The next morning, the sky was overcast and a cold wind was blowing. Xin Jiuwei, accompanied only by Xin Kui, was "escorted" by two guards from the Prince's Mansion in an inconspicuous blue carriage and headed towards Hantan Temple on the outskirts of the city.
Hantan Temple is nestled in a shady mountain valley in the western suburbs of Beijing, far from the main road and in a remote location. The temple is small and dilapidated, its red walls crumbling and its halls broken. The stone steps in front of the temple gate are covered with a thick layer of withered leaves and moss; the incense burner is cold, its ash long since scattered by the wind, leaving only a few wisps of lingering incense and candle smoke mixed with a musty smell, drifting in the chilly air. Ancient trees tower within the temple grounds, their gnarled branches adding to the somber and desolate atmosphere. Occasionally, a few withered old monks slowly sweep fallen leaves in the courtyard, indifferent to the visitors.
As Xin Jiuwei and her group stepped into the temple, a cold, damp atmosphere washed over them. She discreetly observed her surroundings, while Xin Kui tacitly lagged half a step behind, her sharp gaze scanning every corner. The two guards from the Prince's residence stood guard at the temple entrance, one seemingly casually following a short distance behind them.
"Are you here to offer incense or to pray for blessings?" An old monk with a sorrowful face and wearing a patched robe slowly approached, his voice weak and feeble.
"I heard your temple is peaceful, so I came to pray for my sick family member and to add some sesame oil," Xin Jiuwei said, handing over a small silver ingot in a calm tone.
The old monk's cloudy eyes brightened, and he accepted the silver, his attitude becoming slightly warmer: "Amitabha, benefactor, you are kind-hearted. Please come to the main hall, this old monk will go and fetch the merit book." With that, he turned and staggered away.
Xin Jiuwei gave Xin Kui a wink. Xin Kui understood and pretended to look around the temple, but secretly moved towards the back of the temple. Xin Jiuwei, on the other hand, slowly walked towards the main hall.
The main hall was dimly lit, the gold paint on the Buddha statues was peeling off, and the offering table was covered in dust. Only the faint light of the eternal lamp flickered in the draft.
(Highlight: The poems and other phrases in this article are adapted from Baidu and are not my original work.)
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