Monk Jun glanced at his monk's robe, black with a few fingerprints, and the pair of little "claws" tugging at his garment.
"Monk Jun?"
Xin Lin, with a pitiful and stubborn look, gazed at him with those big, bright, and persistent eyes.
Monk Jun had good reason to believe that if he did not agree today, this little one would cling to his sleeves forever.
One cannot chant scriptures with a little tail following, after all.
"Little benefactor, if you don't mind, I can help recite some sutras."
Monk Jun felt a headache coming on.
Even a patient person would dread pestering, let alone the good-natured Monk Jun.
"You? Are you any good at it?"
A man mustn't admit his inadequacy, even if he isn't capable, he must pretend to be!
Monk Jun was, after all, a man and a rather proud one at that.
"The sutras that the Minister of Imperial Sacrificial Worship knows, I also know some."
"Okay, I trust you!"
