The light and the sounds of explosions were incessant.
The people on the street had all run back home, and there wasn't a single customer in the tavern; the waiter stood at the entrance, boredly yawning.
"The thunder is truly terrifying."
He muttered to himself as he watched the light in the distance.
At this moment, an elderly monk with a kindly face and benevolent eyes, accompanied by a young monk, walked down the deserted street.
"Are you open for business today?"
The elderly monk inquired of the tavern waiter.
"Yes, honored guest, please come inside."
The waiter was startled for a moment but then promptly invited them into the establishment.
"What would the elder like to order?"
The waiter asked as he served tea.
"Bring thirty steamed buns."
The elderly monk stated.
"No problem!"
The waiter cheerfully went to the kitchen; this monk could really eat—a lot. Although steamed buns weren't particularly valuable, thirty was still quite a number.
