The monk beside Lin Mu stepped forward with solemn reverence, each of his movements measured under the weight of tenfold gravity. He approached one of the seated figures near the very center of the circle—an ancient monk wrapped in faded ochre robes, his frame frail and thin like the last flicker of a candle flame.
He knelt slowly beside the old monk and pressed both palms together in silent respect.
"Abbot…" the monk whispered softly, "please forgive this disturbance."
The old monk did not respond immediately.
His body remained perfectly still, breath shallow, almost indistinguishable from death. But then his fingers twitched, a tremor passing through his withered frame. Slowly, his eyes cracked open—cloudy, sunken, yet radiating a deep and ancient wisdom.
His lips parted, voice like dry wind brushing over stone.
"…No visitors. No noise. You know the rules," he murmured, tone laced with faint reprimand.
