Censor Holder#

Incense sticks break, the iron censer cold, Frost cuts, winds slash, thin are the monk's robes. Bitter be the path of cultivation's quest,

Elusive bliss, hidden truths, the soul's dreams oppressed. Years ago, a merchant sought to cross the New West to conduct business. He should have taken the official road around the mountain, but due to a limited budget and dwindling supplies, he decided to take a shortcut over the mountain.

Not long after venturing upon the mountain, he lost his way. The path was blocked by snow, and the cold was biting. The merchant, both freezing and frightened, was at a loss, when he saw an ascetic monk, bare-chested and carrying a censer, passing by on a nearby slope. In a moment of desperation, the merchant hurriedly dragged his goods and followed the monk. The monk walked slowly, but the merchant, burdened by his goods, moved even slower and could never quite catch up.

In this manner, the two of them, one leading and one following, climbed to the mountain's peak, where a grand temple stood. Overjoyed, the merchant planned to rest there and hire some monks to help carry his goods over the mountain, but as he approached the temple gate, he became wary. There were many monks standing like statues in the snow, completely motionless.

The merchant was alarmed and frantically searched for the monk who had led him. Suddenly, he heard footsteps and saw several monks carrying censers walking among the frozen bodies. They surrounded the merchant, and just as he was about to plead for his life, a cold mist rose from the censers, freezing him in place among the snow-covered corpses.