Tang Ning looked at the old monk. He was about sixty years old. His long white eyebrows were drooping. His gray clothes were plain. There was a string of Buddhist beads hanging around his neck. But there was a gourd hanging obliquely on his waist. If he hadn't been eating with chicken legs in his hand and full of oil in his mouth, it would have been a kind of Fairy Spirit.

However, at this time, in her view, it seems that some of the incoherent, very obscene.

She resisted the pain of her whole body, sat up from the bed, leaned against the bed and looked at him, and said, "don't monks often say that saving one life is better than building a seven level pagoda? Why do you want to take advantage of your kindness when you open your mouth? "

"Different, different." Lao he waved his hand with a chicken leg, looked at her as if it were true and said, "you are not the same."

"Why not?" Asked downing.

Looking at her, the old monk suddenly laughed and said, "I said, why did you shave your head? At the beginning, I thought I had picked up a little monk, but I didn't know it was a little girl. "

"Forced by the situation."

Tang Ning said, seeing his mouth full of oil, he could not help but say: "since you are a monk, how can you break the precepts? Are you a fake monk

"Ha ha ha ha ha." The old monk laughed, took off the gourd from his waist and drank a mouthful of wine. He said, "monk, I have wine and meat through my intestines, and the Buddha has kept it in his heart."

He ate the drumstick, left a bone in his mouth, took out a small bottle and threw it to her: "pour out one of the medicine in it to eat." With that, he ignored Tang Ning and went out.

Tang Ning poured out the medicine in the bottle. It was black and smelling. It was the simplest and crude way to knead and synthesize the pill. However, when he smelled the medicine, he knew that it was really a medicine for healing wounds.

After swallowing a pill, she took a breath and slowly closed her eyes. She thought of the Buddha light at that time, which seemed to come from that bowl

By the way, what about the bowl?

Just thinking about it, I feel that there is something on my hand. When I raise my hand, I can't help but stay.

Isn't this her bowl? She was sure that she didn't have it.

He picked up the bowl and looked at it carefully. He saw that it was the original bowl, but there was a golden inscription on the bottom of the bowl.

As if feeling something, the palm of her hand is faintly hot. A golden lettering appears in her palm, emitting a light golden light. The heat of the palm flows into her body. Wherever she passes, she only feels that the injuries in her body gradually recover

"Eh?"

She blinked her eyes and jumped to sit up. She really felt a lot more relaxed. However, the light of the inscription on the palm of her hand faded, until finally, it disappeared in her palm without leaving any trace, as if the previous scene was just her illusion.

Her heart moved, and the bowl on her hand disappeared again. She condensed her palms into fists and tightly twisted them. Then she noticed that a force was flowing in her body.

"Is this a blessing in disguise?" She murmured, and at last she couldn't help laughing.

He reached out and helped himself to the lower pulse. Sure enough, his body was better about 70%, and there was a force in his body. All the scars on his body disappeared, leaving no scar.

The next morning, the old monk leaned against the window, took a sip of wine with a gourd in his hand, looked at the delicate little bald head in the room and asked, "what's your next plan? What's your little girl? You can still go home with such a small bald head? "