The limping old monk's gaze was gentle and serene:
"As expected, I can't hide it from Master Zhao. Please come over, as there is a scripture I wish to give you."
Give me? Zhao Douan grew increasingly puzzled, his heart quietly tensing as he prepared for the old monk to make a sly move to trap him.
Yet, driven by curiosity, he remained calm: "What scripture?"
The limping old monk said nothing, supporting himself with a cane, slowly moved up to the sixth level, where only a few large tables stood in the center, displaying dozens of tattered scriptures:
"Does Master know the origin of these scriptures?"
Zhao Douan pondered for a moment and said, "Could they be the scriptures Xuan Yin confiscated from the Western Regions back then?"
Back then, Xuan Yin was not yet an abbot. He once entered the Western Regions and forcedly took two chests of scriptures from the Buddhist Ancestor Court. This cemented his status as an abbot.
