Fa Xi Temple in the misty rain, a temple full of flowers, a 500-year promise.

Glazed rain drips from the eaves of Fa Xi Temple, and a 500-year-old magnolia tree shakes open its snowy blossoms. The newly blooming petals reveal green veins, like celadon porcelain overturned by the Bodhisattva in the morning, with rainwater surging through the cracks, brimming with life. A monk's straw sandals break the reflection in the water, and seven or eight dew-laden magnolia blossoms leap onto the pavilion, just like silverfish from the liberation pond jumping on the stone steps. As the chanting spreads over the bright yellow screen wall, the whole tree of blossoms suddenly leans eastward. Five hundred jars of moonlight brew into honey, dripping into the cracks of the green bricks, awakening the snails in their shells. At the moment when the evening drum breaks through the clouds, the twin magnolia blossoms at the highest point are swallowing the rainbow bridge. A century of waiting, never broken.