The old monk and the little monk

The night was dark and terrifying.

Among the withered trees, there were lonely souls wandering. The north wind howled, sweeping up the snow on the top layer like a thin layer of sand.

Looking from afar, there was only a single lamp in the vast snow.

It was an Inn.

The moon was high in the sky, and two figures, one big and one small, appeared on the rugged mountain road in front of the inn.

They were two monks.

There was an old monk who looked Haggard and skinny. He was draped in a thick cotton monk's robe, which felt so heavy that it was going to fall on him. A few strands of his white beard were almost blown off by the wind.

Beside him was a young monk who looked seven or eight years old. He was also wearing thick cotton clothes and dressed like a ball. His red lips and white teeth made him look delicate and cute. His face was red, and he didn't look cold at all.

The two monks, one old and one young, came to the door of the inn and knocked.

Du, du, du.