"Amitabha".
A monk in white clothes clasped his hands together, and a string of red rosary beads hung on his wrist, shining with red light.
"It is better for the donor to go back."
"Obsession harms people, and lovesickness condenses." The monk muttered something, "Horizontal is also a thought, and vertical is also a thought."
A hundred years ago, "the general became a monk on the way." The visitor knelt in front of the sedan chair.
"Did he leave any words?" The bride's voice was trembling.
"The general said that there will be a lot of killing in this life. May the young lady find the one of her heart and love her forever."
A laughter like silver bells came from the sedan chair.
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