Hu Fu, Lin Xiaosu, and Little Monk Liao Ran.
It was unclear whether Little Monk Liao Ran's calmness stemmed from his youthful age and ignorance of fear or something else, but he was not panicking at all. He took an incense stick out of his alms bag, and lit it directly with a windproof lighter.
This incense was different from the one before; it was entirely black.
Once lit, a stream of black smoke rose from the tip of the incense, enveloping his little head. Several butterflies fluttered towards him, but as soon as they touched the black smoke, they tumbled away in retreat.
Hu Fu's eyes lit up: "Little baldy, can you give us one of your incense sticks?"
"Amitabha, my master said we monks only receive alms; we cannot be benefactors..."
"Damn it! You monks are supposed to be compassionate, and now you're watching us die without helping?" Hu Fu was furious.
"Is the benefactor going to die?" asked Liao Ran, his voice crisp amid the swirling dust.
