In the first month of the thirteenth year of Lingwei, the rebellion in Bijiang was suppressed, and the Emperor returned from the southwest.
On the second night after New Year's Eve, upon Shuxi Mountain to the east of Que City, several days of accumulated snow had turned the mountain paths into silver ribbons that wound their way to the gates of Yongye Temple. Old Li, the charcoal seller, drove his donkey cart down the mountain, leaving a final set of tracks stained with charcoal ash in the snow.
Most pilgrims preferred to enter the mountains to worship on the first day of the new year; by the second day, the crowds thinned considerably. The most popular temple near Que City was Dacheng Temple, which sat adjacent to the Imperial City. Shuxi Mountain, with its treacherous paths made even more difficult by the winter snow, saw few visitors.
The moonlight in the mountains was far brighter than in the city, casting a crystalline shimmer over the tiles of the great halls.
Within the courtyard, a lone, ancient wintersweet tree was beginning to sprout buds. This was the only time of year when Yongye Temple was devoid of floral fragrance; the air held only the faint, thin scent of firewood smoke, desolate and cold.
With the freezing weather and little to do, the monks in the rear courtyard of the side hall had retired shortly after evening prayers. Only the flickering light of the ever-burning lamps remained in the Great Hall.
"Master! Master!"
A young novice in grey robes came running in a hurry, the rings on his monastic staff jingling. As he stepped into the hall, he immediately spotted the abbot dozing against the altar.
He quickly pretended not to see and stood at the door, giving a light cough.
Yikong shuddered, jolting awake from his dream. Seeing his disciple at the door, he immediately sat upright on his prayer mat. He reached out to trim the lamp oil, only to find it had already congealed, so he picked up a nearby sutra tube and began to polish it instead.
"It is so late. Why have you rushed into the hall? Did I not already give instructions for tomorrow’s morning prayers?"
"Reporting to Master, a carriage has arrived at the mountain gate. They refuse to listen to reason and insist on entering."
Yikong set down the sutra tube and blinked his sleepy eyes. As he stirred the dying embers in the brazier, he glanced toward the hall doors.
The icicles hanging from the eaves had not yet been cleared, sparkling brilliantly in the moonlight.
Beyond the mountain gate, however, all was darkness; not a single lantern could be seen. The snow from previous days still blanketed the mountain, making the small path to the temple even more difficult to traverse. Even during the day, the number of pilgrims was fewer than usual.
Yet, midnight visitors were not entirely unheard of.
The Imperial City was full of the wealthy and powerful. Perhaps a lady was suffering a difficult labor, a child had gone missing, or someone had committed too many misdeeds and found the lonely night unbearable... In short, those desperate to pray never cared for the hour.
Naturally, once the matter was resolved, the donation for incense was exceptionally generous. Thus, under Yikong’s tutelage, Yongye Temple was always diligent and dutiful when encountering such "emergencies," regardless of day or night.
He wondered which noble house had run into trouble this time.
Yikong beckoned with his finger. The young novice, being quite sharp, hurried closer.
A hint of cunning appeared on the young abbot’s fair face as he lowered his voice. "Is it a carriage from a prominent household?"
The novice, clearly a veteran of such matters with a keen eye, nodded with certainty. "I have checked. It is a carriage from the Prime Minister’s manor."
Yikong paused, murmuring, "Surely he hasn't come for more calming incense?"
The old Prime Minister’s insomnia was truly worsening if he was seeking them out in the dead of night. Had he known, he would have quoted a price several taels higher.
Yikong stood up and reached for his formal cassock when he heard movement outside the hall.
A flurry of hurried footsteps approached, mingled with the low-voiced protests of another disciple.
"Benefactors! Please, do not go further. The Abbot is chanting prayers for the deceased tonight and gave orders not to be disturbed..."
Ah, his disciples were well-trained in the proprieties, knowing to buy their master a little time to dress.
In that interval, Yikong had fastened his cassock. Just as he struck a pose to light the oil lamp, a clear, shallow voice rang out from beyond the doors.
"Master Yikong."
Yikong froze at the sound of that voice. He quickly hurried out of the hall to meet them. Two figures, having trodden through the snow under the moonlight, had already reached the threshold.
"I heard Master Yikong is chanting prayers for the deceased. I wonder if you might include one more person?"
The man’s voice was light, and paired with his cold, detached countenance, he looked like a wandering cultivator who had knocked on the mountain gate on a whim.
Yikong arched an eyebrow.
"The young master jokes. In matters of the spirits and the dead, the living had best not interfere."
The green-clad guard behind the man instantly radiated a domineering aura, his killing intent even sharper than usual.
"My master has traveled for half a month without rest. Before even entering the city, he came here without pause. Do not be as long-winded as usual. If there is a delay..."
"Wei Xiang."
The man called out softly, and the green-clad guard could only shut his mouth in a huff.
Yikong composed himself and waved his hand to dismiss the two novices.
"Zhu Yu, you and Ping'er guard the outside of the Great Hall. Do not let anyone else in."
The two obeyed and retreated, taking lanterns to stand watch in the courtyard.
The man glanced at the person behind him; though he did not speak, his meaning was clear. The green-clad guard shot a look at Yikong before turning and vanishing among the roof ridges and eaves.
"I hope the Master does not take offense at this late visit."
The man spoke politely, but he had no intention of bowing or apologizing. He merely surveyed the monk before him, his gaze finally landing on the monk’s half-slipped-off shoes.
Noticing this, Yikong tucked his foot back. He then raised an eyebrow, glancing at the black ceremonial robes the man had not yet changed out of.
The nine-colored 'fu' patterns were embroidered across the fabric like grasping claws. Under the light of the butter lamps, they shimmered with a dazzling golden light that made it difficult to look directly at him.
"This humble monk would not dare. I only wonder if I am meeting Young Master Zhongli today, or..."
Su Wei glanced at the cunning monk but gave no answer. He merely flicked his sleeve and stepped into the Great Hall.
The crumpled prayer mat in the center of the hall had not been tidied. Various sutra scrolls and oilcloths were scattered around in a mess. Most conspicuous was a faded red lacquered wooden box—the donation box usually kept on the altar. It had been opened, and the loose silver and copper coins within were spread across the floor, as if someone had just been counting them.
It was truly a temple so small it could get no smaller, if the abbot had to personally count the incense money every day.
Yikong followed behind him. Noticing the man’s amused gaze, he remained perfectly composed as he stepped forward to pack the box away, as if it contained not the scent of copper, but supreme treasures passed down through the ages.
After a few quick movements, he picked up one of the oil lamps stacked like a pagoda.
"Please wait a moment, Young Master."
Yikong ducked behind the hanging banners. A moment later, he emerged carrying a familiar small table, which he placed beside the prayer mat facing the Buddha statue. He sat on the floor himself, smoothed out the lone prayer mat with his hand, and pushed it toward the man.
The man stared at the mat, making no move for a moment.
"Why do you not invite me to sit in the inner hall today?"
Yikong maintained his smiling facade, pointing casually at the benevolent Buddha statue behind him. "One cannot see this statue from the inner hall. This monk..."
The man’s narrow eyes lifted slightly. "Are you afraid?"
Yikong finally paused and let out an honest sigh.
"By custom, the Young Master comes to the temple once a month. Now, because of the Bijiang matter, you have been delayed for several months. This monk feels a bit of trepidation."
The man finally decided to let him off, sitting gracefully upon the prayer mat. His meditative posture appeared even more practiced than Yikong’s.
"A man of the cloth, yet you fear illusory things."
The monk was clearly accustomed to the man’s biting way of speaking. He removed a copper kettle that had been heating over the brazier and calmly poured two cups of hot tea.
"This monk is merely following his master’s dying wish, doing his best to fulfill his duty for fear that an oversight might lead to hidden perils."
Su Wei’s fingertip lightly tapped the amber wood grain of the small table, which resembled a beast's eye. It was the luster that only high-grade agarwood acquired after years of friction. It made the purple clay teacup atop it look as pitch-black as the nearby vajra pestle.
"And in your view, has there been an oversight?"
Yikong did not look at the man, but gazed quietly at the clear tea in the two small cups.
"In the past, the Young Master would always take a sip of this tea first."
Su Wei was silent for a moment before saying slowly, "I never liked tea to begin with. Today, I simply find this cup particularly displeasing to the eye."
"In the past, the Young Master never spoke of likes, dislikes, loves, or hates."
Yikong’s clear voice echoed in the hall. The flickering candlelight on the small table waxed and waned, casting a somewhat sinister light on the wide-eyed, glaring faces of the four Guardian Kings surrounding them.
After a long while, Yikong spoke again, but his voice had lost its usual gentle, compassionate tone.
"Has the Young Master... been moved?"
Su Wei said nothing. Yikong’s tone grew even colder.
"The Young Master should be most aware of his own condition. To let a thought arise, to be moved by emotion—all of it is peril."
*To let a thought arise, to be moved by emotion—all of it is peril.*
These eight words were what the late Master Wu Min had left for him.
Now, Wu Min’s disciple was repeating them to him. It was like a curse specifically designed for him; he relied on it to stay alive, yet was constrained by it, unable to escape it for his entire life.
"I am already within peril. For many years, I have not even remembered what it is to feel worry or fear."
"If the Young Master does not consider himself, he should consider those around him." Yikong sighed, revealing a rare trace of helplessness. He continued, "When did it begin?"
When did it begin?
That was a good question. He needed to think carefully.
The scene of the day they returned from Huozhou and stopped by the stream outside Que City flashed before Su Wei’s eyes.
She had knocked on his window and held those plump, bright red berries before him.
He believed himself capable of resisting any temptation, but in that ordinary, tiny, uncalculated moment, he had sensed a flicker of wavering from the depths of his soul.
He had wanted to take that ripe berry—not because he should, but simply because he *wanted* to.
It had been a very, very long time... since the notion of "wanting" had occurred to him.
Long ago, he had cast aside those distracting desires and prepared himself never to pick them up again for the rest of his life.
But a lifetime was truly too long. Even someone as cold as he had long ago grown weary and bored.
He had thought that if he just stepped back a little, this emotion beyond his control would dissipate.
So, using the excuse that the berries were sour, he had rejected her.
But she had not left.
She had stubbornly produced even more berries, holding them brightly before his eyes.
He looked at those crimson fruits and seemed to see her stubbornness as she was knocked down from the Pingxiao Tower time and again, only to climb back up every time.
If he opened that heavily guarded door, would she be willing to leave the sunlight, pass through the darkness, and come to the other side?
Like the first crack appearing in an ancient, massive, indestructible mountain, so it was with his heart. From that moment on, the crack would always exist, eventually expanding into an uncontrollable situation.
*Xiao Nanhui, the first time I told you those berries were sour, you should have walked away.*
*Now, if you want to leave, it might be a bit difficult.*
A thought arises, and then there is love, hate, birth, death, and parting.
Yikong was right, but so what?
*To dwell within the red dust, to grow old with you.*
*If one does not enter the red dust, how can one obtain your favor?*
The chance encounters of this world were truly unpredictable. Not long after traveling with her, he had lost a sarira. It seemed that because the power that usually accompanied him had weakened slightly, these emotions that should not have existed were able to grow.
"Perhaps... it was around the time I lost that sarira." He picked up a sutra scroll with feigned indifference, staring at the twisted, complex characters. He seemed to recall a familiar scene. "But I always feel as though I have seen her before, in a very, very distant past."
There was not a hint of surprise on Yikong’s face; it was as if he had long expected these words.
"The Young Master’s maternal family is indeed unique. It is not surprising that you often have such feelings."
Su Wei’s eyes turned calmly toward Yikong, his tone carrying a touch of coldness.
"I have never mentioned my mother’s affairs to you."
Yikong paused, picked up his teacup, and casually splashed the tea onto the glowing coals.
Steam hissed upward, blurring both their faces.
"The Young Master need not worry. Yikong studied under Master Wu Min, and my teacher loved to wander far and wide during his life. I cannot claim to be exceptionally well-read, but I have a certain fondness for strange tales and curiosities. Besides, with the Young Master’s current status, what power does Yikong have to shake even a fraction of your foundation?"
Su Wei did not respond, and Yikong tacitly dropped the subject. He brought out an ancient but familiar sutra scroll, placed the vajra pestle by his hand as usual, and began a long chant.
An unknown amount of time passed. The east began to turn pale, and the faint shadow of the moon was gradually fading.
The icicles under the eaves of Yongye Temple’s Great Hall loosened as the temperature rose, suddenly plummeting to the ground and shattering into pieces.
Yikong’s voice finally ceased. Su Wei opened his eyes and looked out of the hall.
"The icicles under the eaves should be cleared in time, otherwise they might hurt someone."
Yikong’s hand brushed over the vajra pestle before he tucked it into the sutra scroll.
"The Young Master is quite right. One must know that while everyone understands this logic, when it comes to oneself, there are always lingering thoughts of leaving things to chance."
Su Wei naturally knew the monk was speaking in metaphors. His lowered eyelashes trembled slightly.
"Before coming to see you, I did my best to stay away from her."
Yikong offered a smile, but his words held no ground.
"After seeing this monk, I hope the Young Master will also do his best to stay away from her."
Su Wei remained silent. After a long while, he stood up. The exquisitely embroidered, luxurious outer garment he wore had developed a deep crease from sitting cross-legged all night, one that looked as though it would not be easily smoothed out.
He stared at the crease and suddenly asked, "I hear the Master is proficient in Buddhist teachings and well-versed in ancient Buddhist tongues. I wonder if you have ever heard a term called *Puhu Na*?"
Yikong appeared to think for a moment before slowly uttering a word: "*Puhu Shanna*." After a pause, he continued to explain, "The word the Young Master speaks of should be *Puhu Shanna*. In the ancient tongue, it means 'The Aspects of Sentient Beings.'"
"In your view, is there a deeper meaning?"
"The Dharma-body is entangled by afflictions, wandering through birth and death; thus, it is called 'sentient beings.' That which the notions of self and person cannot reach, yet exists in understanding, is called 'the aspects of sentient beings.' Both the Young Master and I are sentient beings. You pose a question to me, and I answer with heaven and earth—that is the aspect of sentient beings."
The man’s figure suddenly drew closer. The butter lamp cast his shadow over Yikong’s shoulder, looking as heavy as if it were soaked with water.
"Is that truly all you know?"
Yikong did not lift his head, placing his palms together before his chest.
"To this monk, those words are indeed merely Buddhist terminology. As for the rest, I have not learned it. How would I dare to speak recklessly?"
For a long time, there was no response from the man. When Yikong slowly looked up, he found the man had already departed. He was once again alone in the Great Hall.
He stood alone before the oil lamps and the Buddha statue for a long time, until the novice named Zhu Yu returned to the hall.
"Master, they have left the mountain gate."
Yikong nodded. "I know."
Zhu Yu was exhausted from the night watch and felt a bit indignant as he recalled the scene. "Master, were those two truly from the Prime Minister’s manor? To visit in the middle of the night and be so lacking in etiquette, forcing Master to chant until late..."
"If you are annoyed at losing sleep, next time I shall only instruct Ping'er," Yikong said, bluntly exposing the novice's thoughts. Before the boy could feel ashamed, he suddenly asked, "Have you heard the story of the dragon acting as a carp in a pond?"
Zhu Yu shook his head blankly.
"Carp long to leap and transform into dragons. Though they feel a yearning, they do not know exactly how powerful a dragon is. Conversely, if a young dragon is born in a lotus pond and spends its days with carp, it will not know that its true form can command the wind and rain and shake heaven and earth. What we must do is not disturb this pond. Only then can the peace of the lotus pond be preserved."
Zhu Yu listened, feeling more confused and sleepier than ever.
He could only secretly surmise that the identities of those two must be extraordinarily noble. His master did not want to offend them, so he was speaking in grand principles.
"I shall keep Master’s teachings in my heart."
He agreed half-heartedly, thinking only of going back to sleep.
Yikong glanced at him, sensing that the sleep demons were already dancing in the boy's head, and waved him away.
"Go back to your room. Before you sleep, remember to pass the word: the doors to the Great Hall are not to be opened before noon tomorrow."
Zhu Yu was puzzled as to what his master, who had been busy all night, still had to do, but sleepiness eventually won out. He pulled himself together, bowed, and retreated unsteadily.
Yikong stood alone in the center of the empty hall for a long time before lifting the banners and walking toward the back of the hall.
Behind the central Buddha statue stood an inconspicuous small niche. There was no tablet or name within, only a small copper bowl. The rim of the bowl was polished bright, but the interior was coated in a layer of verdigris, clearly having gone unused for many years.
"Master, the matter you once feared has finally come to pass."
He lit a stick of incense with a fire-starter but did not light a lamp, staring into the void of the distance in the darkness.
"Everyone says that those who practice the path should not hold prejudices. Looking at it now, my cultivation is still insufficient."
The young monk slowly knelt in worship, his body like a pine tree toppled before a tomb.
"I have acted on my own authority and gone against your wishes, considering it as my way of seeking a sliver of hope for the common people. Yikong is willing to sacrifice his life to the Buddhist gate and have his soul never return to heaven or earth, all to repay the karmic debt of betraying him alone."
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
---|---|---
灵微 | Lingwei | The era name of the current Emperor's reign.
枢夕山 | Shuxi Mountain | A mountain located to the east of Que City.
永业寺 | Yongye Temple | "Eternal Karma/Industry Temple," where Yikong resides.
一空 | Yikong | The young, clever abbot of Yongye Temple.
烛鱼 | Zhu Yu | "Candle Fish," a young novice monk at the temple.
未翔 | Wei Xiang | The Emperor's green-clad guard.
玄色黻衣 | Black ceremonial robes | Ritual garments with 'fu' (discernment) patterns, indicating high status.
仆呼缮那 | Puhu Shanna | A transliteration of an ancient term for "Aspects of Sentient Beings" (Sattva-lakṣaṇa).
无皿 | Wu Min | Yikong's late master.
众生相 | Aspects of Sentient Beings | A Buddhist concept regarding the nature of living beings and their attachments.
