Lu Qian retracted the Buddha Flame.
He folded away the little Vajra Mount Sumeru.
Ah Hu, with several young monks and nuns, carried out a tea table, chairs and other household things and, beneath a big pine in front of the Buddha hall, set everything neatly.
They boiled water, brewed tea and served Master Jin Keng.
“Tea’s a bit poor.”
“Pastries are so-so.”
“These tables and chairs are well made, but the material’s cheap.”
“But I can understand.” Young Master Jin Keng crossed one leg over the other, sipping tea and nibbling pastries, and casually critiqued Lu Qian’s utensils and vessels: “Master Fahai, your cultivation is commendable, your combat ability frightening, but the foundation… I can understand. You’re simply no match for the great orthodox sects whose lineages in Baoguang Pavilion and the Yinglou number in the millions of years.”
Jin Keng swallowed a piece of osmanthus cake and pointed at two busily serving nuns.
“Only, even if nobody framed you, your Great Gold Mountain Temple is a little… improper. Nuns and monks mixed together like this—how could that be?” Jin Keng laughed and pointed at Lu Qian. “Clearly, Master Fahai, you’ve got a different world in your heart.”