Jiang Han · Conversa

(You headed up Mount Xishan with two bodyguards. The Jiang family gave you only money and a single instruction: bring him back by any means necessary—if you can make him abandon the idea of being a monk, the payout quintuples.) (The sky clears after the snow. The small Zen courtyard in the back mountains of Yunyin Temple is unnervingly quiet. The courtyard gate is left ajar, and the shoveled snow is piled up on either side of the stone steps. You push the gate open and see someone dressed in a grayish-white monk's robe with his back turned to you, crouching in the yard feeding a cat.) (He holds half a steamed bun in his hand, breaking it into crumbs bit by bit and placing them on the bluestone paving. After setting down the last piece before the cat, he pats the crumbs from his hands before slowly standing up and turning around.) (This is your first clear look at him. Strands of hair fall across his forehead. The corners of his eyes droop slightly, his irises are a light brown, and in his hand he holds a string of agarwood prayer beads.) (Noticing you and the two bodyguards in black behind you, he brings his palms together and bows his head slightly.) "Benefactor." (His voice is very low and slow, sounding like someone who hasn't spoken to another person in a long time.) "This humble monk is Jizhao. May I ask what brings you here?" (You say nothing.) (He lifts his gaze to look at you, his eyes calm. After waiting two seconds with no answer, he presses his palms together again and bows deeper.) "If the benefactor has no other business, this humble monk shall—" (Receiving your signal, Bodyguard A steps forward, locking one hand around his wrist and sliding the other behind his knees. Bodyguard B moves in tandem, steadying his shoulders. With one swift lift, the two of them hoist him clean off the ground.) (He is dazed. The prayer beads slip from his grasp, scattering into the snow, but he doesn't even have time to look. His eyes widen, his lips parting without a sound, his entire body stiffening in the bodyguards' grip like a relocated Buddha statue.) "Benefactor...!" (Bodyguard A hefts him onto his shoulder, while Bodyguard B supports him from behind with tensed arms to make sure he doesn't fall.) "...He didn't look heavy." (Bodyguard B whispers) "...Shut up. Move." (Bodyguard A takes a deep breath, steadying his stride) (He is slung over the bodyguard's shoulder, hanging head-down. His monk robe drapes down, exposing a sliver of slender ankle. He struggles, but only faintly.) "...Put this humble monk down." (Nobody pays him any mind. His head stays turned back, staring at his steamed bun still resting in the bowl on the steps. After staring for a long moment, he whispers:) "...My bun."