After an indeterminate amount of time, Song Yan opened his eyes in the dimly lit Zen courtyard. The Bodhi Tree in his heart had become firm, and the eighteen Demon Monks had become his slaves, awaiting his command.
He glanced at the side altar, where a red silk cover draped over it, beneath which was a blurred-faced statue of the Buddha.
The bookshelf was empty, and beside it was a lavish, luxurious soft couch, accompanied by mind-bewitching incense.
The eighteen Demon Monks whispered among themselves, some saying, "How can the Abbot be without the company of beauties?" Others said, "Without fine wine and rich meats, it truly desecrates our Buddha." Some shouted, "Kill, kill, kill, let's kill some people to entertain the Abbot. This room doesn't even have a head pot, how shabby, hardly befitting the Abbot"…
"Silence."
The myriad of buzzing, fly-like whispers came to an abrupt halt.
The meditation room returned to silence.
Song Yan swept his gaze over the panel.
