"Of course it matters."
Xuanzang remained seated, looking at the old man, and asked, "When did you last invite Iron Fan Immortal here?"
The old man frowned. "Five years ago."
Xuanzang asked again, "You mentioned the offerings for inviting the immortal. Pigs, sheep, chickens, and geese can be raised, but where did you obtain the colorful silks, fragrant incense, and fine wine?"
"Every household chipped in."
"And where did each household get them?"
"We bought them!"
The old man thumped his bamboo staff against the ground. "Must I list every last thing for you?"
"Where did the money to buy them come from?"
"Selling grain!"
The old man answered impatiently, "Merchants come through here too. Are we not even allowed to trade?"
"Then a single year's harvest not only fed you all for ten years, but left grain to spare, which you could take elsewhere to exchange for necessities?"
"And what if it did?"
Xuanzang looked toward the red gate behind him.
"This estate is neatly built, and the fine hemp cloth you wear is no coarse fabric. Even in the Great Tang, ordinary farming households might not be able to afford such things."
"I also see many elderly people here, so you must have had ways to live out your years in comfort before. If so, where has your present suffering come from?"
The old man pinched his cuff, his expression darkening.
"We did live well before! But this estate was handed down by our ancestors, and these clothes weren't made today."
"Are you saying that because we have food to eat and a few clothes to wear, we aren't suffering?"
The elderly woman beside him added, "That was all thanks to the Earth God and Iron Fan Immortal! Are you trying to use it to excuse your disciple?"