Monk Hushu turned to him.

"From here on, you will go alone," he said. "This is your path alone."

"You're not taking this path?" Lin Mu asked in confusion.

"I've already walked this path before. Entering through the main gate of the temple is special for those who do it the first time. Me being there will only disturb the experience." Monk Hushu replied. "I shall enter when you've reached the end." He added.

"I understand," Lin Mu said.

He stepped forward and crossed the threshold.

The instant his foot touched the polished marble of the main temple's courtyard, the air changed.

Warmth enveloped him—not heat, but presence.

As if a thousand eyes were watching, but none judging.

A voice—not one he heard with ears, but felt in his spirit—whispered:

"Come forth, child of Buddha."

The great doors of the temple opened.

Inside, the elders waited.

And at the center of it all, the golden figure of the Abbot, eyes closed once more, already aware.

The great doors of the Grand Temple creaked open with a reverence of their own, their golden surface etched with scriptures in ancient script—words long forgotten by common scholars, yet still pulsing with power. Each character shimmered faintly, as though chanting silently with every breath of incense-laced wind.

Lin Mu stepped into the sacred hall.

The scent of sandalwood and aged prayer scrolls hung thick in the air. Light filtered in from unseen sources, illuminating the interior in a warm, golden hue. It wasn't bright—it was tranquil. The kind of light that didn't hurt the eyes, but eased the mind.

At the heart of the Grand Temple, seated in a circle upon fine woven mats, were the elders of the Green Lotus Temple.

Their presence was serene, yet immense.

Even without uttering a word, their very being radiated insight, as if the mountain itself had shaped them from stone and silence. Each wore the traditional kasaya in hues of deep crimson and saffron, though they varied in ornamentation. Some were plain. Others glimmered with sacred thread woven by hand. Their prayer beads ranged from humble rosewood to rare jade, and even glowing crystal.

Their faces were aged, yes, but behind the wrinkles were eyes like still lakes—bottomless, calm, and far too knowing.

And at the center of them all, on the slightly raised platform that barely separated him from the rest, was the Abbot.

The ancient man had not moved since Lin Mu's arrival. His eyes remained closed. His expression unchanged. He looked like he could have been a statue, if not for the subtle movement of his long, white eyebrows in the temple breeze.

Lin Mu approached quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound upon the polished floor.

He stopped a respectful distance away and bowed low, pressing his palms together.

"Amitabha," he said, not out of mimicry, but sincerity.

The elders returned the gesture, murmuring their own greeting in unison. The resulting harmony echoed gently within the vast hall.

Then, the Abbot opened his eyes.

Slowly, like two ancient doors creaking open to reveal eternity.

For a moment, Lin Mu felt exposed—not in body, but in soul. As if the old man could see every action he had taken, every decision he had wrestled with, every burden he still carried. But it did not feel invasive. Rather, it felt... kind. Understanding.

And then the Abbot smiled.

It was so faint, so gentle, yet it transformed his face from aged stone to living compassion.

"You have climbed far, child," the Abbot spoke, voice like wind through pine needles—soft, but carrying weight. "But not upward alone. Inward, as well."

Lin Mu felt his throat dry for a second. He bowed his head again. "I did only what was asked of me."

"No," the Abbot said. "You did what only you could do."

A quiet hum of agreement came from the surrounding elders.

One of them, a kindly monk with a laugh-lined face, spoke next. "Many walk the mountain. Few listen to it."

Another elder added, "Fewer still are listened to in return."

Lin Mu glanced up. "Am I being judged?"

"Not judged," said a third elder, this one with a voice like bells, "Weighed."

The Abbot's smile did not falter. "And found light enough to rise… but heavy enough to remain grounded. A rare balance."

With a soft motion, he gestured to the cushion in front of him. "Sit."

Lin Mu obeyed, taking the cross-legged position without hesitation. It felt natural. As though the place had been waiting for him.

For a long moment, silence reigned.

The incense curled upward in slow, spiraling ribbons. Somewhere, deep within the temple, a bell tolled once—low and resonant.

The Abbot's eyes remained locked on Lin Mu.

"Why do you walk the path you do?" he asked.

It wasn't a rhetorical question. The spiritual weight behind it hit Lin Mu squarely.

He breathed deeply, his consciouness reaching deep within his mind to find the answers.

"I don't seek enlightenment," Lin Mu said honestly. "Nor do I seek power for its own sake. I've seen the suffering of this world. The manipulation. The arrogance of those who stand above and press down on those below."

His fists clenched slightly. His thoughts had been reinforced by what he had seen in the Osteri Divine World earlier.

"I want strength—not to rule, but to shield. To stand when others fall. To be the sword in the dark… or the hand that lifts the fallen. To see the world, to see the universe, to see all those that are ignorant cannot." He bared his thoughts.

A few of the monks exchanged glances. Not disapproving ones—curious, intrigued.

"A protector," the Abbot said.

"An explorer." The elders said.

Lin Mu nodded.

"And yet, you climb a mountain that asks you to shed attachments."

"Some attachments must remain," Lin Mu said. "Compassion. Justice. Responsibility. If I gave those up, what would be left of me?"

The Abbot closed his eyes again, smiling deeper now.

"Then you are not far from understanding," he whispered.