any offense we caused previously, and we ask the Abbot to be magnanimous. In the future, we will absolutely not disturb him."

He left immediately after speaking, leaving Zhao Desheng standing alone in the courtyard, clutching the heavy envelope, unable to recover his senses for a long time.

The changes on the mountain were even more pronounced.

That glaring white seal quietly fell off one night. It wasn't torn down; it simply aged and weathered on its own, finally turning into scraps of paper scattered by the mountain wind.

The mountain gate was open again. There was no official announcement, but everyone knew—Qingfeng Temple had reopened.

The first person to ascend the mountain was Zhao Xiaowen.

Carrying her camera, she walked into the mountain gate nervously. In the courtyard, Li Muchen was watering the vegetable patch. Hearing footsteps, he turned to look at her.

"Infinite Blessing." He smiled, "Lay Practitioner Zhao, long time no see."

He was still wearing the same blue Daoist robe, and his tone was still calm and gentle, as if the turmoil of the past month had never occurred.

"Abbot..." Zhao Xiaowen's eyes welled up, "Are... are you alright?"

"The Poor Daoist is well." Li Muchen put down the water scoop. "It is you, Lay Practitioner, who has suffered grievances these past days."

He knew she had spoken up for him online, and he knew about her being throttled and warned.

Zhao Xiaowen shook her head: "I haven't suffered. Abbot, did you really... really strike them with lightning?"

Li Muchen laughed: "Striking people with lightning is the business of the Heavens; The Poor Daoist doesn't have that ability."

This answer was clever, neither admitting nor denying anything.

Zhao Xiaowen wanted to ask more, but Li Muchen had already changed the subject: "Lay Practitioner, may The Poor Daoist borrow your camera for a look?"

She handed over the camera.

Li Muchen flipped through the photos she had taken over the past few months—the seasonal changes of the ancient cypress tree, the temple at dawn and dusk, the piety of the pilgrims, and the sea of clouds, rime ice, and rainbows in the mountains.

"They are very well taken," he praised. "The Lay Practitioner has put thought into this."

"I want to... make a documentary," Zhao Xiaowen mustered her courage. "To record the real Qingfeng Temple, to record the four seasons here, and to record... you."

Li Muchen looked at her, his gaze gentle: "Lay Practitioner, feel free to do whatever you wish. Just remember—reality is often not as simple as what the eyes see."

He paused: "Some scenes, even if captured, may not be broadcast; some truths, even if known, may not be spoken."

These words carried profound meaning.

Zhao Xiaowen nodded vigorously, seeming to understand yet not fully grasping it. "I understand."

With the disappearance of the seal, pilgrims began to return one after another.

However, the number of people was noticeably fewer—not because no one came, but because there were restrictions. Entrusted by the Village Committee, Zhao Desheng set up a simple registration point down the mountain, limiting the flow to one hundred people daily, requiring advance reservation.

The people who came were no longer driven by curiosity or the desire to check in. Most were sincerely seeking the Dao or had specific requests. They quietly offered incense in the temple, quietly prayed for blessings, and quietly sat under the ancient cypress tree, listening to the wind.

The temple regained its former tranquility.

No, it was even more tranquil than before.

Because after this incident, everyone understood—this temple, and this Abbot, were not to be disturbed casually.

During the morning chanting session, the birds flew back.

Initially, only a few sparrows tentatively landed on the eaves corner. Seeing no one driving them away, they boldly flew into the courtyard. Then came tits, magpies, orioles... and even the Long-tailed Pheasant returned, still perched on the broken eaves of the side hall, its magnificent feathers drooping, as if in deep meditation.

When Li Muchen chanted scriptures, they listened quietly; when the chanting finished, they chirped softly, seemingly in response.

In the morning light, the Daoist and the multitude of birds shared the courtyard, a scene as harmonious as an ancient painting.

The greatest change, however, was the Spiritual Qi in the mountains.

Whether the turmoil stimulated the earth veins or Li Muchen's cultivation had advanced, the Spirit Gathering Formation operated more smoothly. The vapor from the Spirit Well became more dense and ethereal, and in the early morning, one could even see a faint seven-colored halo at the wellhead.

The vitality of the ancient cypress tree grew more vigorous. New buds had grown into tender branches in the scorched marks left by lightning strikes on the trunk, dripping with emerald green. The entire tree seemed thirty years younger, its branches more robust, and its crown denser.

The vegetables in the patch were growing astonishingly well. The cabbage leaves were thick like jadeite, the radishes were stout as a baby's arm, and even the weeds were much fewer—not because they didn't grow, but because they couldn't compete with the vegetables nourished by Spiritual Qi.

Even more miraculously, some rare plants began to appear around the temple.

At the base of the temple wall, a clump of Purple-leaf Creeper grew, its leaves shimmering with a metallic luster in the sunlight; at the root of the ancient cypress tree, several Seven-leaf Lotus plants sprouted, their flowers like white jade, emitting a fragrant scent; and even in the stone cracks, several stalks of the rare Dragon's Beard Grass emerged, their slender leaves swaying in the wind.

These were the Spiritual Plant seeds Li Muchen had obtained from signing in; scattered casually, they had all come to life.

Although they were only the lowest-grade Spiritual Plants, in this world where Spiritual Qi was just beginning its resurgence, they were a rare phenomenon.

Li Muchen cared for them daily, watering them with spirit well water and nourishing them with true essence. Watching them grow day by day, he felt an inexplicable sense of gratification—

This temple finally looked like a "Spiritual Sanctuary."

Spring deepened.

The wild flowers in the mountains bloomed one after another—azaleas, camellias, and wild roses—adorning the wilderness in a riot of color. Qingfeng Temple, hidden within this sea of flowers, with its blue tiles and white walls, appeared even more ancient and simple.

That afternoon, Li Muchen sat under the ancient cypress tree and brewed a pot of Wild Tea.

The tea was freshly picked spring tea, and the water was from the morning well; the fragrance carried a hint of sweetness. He drank slowly, watching the movement of light and shadow in the courtyard, and listening to the sound of the mountain wind brushing the treetops.

A bell sound drifted from afar—it wasn't the temple bell, but the class bell from Zhaojiaao Village Primary School down the mountain. The sound was distant, echoing through the valley.

Further away, there was the sound of construction—the development company was building ecological trails, but it was far from the temple, and the sound reaching the mountain was very faint.

Everything had returned to normal.

Or rather, found a new balance.

The government achieved the "stability" and "political achievements" they desired—although the development plan was scaled back, it had been launched without triggering conflict.

The villagers gained tangible benefits—compensation was paid, and they could participate in tourism services. Although it was less than anticipated, it was better than before.

The temple achieved peace—no one came to disturb it anymore, allowing for peaceful cultivation.

Everyone got what they wanted.

But Li Muchen knew this balance was fragile.

Just like the warm sun of spring, behind the brightness lay the possibility of a late spring chill.

Wu Yuanshan's visit meant that the authorities had listed him as a "special existence." In the coming days, while life might seem peaceful on the surface, the hidden attention would only increase.

And the items acquired through signing in—the [Mist Formation Flag], the earth vein suppression talisman, the moonlight flowing cloud robe... the appearance of these items signified that the changes in this world were accelerating.

Spiritual Qi resurgence, supernatural Awakening.

His level of cultivation might be nothing in the true cultivation world, but in this era, he was an anomaly.

Anomalies are either assimilated, rejected, or... revered.

He chose the third path.

Proving the Dao with strength, winning over people with virtue.

He would let this temple become a pure land; he would let himself become a symbol—not involved in the Mortal World, but protecting the common people; not striving for fame or fortune, but upholding justice.

He finished the last sip of tea, stood up, and walked back to the Main Hall.

Inside the hall, the divine statue sat still, its expression benevolent.

The flame of the ever-burning lamp flickered slightly.

Li Muchen sat down on the cold jade meditation cushion, closed his eyes, and entered meditation.

True essence circulated, and his Dao Heart was clear.

The mountain wind blew into the hall, carrying the fragrance of wild flowers, and also the scent of the distant Mortal World.

He was here.

The Dao was here.

That was enough.

As for what tomorrow would bring... he would worry about tomorrow's matters tomorrow.

Outside the hall, the setting sun descended.

The temple on the mountain peak was plated with a layer of golden brilliance.

Peaceful and solemn.

Like a lighthouse standing on the edge of the Mortal World, illuminating the landscape and also illuminating the hearts of some people.

New rain on the spring mountain, everything revived.

The story of this century-old temple continued.

Only the chapter had changed, and the rhythm had shifted.

But the core had never changed—

The Dao follows nature, quietude and non-action.

That was all.