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... ription)
After an indeterminate amount of time, Song Yan opened his eyes in the dimly lit Zen courtyard. The Bodhi Tree in his heart had become firm, and the eighteen Demon Monks had become his slaves, awaiting his command.
He glanced at the side altar, where a red silk cover draped over it, beneath which was a blurred-faced statue of the Buddha.
The bookshelf was empty, and beside it was a lavish, luxurious soft couch, accompanied by mind-bewitching incense.
The eigh ...
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