Extraterrestrial demons invaded; I laid the groundwork eight years in advance.

In the early morning, sunlight streamed straight in through the holes in the window paper, hitting my eyelids directly.

Li Xiuming turned over, resting the back of his head on the pillow, and groggily opened his eyes.

The paper windows were pasted last autumn, and the wind tore them in several places. He couldn't bear to replace them, so he just made do with what he had. Now, sunlight streamed in through the cracks, shattering his plan to stay in bed.

He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

The furnishings inside were incredibly simple—a wooden bed, an old table with a cell phone and a half-burnt candle on it, and two sets of Taoist robes folded in the corner, one of which was already faded from washing.

A faded yellow paper was pasted on the wall above the bed. It was a talisman drawn by the master before his death to ward off evil spirits. The edges of the paper were slightly curled up.

He threw back the covers, slipped on his worn-out cloth shoes, stood up, and stretched. His joints cracked a few times, and his nineteen-year-old body cast a long, thin shadow in the morning light.

Pushing open the door, you are greeted by a courtyard that is neither too big nor too small.

The ground is paved with blue bricks, and the walls are white with gray tiles.

In the center of the courtyard was a hand pump well, and next to the well was a water tank that was half full of well water.

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Several bundles of chopped firewood were piled up against the south wall, next to which was a low woodshed with a door that couldn't be closed properly. To the west, against the courtyard wall, was the kitchen, with a low chimney and a stove by the window. To the east were three main rooms: a central hall and two bedrooms on either side; he lived in the left one, and the right one was empty.

The most prominent building in the courtyard is the Sanqing Hall on the north side, which is taller than the main building and is the tallest and oldest building in the courtyard.

A groan came from the southwest corner of the courtyard.

Li Xiuming turned his head and saw a black pig with white spots lying on the wooden fence of the pigpen, its two front hooves resting on the crossbar, its round head peeking out from the gap, its mouth opening and closing as if to say—why are you so late?

"What's the rush?" Li Xiuming walked into the kitchen, took out a bowl of cornmeal paste that had been prepared the night before, mixed it with some well water, added some salt, and poured it into a stone trough.

The little pig plunged into the trough, munching loudly, its pink tail curling into a small circle and swaying from side to side.

Li Xiuming squatted down by the trough and patted its head: "Little Flower, you're not allowed to arch against the railing anymore. I only fixed it a few days ago."

Xiao Hua ignored him, slapped her ear twice, and focused on eating.

He stood up and poured the remaining water from the water tank into the vegetable garden next to him—several rows of green vegetables were growing lush and green.

Several hens were scratching in the dirt inside the wire mesh fence by the vegetable garden. When they saw him coming, they didn't run away, but instead moved closer, as if he was about to be fed again.

"That's all," Li Xiuming said. "We ate yesterday, we'll give you more at noon."

The hens tilted their heads and looked at him for a while. Seeing that he really didn't intend to take out his pocket, they lowered their heads and started digging again.

He went to the well to wash his face and rinse his mouth, and after tidying up, he went into the Sanqing Hall.

The wooden door creaked loudly, the sound carrying far through the quiet courtyard in the early morning.

The light inside the hall was much dimmer than in the courtyard, and dust motes floated slowly in the beams of light that shone through the cracks in the door.

The Three Pure Ones statues in the very center sit on the altar, taller than a person. Their faces have been blurred by time, and the paint has faded to grayish-brown, leaving only the outline of their robes still faintly discernible.

The Lingbao Tianzun on the left is missing a finger, and the lotus platform under the Daode Tianzun on the right is also cracked and tightly bound by wire.

Only the Primordial Celestial Venerable in the center was preserved slightly better, with his eyelids lowered and a barely perceptible curve remaining at the corner of his mouth.

On the altar sat a bronze incense burner, still containing the ashes from last night's burning. Beside it lay a box of matches and a thin stick of incense, which he had bought with careful budgeting and which would last for more than half a month.

Li Xiuming struck a famous match and lit three incense sticks. Thin wisps of smoke rose, circling the eyebrows and eyes of the Three Pure Ones statue, and slowly dissipated into the dim air inside the hall.

He placed the incense sticks into the incense burner, took two steps back, and bowed three times respectfully.

On the inner side of the altar, there is a small black-and-white portrait of the deceased.

The photo shows an elderly Taoist priest in his sixties, thin and wearing a faded blue robe. He stands at the entrance of the Taoist temple with his hands behind his back, and the wrinkles on his face look like they were etched by wind and sand.

Li Xiuming straightened up, looked at the portrait, and said, "Master, everything is as usual today."

After he finished speaking, he stood for a while longer before sitting down on the prayer mat in front of the altar.

He took his phone out of his pocket and carefully wiped it with his sleeve.

He had used this phone for several years. The paint on the corners was a little chipped, but the screen was protected by a screen protector and a transparent phone case, so it was well protected.

He rarely changes things, firstly because he doesn't have the money, and secondly because he feels comfortable using them and there's no need to change them.

He swiped the screen and tapped on his mobile banking app. The balance figure was small, just over five digits.

Yesterday I delivered a batch of dried herbs to the town's pharmacy and sold them for over two hundred yuan.

A few days ago, I drew a peace charm for an old lady in Wangjia Village at the foot of the mountain, and she gave me twenty yuan.

Last month, I spent three days reciting scriptures for an elderly person who passed away in a neighboring village and gave them 300 yuan.

It took me almost three years to accumulate these bits and pieces.

He thought about it.

First, buy two bags of cement to patch the cracks in the west wall, then buy some tiles to repair the roof of the bedroom.

He climbed up to check the beams and pillars of the Sanqing Hall last month; they wouldn't hold for much longer. In two years, either the beams will need to be replaced, or the entire building will collapse.

He exited the page and opened another mobile banking app, the one with the card he had recently opened. It showed only one transaction—a full 100,000 yuan—with the remarks section empty.

That happened yesterday. He dug that thing out of the back mountain and sold it for 100,000.

He exited the app and scrolled through the photos again. There were no selfies, but rather photos of various corners of the Taoist temple—the offering table filled with fruit given by villagers from the foot of the mountain on the first day of the Lunar New Year last year; the wildflowers blooming in abundance on the back mountain the summer before last; and the image of his master sitting in the courtyard basking in the sun when he was alive.

He stared at the photo, his gaze lingering on it for a long time.

My master's surname is Li, and his Taoist name is Xuanqing.

Li Xiuming doesn't know who his biological parents are. He has been living in an orphanage since he can remember. When he was six years old, his master adopted him.

He still remembers how excitedly his master grabbed him. "What an exceptional talent! Come with me. From now on, you'll take my surname, Li, and your name will be Xiuming."

"Your fate is unfortunate, but you are resilient," the master said. "With some cultivation, you can recover."

After that, the two of them lived together in the small Hidden Cloud Temple.

In the summer, his master would soak watermelons in the well and teach him to exercise and practice breathing exercises in the courtyard.

In winter, the two of them would sit around the stove roasting sweet potatoes. The master would flip through a yellowed booklet and teach him to recognize talismans. He listened, but he didn't quite understand. However, he thought the crooked strokes were quite beautiful.

Later, his master's health deteriorated day by day. In the spring of the year he turned sixteen, his master passed away.

When my master was dying, he lay in bed and coughed for a long time.

"This Taoist temple has stood for hundreds of years, and our branch has been passed down to you as the thirty-sixth generation." The master's voice was very soft. "The Dharma is not easily passed on, and the Tao is not cheaply sold. If you can uphold it, then uphold it; if you can't..."

The master paused for a moment. Li Xiuming thought he was going to say, "Just burn it."

"That's it, it ends with you. Don't let anyone else ruin you."

Li Xiuming was only sixteen years old at the time and didn't quite understand what "until you" meant. After his master left, he was left alone in the empty Taoist temple and slowly realized that his master had given him the choice.

If he can uphold it, then he can continue to uphold it. If he doesn't want to uphold it anymore, no one will blame him. It's not shameful for the lineage to end in his generation.

But he didn't want to break it off.

He sat in the Sanqing Hall, looking at the picture of his master on the offering table.

The master never married or had children, so he adopted him and treated him as both a disciple and a son. He taught him to read, draw talismans, chant scriptures, and practice standing meditation and boxing.

His master had passed on everything he could, and he couldn't let that incense stick go out in his hands.