Driving up to the Yellow River gorge on a blind foggy day, our ascent was momentarily halted by this mysterious and reverent event taking place on the road ahead. To this day, I still have no idea as to the identity of the suited-up man who descended from a convoy of black cars, to be greeted by billows of smoke and incense, singing and bowing, from a procession of Buddhist monks and women who had been standing there waiting in anticipation for his arrival.
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