"It's so ugly. No one has died, so why are you draped in white?" Yang remembered that in the past, people only wore white cloth on their heads when someone in the family died.
"This is what you don't understand. The old lady said that as long as we wear this, the Bodhisattva of Stone Stream will bless us. You should wrap one on, too."
"Just by wrapping a piece of white cloth, we get a Bodhisattva's blessing? If it were that easy, there wouldn't be any poor people in the world." Yang sighed. Sometimes he really didn't know which of them was the elder.
Seeing the five white-wrapped heads in the carriage, Yang spoke up, "Let's get out. This is the inn. We'll stay here for the night and set off in the morning."
To the left of the carriage was a modest inn. Its tables and stools looked as if they were coated in a thick, grimy paste. This was exactly what Yang wanted. A lodging that's too nice would be a problem; wealth shouldn't be flaunted.
