Under such peculiar circumstances, the monk displayed no sign of panic. Instead, he retrieved a rice bowl and a wooden fish from the backpack behind him, and stood in the middle of the town store, gently striking the wooden fish.
The monotonous sound of the wooden fish carried far into the stillness of the evening.
Behind the windows of the small town, shadows began to flicker.
The monk remained oblivious, continuing to strike the wooden fish.
Finally.
A door in the town was softly pushed open, and out stepped an elderly man with a sorrowful expression, holding a rough ceramic rice bowl in his hands.
He waved toward the monk and said, "Stop striking that!"
The sound of the wooden fish abruptly ceased.
The monk lifted his head and quietly stared at the old man.
