Monk robes hang in the zen chamber atop the mountain, outside the window, birds fly over the creek where no one is.
At dusk, halfway down the mountain, one can hear the sound of the stream lingering in the lush greenery...
Thirteen days later, Jiang Dali finds himself at the Pure Thought Zen Sect, enveloped in an atmosphere brimming with profound serenity and peace.
Jiang Dali walks slowly, hands behind his back, accompanied by an old monk along a stone-slab path lined with bamboo trees, exuding an ancient charm. They pause and stand exchanging words in front of the majestic hall "Abbot's Court" built on the cliff's edge.
"Amitabha Buddha, Master Jiang, now among the vassal states you call the wind and summon the rain, becoming a figure unparalleled in history. Why bother going to the Holy Dynasty?"
