When I was twenty years old, I picked up a child covered in blood at the foot of the mountain.
He huddled in the snow like a dying puppy.
His slender fingers grasped the corner of my clothes, his eyes were as alert as a beast.
I told him in sign language: "Follow me back to the mountain."
The temple, which had been silent for hundreds of years, now has a young disciple.
He couldn't speak, so I taught him sign language.
He had nightmares and I stayed by the bed all night.
As he grew older, the way he looked at me became more and more strange.
That day he pinched my wrist and his breath was frighteningly hot.
"Master," there was an undercurrent in his eyes that I couldn't understand, "You know very well that I'm not the good little puppy you think."
Intention: Study hard
