"Amitabha, Fellow Immortal, you have misunderstood this poor monk!" Ci Hui raised his head to look at the woman. "This poor monk was not stumped by this little monk's question. I was merely thinking... for such an intelligent little monk, such a Tantric Buddhist son with innate wisdom, what should this poor monk do to guide him onto the proper path of Buddhist cultivation? Should I find him an eminent monk to teach him, or should I do it myself?"
Xiao Hua's heart jolted. His gaze swept up and down the young monk as he asked blandly, "Could it be that, in Master's eyes, this poor monk is so utterly incorrigible? Then let this poor monk ask Master: what is the proper path, and what is the evil path? You have not yet attained fruition yourself, so how do you know which path is proper? Even if Master has attained fruition, is your path necessarily the proper one? Is your proper path necessarily this poor monk's proper path? If this poor Daoist follows your path, will I necessarily attain fruition?"
Upon hearing this, Ci Hui's face grew even more bitter, as though he had a mouthful of coptis in it. He lowered his head and chanted a Buddhist invocation. "Amitabha. Seeing this little monk today reminds this poor monk of himself in the past. Not knowing the height of heaven or the depth of earth, not knowing how vast the seas and skies were, not knowing that this world held countless mysteries beyond human understanding. A person was no more than a speck of dust in the world. What turning one's hand to make clouds and flipping it to make rain, what riding the winds and clouds, flying dragon in the heavens—absurdities, all of them. Beyond arrogance, insolence, and contempt,