After appointing his successor he removed his priestly robe and burnt it. He tied together his picture album, packed away his collection of paintbrushes and ink and went down into the valley. He looked back at the mountain and the Monastery of the Green Cloud. He had spent twenty years there, reconstructing the building and introducing his own strict rules. More than one hundred monks had been instructed by him. The year was 1680 and now, over fifty years old, he wanted to reconnect with the past. He thought of the old saying: Falling leaves return to their roots. But what was he now? Where was home to him? What was his name? He needed to find answers to everything. He had placed all his pictures and painting things in a few sandalwood boxes which his pupils had given him as a leaving present. Inside he found pieces of paper on which each of the pupils had written some farewell words. They moved him greatly. As he was crossing a river one evening he was set upon by highwaymen. Because the boxes were heavy, the highwaymen may have thought that they contained jade and gold.
