On Xumi Mountain, during the Buddhist gatherings, monks from all over assembled in the millions, like a flock of sheep moving down the main road.
With each step, they knelt, making their way toward the Sacred Mountain.
Gu Wen wore a bamboo hat, his form concealed by a light veil, as he blended into the crowd, unnoticed.
There were rumors that the Buddha's golden form could aid the world, and now he understood the purpose of his journey.
Before reaching the foot of the Sacred Mountain, the road stretched a hundred miles, flanked by countless Buddhist towers and temples, teeming with monks by the tens of thousands.
Within those temples, one could find not just tens of thousands but hundreds of thousands of golden Buddhas, and the weight of the golden statues exceeded millions of tons.
At the entrance of each temple stood a large iron scale, where visiting mortals placed their offerings of gold and silver.
While the monks closed their eyes and quietly recited, "Amitabha," they counted the treasures with their fingers, one hand grasping prayer beads.
Gu Wen observed for a long time before hearing, "Amitabha Buddha, your offerings are not enough to earn the merits. Please return."
So it turned out that even to be a monk, one had to pay.
Perhaps this was the only way to sustain so many monks.