National School Prince Is A Girl

"it is good."

When An Laozi said this word, the sound was all sand.

I thought that his grandson really figured it out.

Until that little figure, standing outside the thin house, looking at the window is an afternoon.

An old man knows that it doesn't seem to be.

Qin Mo holding an amulet in his hand, holding his little panda suitcase, the abstinence-like face, is even more indifferent than before.

After he got on the bus, he said: "Grandfather, I want to go back to China and go to Wutai Mountain."

“Wutai Mountain?” An old man’s side, after all, his grandson has never been interested in this aspect, Buddhism?

Qin Mo had a cry, and looked down at the amulet in his hand: "Wutai Mountain."

The request made by An Laozi to his grandson has never been rejected.

Especially this moment is even worse.

Because the grandson turned his head and looked at the retreating scenery outside the window, the skull was low.

Three days later.

Wutai Mountain.

There are not many people coming to worship.

Everyone who has read the Dharma knows.

The first fifteenth is the most prosperous day of incense.

Today, the seventh day.

The number seven is in China, meaning the general.

It is just this day.

Above the long order.

Thousands of steps.

A small figure, indifferent to the side of the face, a thin sweat on the forehead, one go and one worship.

A total of nine hundred and ninety-nine weeks.

Sweat wet the sweater.

The black hair is full of moisture.

But these do not seem to affect his purity.

Probably the age is really too small.

The little shames saw it and they were all on the lookout.

There is still snow on the top of the mountain.

Snow falls on the top of the head and turns into water.

The little shame saw the figure getting closer and closer, and some ran into the temple.

"Master, master, someone outside, someone."

The old monk who knocked the wooden fish put down the Buddha's book and looked up at the little shaman. "Where is the donkey, where are the days in the mountains? Where are the Buddhist books that have been read?"

"No, you go out and have a baby."

Xiao Shami is also a child, and said that others are children?

The old monk shook his head and brought a sandalwood when he walked.

I didn't care much about it.

Until he saw that step by step, he first hurried, and then read "Amitabha."

The cold wind blew, between the mountains, the snow fell on the shoulder of the figure, the little boy's face was even more eye-catching than the snow in the mountains.

That scene is very similar to the poem of Tsangyang Gyatso.

He said: "In that year, I was squatting on the mountain road, not swearing, seeing only the warmth that is attached to you. In that world, I turned to the mountains and turned to the stupa, not for the sake of repairing, only for the way and You see each other. At that moment, I am flying into a fairy, not for a long life, just to give you peace and joy."

The old monk was waiting, waiting for the little figure to come to him.

Qin Mo knows etiquette, even though there is sweat on his forehead, he still bends his waist and screams: "Master."

The worship of the nine hundred and ninety-nine steps, no matter when, must return his wish.

The old monk will hang down, but there is helplessness in his eyes: "Where is the little donor, what is he asking for?"

Qin Mo pulled out a red rope from his neck. At the end of the red rope was a talisman: "This is someone who asked for me. Can the master give me a paper Buddha?"

"Do you believe in Buddha?" asked the old monk.

Qin Mo shook his head: "I only believe in myself."

The old monk asked again: "Why then why come for Buddha's words?"

"She believes."