Western Region, Holy Moon God Cult.

In the dark hall, there were only a few oil lamps barely holding on, and the weak flames beat slowly, stirring the nervous and depressed heartstrings of everyone.

A person was leaning on the main seat in the hall, his graceful figure appearing and disappearing in the shadows as the candlelight flickered.

Under the main seat, there is a large pot with boiling soup and fragrant aroma.

Po Meng was still simmering her soup. She seemed to be very old, with pale hair and wrinkles, and her movements were a little slow. The hand holding the big spoon was trembling, and her body trembled.

He was shaking, as if he was using all his strength to stir the pot of boiling soup.

There was a person standing next to Po Meng, a girl, not very old, with a delicate little yellow face, always smiling, which formed a sharp contrast with the old Po Meng.

The little girl reached out several times to take the big spoon from Grandma Meng's hand, but every time, when she reached out, Grandma Meng would skillfully push her hand away, as if what she was holding was not

A big spoon, but her own life.

This time, the little girl couldn't hold back and stretched out her hand.

Because, just now, the little girl saw Po Meng's hand stirring the boiling soup almost knocking her body down.

She is too old, as old as a dead chrysanthemum in the cold wind. The petals have withered and fallen off. Only one flower stem is still holding on to prevent herself from falling.

This time, Po Meng saw the little girl reaching out her hand, but she didn't stop her. She just sighed softly and took the initiative to hand over the big spoon in her hand.

The little girl's eyes lit up, and she looked excited and more solemn. With a pair of trembling hands, she gently took the big spoon from Grandma Meng's hand.

Po Meng smiled and looked at the little girl, her eyes were full of kindness and doting, but also a little worried.

Sure enough, when the little girl's hand just touched the handle of the big spoon, she screamed in pain and quickly put down the big spoon.

As if she had expected it, Po Meng took the big spoon with her quick hands and eyes, and then started stirring slowly.

The little girl rubbed her hands together, her big eyes filled with grievances and tears.

Po Meng didn't look at her, she just smiled and said, "How do you feel?"

The little girl flattened her mouth, sniffed, and held back the tears that were about to burst out of her eyes, and said: "It's hot."

Po Meng picked up the big spoon with one hand and said, "Is it hot?"

The little girl nodded, looking like she was about to cry.

Then, the little girl asked again: "Why don't you feel hot?"

Po Meng continued to stir the pot of boiling soup and said with a smile: "Maybe it's because I'm used to it..."

The little girl nodded, thoughtfully, and said, "Have you been boiling this pot of soup for a long time?"

Po Meng finally stopped and raised her head slightly, as if she was thinking hard about something, and then said: "Oh...how long has it been...to be honest...I really forgot...maybe...it's been thirty years...or...

Forty years...who knows..."

The little girl looked at Po Meng in surprise and said, "Thirty or forty years?! Then this pot of soup has been boiled dry long ago?"

Po Meng smiled and said: "Bake it up? No way..."

The little girl wondered: "Why? Why can't it be cooked?"

Po Meng said: "Maybe it's because the bottom of this pot is too thick? Maybe it's because the fire isn't strong enough? Or it's because of something else? Who knows?"

The little girl put her hands on her hips, looked at Po Meng with her big innocent eyes, and shouted: "You are lying..."

Hearing this, Po Meng suddenly grinned. She opened her withered mouth, which had already lost all her teeth, and said, "How could I lie to you?"

The little girl said angrily: "If you don't turn off the heat, this pot of yours won't be able to cook for forty years..."

Po Meng smiled again and said: "Maybe you are right, but I didn't lie to you..."

The little girl wanted to say something more, but the leader in black who was lying on the stone chair had already sat up straight and said coldly: "Okay, Xiaoba, you go down first..."

Po Meng winked at the little girl. The little girl was very sensible. Without saying anything, she jumped down the stone stairs and ran out.

There was deathly silence in the hall again. Only the firewood under Meng Po's pot was burning, making a few soft sounds.

After a long time, the leader in black suddenly asked Po Meng, "Do you like that child very much?"

Po Meng was stunned, as if she had not thought why the leader in black would ask her such a question, but she did not hesitate at all and said with a smile: "Innocent and cute children are always easy to like..."

The leader in black asked again: "Do you plan to let her inherit your mantle..."

Po Meng smiled and said, "Why did the leader say this?"

The leader in black clothes said: "Meng Po's soup pot is Meng Po's life. Whoever touches it will die..."

Meng Po said: "What the leader said is true..."

The leader in black said calmly: "But you just let her touch your pot..."

Po Meng said with a smile: "A child's nature is inevitably curious. If you teach her to touch it, you will also teach her to give up..."

The leader in black clothes said: "You name her 'Eight Sufferings'..."

Po Meng smiled bitterly and said quietly: "There are eight sufferings in life: birth, old age, illness, death, separation from love, meeting with resentment, not being able to ask for something, not being able to let go..."

The leader in black clothes said: "Your Meng Po Soup is a combination of the eight sufferings of life..."

Po Meng smiled and said: "Indeed, people in the world cannot see through or understand, just like this pot of boiling soup, floating up and down, and what floats will fall sooner or later, and what falls will always fall down.

I firmly believe that I will float up, and I will keep going back and forth until I die..."

The black-clothed leader's eyes were stunned, he was silent for a long time, and said softly: "What about you? What are you?"

Po Meng said with a smile: "I? I am holding the spoon, and I am the one who stirs the soup. I hold the spoon and stir the boiling soup, making the pot of soup that was originally as calm as the Dead Sea become lively and boiling. I

Stirring them up and down, making them float, then fall, float again, and fall again. I gave them hope, made them despair, and then opened up a ray of light for them in despair. What do you think I am?

?”

The leader in black did not answer her words, but continued to ask: "What if I am forever at the bottom of the pot, no matter how troubled you are, but I still remain unmoved?"

Hearing this, Po Meng sighed and said: "That is a saint. He is transcendent from life and death, so he is not under my control..."

The black-clothed leader said: "Have you ever met such a person?"

Po Meng laughed loudly, with a mixture of helplessness and relief in her smile, and said: "Everything in the world is for profit; everything in the world is for profit. I am a stupid old man. I have lived for more than fifty years and have seen countless mortals.

So far, I have not encountered…”

As soon as Po Meng finished speaking, there was a sound of footsteps in the hall.

Po Meng retracted her emotion, smiled again, picked up the big spoon, and continued to make soup.

The person who came was Qingya, and in Qingya's hand, he was also carrying someone, a person that no one knew.

As soon as the man landed, he knelt on the ground and kept kowtowing, saying: "Greetings to the leader, paying homage to the leader..."

The leader in black said coldly: "Say!"

The man then said: "Trumen has massacred three cities, and now he is heading straight for the Holy Moon God Sect..."

The leader in black looked indifferent and said: "Where is my son?"

The man said: "Young Master is injured and is on his way back..."

The leader in black said coldly: "Are you from Truman?"

The man said: "Yes, the young one is a disciple of the Chumen Blood Sword Hall, and he came here to surrender..."

The black-clothed leader said: "Why did you join our Holy Moon Cult?"

The man said: "I admire you so much..."

The leader in black sneered and said, "Are you loyal?"

The man said: "The loyalty of a young man can be learned from heaven and earth..."

The black-clothed leader nodded to Po Meng and said, "Go to her and drink a bowl of soup, and then I will believe you..."

Without saying a word, the man stood up, came to Mrs. Meng, picked up a bowl of freshly filled soup, said "Gululu", and drank it in two gulps...

Po Meng smiled, suddenly stretched out her hand, lifted the man up with one hand, and threw him into the pot with a "pop".

The man died before he even had time to scream. His flesh and blood had been dissolved in the pot of boiling soup in an instant.
Chapter completed!