He walked to the main hall entrance, poked his head in to look at the deity statues, then looked at the worshippers praying for blessings.
He withdrew his gaze and squatted against the wall.
With nothing to do, he watched the incense burner in the courtyard, observing the greenish smoke curl upward, a thin thread at first before it spread into a faint cloud.
Then he fixed his gaze on a sparrow darting past the eaves, following that tiny bundle of heat until it disappeared into the gourd trellis in a corner. Only then did he look away. He heard the voices of the worshippers inside the hall, laden with sorrow and pleading as they begged the gods to help their families recover soon.
Daoist Jiang offered a few gentle words of comfort, neither exaggerating nor brushing them off. His kindness was plain and genuine, reassuring to hear.
More worshippers entered the temple, all villagers from the surrounding countryside.
Some looked much as usual, coming to pray for peace and good fortune. They burned a stick of incense, exchanged a few words about everyday life with Daoist Jiang, and left. Others had haggard faces and heavy steps, clearly burdened by troubles at home.
Life was hard for ordinary, impoverished families. When they fell ill, they could only try their luck with folk remedies or go from place to place seeking divine help.
The wealthy were much the same, really. They hired physicians and bought medicine, yet still crossed the temple threshold in search of a sliver of hope.
Daoist Jiang patiently interpreted the worshippers' fortune slips. His thin fingers brushed over the yellowed papers as he turned their verses into everyday country speech, explaining them carefully and gently counseling those whose brows were knotted with worry. He did not say