One day later.
Tanguang Mountain, the first floor of a nine-story ancient tower.
The space here is dim, with only the central area illuminated by the faint glow of eight ancient lamps, surrounding a young monk with a fair countenance, sitting cross-legged, hands clasped before his chest.
About ten yards in front of the young monk, the silhouette of a young man in a blue robe flickers in the lamp light, also sitting cross-legged, his face obscured by the darkness.
The two merely sit facing each other without speaking.
After a long period, the young man in the blue robe relaxes his expression slightly and breaks the silence:
"I understand."
The young monk does not answer but murmurs a Buddhist chant under his breath, his expression unchanged.
"Then I'll leave this matter to you, Master." The young man in the blue robe says, then stands and bows slightly to the young monk.
"It seems you have made up your mind." The young monk says softly.
"That's right."
