Naming

Summer was scorching and windless.

There was not a wisp of cloud in the sky, nor was there any breeze. It was hot—heat shimmered from the ground, twisting and blurring the distant scenery. Men hid beneath the shade of trees, bare-chested and fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans instead of working. The cicadas' racket irritated everyone, and some family's child fell and sat on the ground, howling from the scorching heat.

A certain dandy young master found the heat unbearable and bought a melon, slicing it open and stuffing it straight into his mouth.

"Pah... It's actually a hot melon! Is that crooked merchant asking for a beating?"

Cursing under his breath, he tossed away the rind without the slightest intention of actually hitting anyone. It was too hot. Standing in the street felt like being baked inside a brick kiln. Drenched in sweat, the dandy did not want to move at all; beating someone would only make him hotter.

The melon rind spun round and round after hitting the ground, then stopped beside a pair of feet.

Looking up, he saw an elderly monk in brocade robes with a long beard. Not a trace of irritation showed on his face. Kind-eyed and smiling, he feared not the scorching sun as he walked forward at an unhurried pace. Passersby stepped forward one after another to greet him and offer melons, fruit, and tea.

The street was hot and still, its stone paving scorching beneath one's feet. Apart from yellow dogs and raccoon dogs occasionally hopping across it, only the old monk remained.

When he reached the entrance of a certain household, he closed his eyes and carefully sensed the surroundings for a while. Then he nodded and stepped forward to knock.

Creak—

The wooden door opened. No one was visible at