To reach the temple gate, one must first pass through the long stone steps.
Some have already arrived early and are climbing the steps.
Xia Wenjin, though never having been here before, knew that the stone steps at the temple gate numbered one hundred and eight. After all, it was in the mountains, covered with a layer of fallen leaves, and an old monk was sweeping the leaves.
The broom in his hand moved neither too light nor too heavy, neither too fast nor too slow. Even though devotees came and went around him, he focused solely on the fallen leaves on the ground, not even raising his eyelids.
As Xia Wenjin passed by, that Sweeping Monk, as if fused with the whole universe, suddenly lifted his eyes, glanced at Xia Wenjin, and raised his broom, unexpectedly sweeping towards Xia Wenjin.
Many people were taken aback; a broom was meant for sweeping dust and fallen leaves, using it on people not only was dirty but also disrespectful.
