"Stop." A robust voice came from over there, followed by a monk in his forties or fifties, accompanied by five or six other monks.
Seeing the monk arrive, the woman ceased her swordplay and glared fiercely at Yang Fan.
"Qingwu, you mustn't act rashly," the monk approached.
Ling Qingwu still had a face full of dissatisfaction: "Master Hui Yuan, he spied on me while I was practicing my swordsmanship."
"This gentleman has just entered the monastery seeking the abbot, and out of boredom, wandered around. His climbing of the tree to check out the situation was out of curiosity and not Yang's true intention. I hope, Qingwu, you can display a benevolent heart and forgive him." Master Hui Yuan brought his palms together and chanted Amitabha.
Indeed, it had only been a momentary incident, and Ling Qingwu wasn't an unreasonable person: "Master Hui Yuan, Qingwu takes your lesson to heart." Ling Qingwu put her long sword on her back and gave a salute.
