They say whenever a monk opens his mouth, he opens it wide.
Since crossing into this world, Jiang Qiao had encountered his first blatantly wine-and-meat-eating monks. So this really is a case of meat passing through the intestines while Buddha sits in the heart, huh?
The old and young monks were filthy from head to toe, their clothes torn into rags. They looked utterly wretched.
They had barely sat down for a few seconds before standing again to fetch two bowls. They poured water from the kettle beside them, not caring that it had just boiled and was still bubbling, then gulped it down noisily.
The way they wolfed it down without fearing scalding water made the eyelids of the other diners twitch. They all cried out in shock.
Even the owner, who had seen plenty of the world and could chat and laugh with all kinds of Awakened, could not help giving them a thumbs-up and praising them with, "Fucking awesome, Pro Max."
"Master, we've been walking for over three months now. Where exactly are we going?"
"You've been eating meat every day, and you're about to spend all the money on you. In a few days, forget mutton—you might not even be able to afford a single steamed bun. We can't exactly squat by the roadside and shout, 'Kind sir, spare some change,' can we?"
"We're Awakened. We can't afford to lose face."
Little Monk spoke with a worried expression.
Even now, the big cities in the Safe Zone still used all kinds of bills and banknotes. But here in the Northern Territory, those newly issued currencies were nothing but wastepaper. The locals had their own trading vouchers, while outsiders could only pay with gold or silver.
When they had set out, they had been blessed by Buddha's