That day, the abbot and lay devotees all followed the police down the mountain.
Throughout the journey, the abbot's mood was somewhat suppressed, and just as they neared the bottom, he couldn't help reciting his own surname: "Thousand mouths of bastard Cheng, thousand mouths of bastard Cheng..."
Mu Zhiyang asked curiously what he was doing, and the abbot said, "I'm cursing someone."
"Curse who?" Mu Zhiyang asked.
"On the surface, I'm cursing myself," the abbot, playing with his prayer beads, said: "Even if netizens record a video, they can only say I have a peculiar temper."
"But in reality?"
"I just want to curse by saying 'bastard' a few more times!" The abbot's prayer beads twirled rapidly: "Bastard! They are all bastards..."
Mu Zhiyang looked at the abbot's shrewd head: "It's a good thing your surname is Cheng..."
