Silly White Sweet Villain Transformation Plan[Transmigration Book]

At the turn of summer and autumn, as soon as you enter the plum forest, you can smell a little bit of cold wind and snow, and the floating light like melting gold is scattered under the shadow of the trees.

The blade parted the light and shadow, Feng Tinghan looked at the plain white figure who was walking towards the wind, and sighed softly: "You can't say it."

His voice was low and distant, as if it was gradually drifting away in the wind after endless years, in front of him was a sky full of stars falling, the figure was frozen, only a few petals fell on his eyebrows, the sky was high and the clouds were far away, and the twilight was thin.

One thought of greed, hatred and ignorance, the Buddha said, cannot be said.

You can't say it, you can't say it, it's wrong to say it.

This is an old dream of an old friend buried in the wind and snow.

"Duk-duk-duk"

The snow was flying like catkins, the door of the Buddhist hall was not closed, and the crisp sound of wooden fish floated across the small courtyard with the snow catkins, and landed on the plum blossoms blooming in the corner of the wall.

The little monk with red lips and white teeth just took a nap, and rubbed his eyes on the lap of the teacher who was knocking on the wooden fish and chanting scriptures. He was full of sleep, and he got up from the futon, his round eyes were still a little confused: "Master... "

The teacher's father's dharma name was ignorant, with kind eyebrows and kind eyes, he opened his eyes when he heard the voice, and said "Amitabha", before he stopped his hands and looked at the little disciple beside him: "It's snowing outside, is it cool to sleep?"

The little monk opened his mouth, and sneezed before speaking.

Yimo sighed helplessly, got up and led him out: "I'll make some ginger soup, after you drink it to dispel the cold, you don't have to come to the Buddhist hall in the afternoon, just rest in the bedroom."

"Don't drink ginger soup!" The little monk broke free and ran back to the Buddhist hall, saying in a low voice, "Master, I'm fine, I don't need to drink ginger soup."

Yimei had already figured out his temperament, knew that he would not come out, so he simply went to the kitchen by himself, without saying yes or no.

The little monk waited in the Buddhist hall for a long time without receiving any answer. He opened the door and poked his head out, only to see that there was no one in the small courtyard, only a series of footprints stretching out.

He squatted angrily at the door of the Buddhist hall, stretched out his hand to scribble on the ground, and muttered softly.

The snow fell more and more, the sky under the eaves was clear, the slightly cold breath mixed with a faint fragrance flowed from the shoulders of the man, and condensed into a thin thread, entangled the little monk.

"Buddha, how can you paint these things."

Like kissing ice and chewing snow, his voice was cold and cold, freezing from the ears of the little monk to the bottom of his heart. Under the ice, there was a wide robe and wide sleeves, a bright wrist and jade bones, and an elegant and clean face.

"Who are you?" The little monk blinked, Luwei Temple is a small temple, only him and the master, this is the first time he saw the man in front of him.

The man was dressed in a snow-colored monk robe, with jet-black long hair like a crow’s feather. A wooden hairpin carved with plum blossoms was inserted on the top of his head, and his long hair was tied up. Go, and then turn to leave.

The little monk grabbed the hem of his monk's robe and followed step by step. The man was so tall that the little monk only reached his waist.Snow water flowed down the grooves of the tile eaves and condensed into slippery ice on the ground. The little monk moved hastily and fell forward without taking two steps.

The cold air of ice and snow hit his face, and the little monk was caught before he fell to the ground. The hand on his waist was pale and slender, with well-defined joints. He only retracted that hand after the little monk stood still.

"who are you?"

The immature child's voice carried a hint of stubbornness. The man looked at the young monk and then turned his head to look at the Buddhist hall. The solemn and kind Buddha statue closed its eyes slightly, looking at the world with two points, and viewing freedom with eight points, as if showing endless compassion.The man sighed almost imperceptibly, then brushed his hand off the monk's robe, turned around and disappeared.

The little monk opened his mouth wide in surprise, and stared blankly at his palm, where there was still a little warmth, like holding a handful of ice and snow, freezing his hands.

The wind and snow all over the sky reminded the old man to get drunk again.

The scattered snow flakes pierced the sky, like the thin blade of a dart, cutting a big hole in the years, and the long and pale time poured away.

The second time the man appeared was the first snow of the second year.

The twilight was bright, and the afterglow was sprinkled on the snow at the entrance of the Buddhist hall. The young monk was used to his evasive behavior, leaning against the door frame and holding his chin, he asked, "Who are you?"

The man still didn't answer, he just sat beside him, with half-closed eyes, and sighed slowly: "Amitabha."

"Wearing a monk's robe, are you a monk? Why aren't you ordained?" The little monk looked at him.

The man brushed the snow on the hem of his clothes, and said two words softly: "No."

The little monk frowned, and muttered softly, "You're more like a monk than me, but you're not a monk."

They sat together for more than two hours, and the twilight was replaced by night. It was not until the creaking and slow steps sounded from the courtyard door that the man stood up. His face was hidden in the shadow, and the hem of his clothes curved slightly like a Die Feiwu, with a light and cold voice mixed with a vague sigh: "I'm leaving."

The little monk didn't grab the hem of his clothes, and hurriedly whispered: "My name is Zhiyi, who are you? Will you still come?"

The person beside him had long since disappeared, and the only answer he had was the slight sound of the plum tree being blown by the cold wind.

Every year in the future, a man will appear, wearing that snow-colored monk's robe, appearing at the first snowfall, with the same elegant eyebrows and eyes, and the same taciturnity.

Zhiyi has grown up from a child to a teenager, and has long been used to waiting for this elusive "friend" on the day of the first snow. Men seldom talk, and most of the time it is Zhiyi who talks about what he has done and learned in the past year. After reading, what a unique scene to see, what interesting things to get.

There were some small objects on the stone table, scriptures, sword tassels, wooden hairpins, boiled eggs... The man pursed his lips, his calm eyes flickered, and finally he couldn't help reaching out and picked up the scriptures.

Zhiyi was disappointed, the half-grown boy pouted, and peeled the egg. The egg was freshly boiled, and he moved quickly. The egg was still steaming after peeling, and he stuffed it into the man's hand.

"Today is the winter solstice." All he said was this, staring at the man and urging him with his eyes.

The heat from the egg melted the ice and snow in his hands, the man opened his mouth, and silently spit out two words: "Knowing."

Buddha knows what I mean.

Zhiyi's temperament is lively, not like a monk at all, he couldn't sit still for a while, ran in and out, moved a stack of scriptures from the Buddhist hall, thought about it, added a wooden fish, and carried it to the courtyard.

A man doesn't enter the Buddhist hall and doesn't get shaved, but he has Buddha nature. His Buddha nature seems to be innate, coming out from his bones. Every time Zhiyi thinks about it, he thinks that this person should have been a monk in his previous life.

The man's technique was very skilled, and the sound of the wooden fish was clear and melodious, which calmed down the impetuous heart slowly. The two of them sat in the snow for an afternoon holding scriptures.

"This is the tenth year, are you still going to tell me your name?"

Has it been ten years? The man's long eyelashes fluttered, his brows and eyes were clear and transparent, as if there was a slight sense of nostalgia, he opened his mouth, his tone was hesitant: "I... have no name."

Zhiyi made up a series of tragic experiences in his brain, and overturned them all when he saw the man's face. In ten years, he grew from a baby to a young man, but the person in front of him was still the same as he first saw, without any change.

For a moment, he felt as if he understood something.

But none of that matters.

It was getting late, the man put down the scriptures, as if he had met for the first time, he consciously grabbed the snow-white monk robe, and said falteringly: "I give you my name."

You have no name, I give you my name,

The little monk's face was bright red, and the man was stunned for a moment, the ice and snow in his eyes melted like a warm sun, revealing a little bit of clear light, he lifted his lips and smiled softly: "I like it very much, thank you."

This is the first time he laughed.

Yueshang Kongshan, Zhiyi sat in the courtyard, covering her face and slowly laughing.

The peaceful years came to an abrupt end when Zhiyi was 17 years old. This was the No. 13 year he had known a man.

The emperor came in person, wrote inscriptions and wrote poems, and worshiping Buddha prevailed. More and more people became monks.

It was snowing heavily that day, Zhiyi hid away, closed the door early, and waited in the Buddhist hall. After reading the scriptures several times, the rhythm of the wooden fish knocking was out of order, and the people who had to wait came late.

But before Zhiyi could speak out, the man's brows and eyes were like blades, a sharp light flashed suddenly, and he stared at the side of the yard: "Who?"

"It's rare to see a thousand-year-old demon, especially one that grows in front of the Buddha. It hasn't been long since you took shape."

The feminine voice is full of smiles, like a poisonous snake stretching out its letter, the resentment is so disgusting, the man wears a mask, and on the mask is a crying face drawn with a vermilion pen, showing endless ghostly charms under the sky state.

He tilted his head to look at the Buddhist hall, glanced at the young monk slowly and greedily, looked it over carefully, and then smiled evilly: "It is also rare to have a body of Buddha bones."

The monk's robe fluttered lightly, the man tapped his fingertips, and the white light condensed into a barrier at the entrance of the Buddhist hall. Zhiyi's heart was shocked, and he ran to the door, but he found that he could not pass the threshold, and the barrier blocked him inside the Buddhist hall.

"Useless work." The masked man fiddled with the dagger in his hand and commented boredly, not knowing who he was talking about.

A scimitar appeared in the man's hand, the snow-white monk's robe fluttered, the dark fragrance floated, and the blade was cold and radiant, he took a step back, tightened his palms, and said lightly: "You can't say a scimitar, Mei Zhiyi worships it. "