"Amitabha—this humble monk just got confused, may I know which leader has graced us with their presence?
The weather in Zhongjin is chilly, please come in first."
With a creak, the long-unused door hinges emitted a grating sound as the gates of Zishou Temple swung open.
Speaking too much results in more errors, the old monk gestured with his hand, then clasped both hands together, nodding with a smile.
Intending to turn around and slip into the gatehouse to use the intercom to inform the one truly in charge within the temple.
Meng Chuan stood still, raising his eyebrow.
He hadn't said a word, nor shown the identity from the national mission side, yet the old monk seemed quite perceptive.
Meng Chuan muttered to himself:
"Zishou Temple has done well, no wonder the incense prosperity seems quite affluent..."
Just from the stout gatekeeper, one could tell...
"Hey, master, don't go yet, there's something I'd like to ask you."
