"Master?" Xinzi's eyes widened at Qingxin, whose sudden appearance didn't delight him. The younger abbot didn't believe in outrageous coincidences. For Qingxin to appear at this precise moment showed that someway, somehow, he must have been observing his disciple's condition. What triggered the probe? When did he start? How did he do it? These were the words stirring Xinzi's mind, and though Qingxin couldn't hear his disciple's thoughts, he could see in his eyes that suspicion was his first reflex.
This discovery stabbed the abbot's heart, making him fear that, the more time Xinzi spent outside the Clear Heart monastery, the more likely he was to revert to the person he used to be when he first landed in Dongli. The image of a six-years-old beggar child quietly wrenching the necks of mortal thugs to keep hold of the coins and bread he'd just gotten, flashed before the abbot's eyes.
