Everything he said sounded somewhat unorthodox.
At this moment, he was a monk, yet he was freely criticizing Buddhist doctrine.
"Are you sure you're a real monk?"
"Of course. Genuine, no substitutions. I even have an ordination certificate." He smiled.
"But being a monk doesn't mean I can't have my own thoughts, does it? Didn't the great scholars say that believing every word in a book is worse than having no book at all? As a monk, I also feel that believing in every aspect of Buddhism is worse than having no Buddha at all. A person's fate isn't in anyone else's hands—it's in their own. Many people say they did their best, yet still couldn't escape their destiny. But did they really do their best? Not necessarily. They were still bound by all sorts of rules and restraints."
I nodded. His words felt somewhat sophistical, but upon thinking them over, they actually made a certain kind of sense. I had no way to refute him.
"You came because of Poseidon, didn't you?" I hadn't expected him to get straight to the point. Yes, I had indeed come because of Poseidon. It now seemed that he couldn't possibly be uninvolved in Poseidon's disappearance.
"You really did it? Don't tell me you killed him?" I was startled. This man clearly acted without regard for any rules, doing whatever he pleased. If he had truly killed Poseidon, then regardless of his reasons, it would be difficult to explain things to those people on Mount Olympus.
"Killed him? Why would I kill him?" He tossed the smoked cigarette butt onto the floor. The meditation room was spotlessly clean, yet he had flicked ash onto the ground and thrown his cigarette butt there.
Seeing the astonishment in my eyes, he chuckled. "Isn't the point