Within that light, a hunched figure was tiptoeing toward Tang Monk's door.
It was Elder Jin Chi.
He wore a black night robe and carried no cane. Though his steps were unsteady, he deliberately kept them light. Something was clenched in his right hand, reflecting a faint metallic glint beneath the moonlight—a key, the spare key to the guest room.
Chu Yang's heart sank.
Just as expected.
Those words during the day had ultimately failed to completely dispel the greed in Elder Jin Chi's heart.
He had tossed and turned in his meditation chamber for half the night. In the end, he could not resist any longer and quietly got up.
He might not necessarily have intended to steal it—perhaps he merely wanted to look at it once more, touch it once more, smell the Buddhist fragrance lingering on that kasaya once more.
But whether he wanted to steal it or merely look at it, Chu Yang could not let him open that door.
Because once he opened it, there would be no turning back.
Chu Yang took a deep breath and stepped out of his room.
He did not deliberately soften his footsteps. His soles landed on the corridor's wooden floorboards with distinct tapping sounds.
Elder Jin Chi stiffened all over and abruptly turned his head.
Under the moonlight, the two stared at each other from five or six paces apart.
The expression on Elder Jin Chi's aged face seemed frozen—terror, panic, shame, and the awkwardness of being caught red-handed.
The hand clutching the key began to tremble. His lips quivered, yet he could not utter a single word.
Chu Yang did not question him, nor did he expose him.
He simply walked over calmly and stopped two steps away from Elder Jin Chi.
Then he softly said one