32: The mountain gate grew increasingly noisy, a melting pot of all sorts.

The twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month, the morning mist had yet to disperse.

Two mud-splattered SUVs rolled over the potholed dirt roads of Zhaojiaao Village and stopped under the old locust tree at the village entrance. The doors swung open, and seven or eight young people in hiking jackets jumped out, their backpacks covered in carabiners and SLR cameras hanging from their necks.

"Old man, I'm looking for directions!" The leading boy wearing glasses stopped an old man carrying water. "I heard there's a Qingfeng Temple on the mountain. How do we get there?"

The old man set down his carrying pole and sized up the group of strangers warily. "What are you going to the temple for?"

"We're outdoor enthusiasts. We saw online that the scenery is great and wanted to take some photos," the boy said with a smile, offering a cigarette.

The old man waved it away, his brow furrowing into a knot. "The temple is a place for quiet cultivation. Daoist Master Li doesn't like being disturbed. Go back."

Despite their best efforts to persuade him, the old man only shook his head. Finally, someone pulled out fifty yuan and stuffed it into the hands of a nearby child who was watching the commotion. The child pointed toward the small path leading to the back of the mountain.

The first wave of people headed up the mountain just like that.

Zhao Xiaowen's video had already been fermenting in the undercurrents of the internet for half a month.

That three-minute short film was like a depth charge—the ancient cypresses were verdant despite the season, the vegetable patches were as green as spring, and the Taoist temple sat amidst the withered yellow mountains like a piece of warm jade. The uploader's calm, restrained commentary and the simple water quality data added even more credibility. Although she deliberately avoided anything 'supernatural,' it instead sparked infinite imagination.

"Coordinates: Yuntai Mountain, Jin Province? A place where it's minus ten or twenty degrees in winter looks like this?"

"The drone footage is so steady it doesn't look like special effects."

"Asking for the address! Nothing to do during Spring Festival, I want to go exploring!"

"Me too +1, let's form a team!"

The comment section exploded. Likes and shares skyrocketed, and the video hit the local hot lists. It was reposted by Weibo influencers and marketing accounts with increasingly bold titles: 'Mysterious Oasis Appears in the Deep Mountains of Jin Province, Abandoned Taoist Temple Hides Shocking Secret!' 'Natural Wonder or Paranormal Event? Exploring the Eerie Temple of Yuntai Mountain!'

In the internet age, information spreads like wildfire. Using the mountain topography in the video, scattered local gazetteers, and even old satellite images, netizens locked onto the location of Qingfeng Temple: near Zhaojiaao Village in the Yuntai Mountain range of Jin Province.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, people had more free time. It was a tradition to visit relatives or go on adventures during the Spring Festival. Thus, curious netizens—especially those in Jin Province or nearby—began to hatch plans.

"It's only a half-day drive, why not go check it out?"

"Just treat it as a Spring Festival outing."

"Team up, team up! Anyone else going?"

On local forums, outdoor groups, and travel apps, related discussions sprouted like mushrooms after rain. Qingfeng Temple on Yuntai Mountain became the target for many young people, outdoor enthusiasts, and curiosity-seekers this Spring Festival.

Zhaojiaao Village bore the brunt of it.

Starting from the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month, strange vehicles and faces began to appear frequently. SUVs, off-road vehicles, and even motorcycles carrying all sorts of people flooded into this remote mountain village. Hiking jackets, trekking poles, SLRs, action cameras, live-streaming equipment... the gear was varied and numerous.

Asking for directions, getting directions, and heading up the mountain.

At first, the villagers tried to dissuade them: "The Abbot likes peace, don't go disturbing him!"

The visitors had different attitudes: some smiled and said they were "just taking photos," some stuffed money into hands to buy their way through, and others simply ignored them and headed straight up the mountain. The villagers were simple folk and somewhat intimidated by these "city people," so they gradually stopped interfering, only discussing it privately:

"What do these people want? The temple isn't a park!"

"They saw a video online and ran here to see the novelty."

"I hope they don't offend Daoist Master Li!"

Worry and dissatisfaction permeated the village.

Up on the mountain, the tranquility of Qingfeng Temple was no more.

Li Muchen's Spiritual Sense enveloped the area, giving him a clear understanding of these "visitors." Most stopped outside the mountain gate, taking photos and marveling. The ancient cypresses growing against the season, the winter warmth like spring, and the primitive simplicity of the Taoist temple—the visual impact was indeed powerful.

The bolder ones stepped into the courtyard and immediately felt the difference.

The atmosphere in the courtyard was peaceful and harmonious, as if it were a world apart from the noise outside. Inside the main hall, the clay statues stood silently; though they had no eyes, it felt as if their gaze was falling upon the visitors. Most people would unconsciously lower their voices and tread carefully.

But there were always exceptions.

Someone reached out to pick a radish from the vegetable patch as a "souvenir" but was shouted down by Zhao Desheng, who was "patrolling" the mountain. Someone wanted to draw well water to "have a taste" but was told they needed to follow the rules and be sincere to receive it. Someone wanted to enter the hall to photograph the statues or even touch them, but was repelled by the invisible aura in the hall and the occasional calm gaze from Li Muchen.

The biggest trouble came from streamers and "exploration" teams.

A male streamer calling himself the "Outdoor Adventure King" brought an assistant and heavy equipment, shouting loudly in the courtyard: "Look, brothers! This is the mysterious Taoist temple going viral online! The site of supernatural phenomena!" Powerful spotlights swept over the ancient cypresses and vegetable patches as he spoke with exaggerated rhetoric.

Li Muchen stood before the hall, the cloud patterns on his moon-white Taoist robe shifting slightly as he cast a single glance over.

The streamer was at an excited point in his speech when he suddenly felt heart palpitations and shortness of breath, his throat feeling as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand. His face turned pale instantly. His assistant noticed something was wrong and hurriedly pulled him down the mountain. The live stream cut out, leaving the comment section full of question marks.

Another team, under the banner of "Scientific Exploration," brought radiation meters, magnetic field meters, and thermal imagers to scan the temple's surroundings. However, the instruments detected nothing, and the team ended up in an endless argument, leaving without any results.

There were also a few with ill intentions—either coveting the "miraculous" ancient cypresses or greedy for the "special" well water—who secretly pried into Li Muchen's "background." These people often encountered "accidents" just as they were about to act: slipping for no reason and falling face-first into the mud, a tree branch snapping without wind and slapping them in the face, or suddenly feeling a sense of panic as if they had seen a ghost. In the end, they retreated dejectedly.

For a time, the area outside the mountain gate was a cacophony of voices.

The "click" of cameras, the shouting of live streamers, and the clamor of arguments formed a sharp contrast with the tranquility inside the temple. The previous harmony of birds and beasts paying homage was gone—the birds fled far away, and the small animals hid deep.

The Taoist temple had become a boundary: outside the gate was the noisy mortal world, while inside was a quiet place of cultivation.

Li Muchen went about his days as usual.

At the Yin hour, he rose for morning prayers and sutra chanting. The resonance of his voice harmonized with the vitality of the ancient cypresses and the ripples of the Spirit Gathering Formation, but it could no longer attract the hundred birds—the human noise was too disruptive. Yet he continued to chant, word by word, as calm as ever.

He put on his moonlight flowing cloud robe and managed the temple's affairs. The moon-white glow of the robe was particularly striking among the crowd, making him appear even more transcendent. Often, he only needed to stand silently or cast a glance to suppress most of the restlessness.

He knew this was only the beginning.

As the influence of the video continued to ferment and the Spring Festival holiday approached, the visitors would only become more numerous and varied.

But his heart remained as still as a lake.

Soldiers come, generals block? No.

When the wind comes, the bamboo blocks; when the rain comes, the tiles block. The temple was here, the spiritual land was here; how could half a year of management be for nothing?

If they were just curious onlookers, he could ignore them.

But if they crossed the line to destroy the peace or touched his bottom line... beneath his moon-white sleeves, his fingers lightly stroked the Qingfeng Whisk at his waist.

The whisk's hairs moved without wind, faintly shimmering with a clear light.

He didn't mind letting certain people personally "experience" what it meant for the Dao to follow nature, and what it meant for... Divine Might to be inviolable.

Outside the courtyard, another group of young people holding selfie sticks squeezed through the mountain gate, pointing excitedly: "Look! That's the divine tree they talked about online!"

Li Muchen turned and stepped into the main hall.

The hall doors closed silently behind him, sealing the noise outside.

Inside the hall, the clay statues stood silently, their clear light flowing.

Outside the hall, the human voices were like a tide, crashing against the mountain gate.

How long could this pure land be guarded?

No one knew.

All that was known was that the master of the moon-white Taoist robe had already closed his eyes and entered meditation on his prayer mat.

The mountain wind blew through the courtyard, carrying the voices of people from afar, and also the rhythm of the Dao from nearby.

The two intertwined, forming a strange harmony.