By the fourth night of Qin Haoran’s morality bootcamp, the mountains of western Sichuan were no longer safe for unattended problems.
Over two hundred resource-starved elders and senior disciples from the thirty-six Hidden Sects had descended into the mortal wilderness.
Every single one of them was wearing a bright crimson volunteer vest over their embroidered Daoist robes.
They hovered above hiking trails, perched on telephone poles, and lurked behind bus shelters, their bloodshot eyes scanning the dark valleys for any sign of human distress.
On a steep hiking trail winding up Mount Emei, college student Xiao Lin was having a miserable evening.
Xiao Lin was twenty-one years old, an honest environmental science major with a certified Goodness Score of eighty-six.
He had taken a wrong turn in the descending mountain fog, stumbled over a wet pine root, and twisted his right ankle with a sharp pop.
“Oww!” Xiao Lin gasped, collapsing onto the damp trail and clutching his swelling joint. “Hello? Is anyone out there? My phone has no signal!”
