Upon hearing Taichu Master's words, the novice monk put down the broom and dusted off his hands.
His face showed no trace of anger; instead, he smiled and shook his head, his tone full of Zen.
"You jest, kind sir. Back then, preaching at Jiyuan Temple was to save others; now sweeping at Wuxiang Temple is to save myself."
"The talk of territories is nothing but an obsession. Like the fallen leaves in this courtyard, swept away today, they will fall again tomorrow."
"Clinging to 'possession' only traps oneself. What I seek is not a piece of land but a quiet place to peacefully contemplate and comprehend the Buddhist teachings."
Upon hearing this, Taichu Master burst into laughter.
Then, he waved his hand dismissively, his tone slightly scornful: "You bald monks only know how to use words to circle around people!"
