The night was deep, and the wilderness was pitch black.
In this place far removed from human habitation, a simple grass hut stood in a clearing of the forest.
The bright moon shone and the night breeze blew, causing the wind chimes on the eaves of the grass hut to tinkle and clink.
The style of these wind chimes was also peculiar, with a copper charm as the clapper, which issued a clear ringing sound each time it swung in the wind.
Inside the hut was sparsely furnished, with bare walls all around, only a square table and a meditation cushion.
On the table, the candlelight was dim, offerings filled the front, and on a tray behind, a heart that had turned somewhat black, was conspicuously placed.
An old monk sat erect on the meditation cushion, ceaselessly muttering prayers, beads in his hand moving one after the other.
As midnight approached, he suddenly opened his eyes, knelt on the cushion, and kept worshiping the heart.
Whoosh!
