Chapter 111
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Earlier, they had been watching the standoff between the gray-robed monk and the fortune teller, but in the blink of an eye, the situation changed drastically. Whether it was the monk’s words that had struck a nerve or some other reason that enraged the crowd, many people furiously flung the medicinal decoctions in their hands at him. Mingxin was momentarily stunned before he practically leaped up from the bricks, spreading his arms wide to block them, shouting:
“Ah! This—Everyone, please calm down!”
“Calm down, calm down…”
“Don’t hurt anyone! And don’t throw the medicine! We worked so hard to gather it.”
“Ahhh, I can’t stop them—Uncle-Master Qi, Uncle-Master Qi…”
“Uncle-Master Qi is stepping on my toes—ahhh!”
The young Daoist lowered his gaze and formed the [Fearless Mudra] with his hands.
With his own spirit, he swept through the surroundings with clarity, imprinting his heart upon theirs.
But at that moment, the young Daoist sensed something—
These furious, seething people… deep in their hearts, the true emotion lingering within was not [anger].
It was [fear].
[Fear] of knowing the truth, or perhaps fear that their offerings to the Buddha would not bring them everything they desired. The monk had shattered the beautiful world they had woven for themselves, and so, in their [great shock and fury], they masked their truest, most imperceptible emotions—ones they themselves might not have even realized.
Qi Wuhuo’s spirit flowed outward, gently washing away the turbulent emotions in everyone’s hearts, restoring peace.
Mingxin, who had been struggling to hold the others back, suddenly felt the pressure ease. The crowd no longer surged forward with the same furious momentum, instead exchanging bewildered glances. After a brief hesitation, they gradually dispersed, leaving the medicine shed suddenly empty—a stark contrast to the earlier clamor. Some of those who did not follow the Buddhist faith fetched cleaner garments for the monk to change into. The monk expressed his gratitude, receiving them with both hands.
He continued helping to treat the others.
His expression and posture remained unchanged, without the slightest shift.
The young Daoist was administering acupuncture for someone, not sparing the monk a glance as he asked: “Master, did this stir something in your heart?”
The gray-robed monk carried over a bowl of medicine, his tone gentle as he replied: “The teachings of the Buddhist path are spread widely across the thirteen lineages, but… there is much attachment, much affliction. Not all can sever the Five Aggregates and the Eight Sufferings. There will always be desires and longings. The methods of cultivation emphasize introspection and maintaining inner peace, yet even so, subtle cravings will inevitably arise.”
“That is why we hold the practice of [Zizi], to observe these desires within ourselves.”
[TL_Note: Zizi -> Self-Indulgence]
A faint smile graced his lips. “But in truth, [Zizi] is not only about self-reflection—it is also about seeing the desires within others.”
“To reach this stage is to attain the [ability to read others’ hearts]. On that day, nothing is concealed; we openly observe one another’s inner states, discerning whether our minds are clouded with attachments. Then, we speak of it with laughter, discussing and critiquing, helping each other, and allowing others to help us notice the impurities we ourselves have overlooked. This fosters our cultivation. Some even jest, teasing one another or poking fun at their own shortcomings, and in the end, all laugh together.”
“This is a good thing.”
“But later, as Buddhism spread further, the number of followers grew ever larger.”
“All people have subtle desires. A single desire may be faint, but the more people there are, the more these desires converge—like an undercurrent, like a whirlpool, until eventually, the entire river is drawn into motion… and thus, purity is lost. By the time monks became aware of this and sought to stop it, it was already too late. There would always be those with lingering desires who took in more disciples.”
“If the master is not liberated, then how far can the disciples’ cultivation reach? Naturally, they too remain impure. And so, this cycle repeats endlessly, the problem growing ever larger. Like a boulder rolling from the mountaintop, the greater its momentum, the more unstoppable it becomes.”
“The path of cultivation itself is not wrong, but once it is passed down to people—once people gather and form sects, and within those sects, factions emerge—then it is no longer the Dharma.”
The monk finished brewing the medicine. Staggering slightly, he rose and took his leave. In the end, he let out a sorrowful sigh:
“Buddha, Tathāgata, The World-Honored One.”
“Where are You?”
“Only You can resolve such a predicament…”
The little Daoist Mingxin, and Qi Wuhuo tidied up the medicine stove. By now, the sun had already begun to set. Mingxin slung a woven bamboo medicine basket onto his back, watching as the monk disappeared into the distance. He remarked, “He’s really suffering, isn’t he? He must have experienced that [Zi-something] thing before, right? It’s like me—after I’ve had sweet pastries, I find it hard to eat plain cornbread anymore.”
“So, he must feel even worse and be even more attached than others, right?”
The young Daoist nodded and asked: “Mingxin, do you understand what he was talking about?”
Mingxin nodded as well. “I do.”
“The more people there are, the more troubles arise.”
He pulled out the osmanthus cake that the young Daoist had given him earlier and stuffed it into his mouth.
The sun had set.
With no one else around, he took his time stepping into the small puddles, his cloud shoes splashing up light bursts of water with each step.
The water droplets shimmered beautifully under the sunset.
As he hopped and splashed through the puddles, Mingxin continued: “From what I know, while there are large Daoist temples, there are also many with just three or five people. Buddhist monasteries are the opposite of us—though there are small ones with only a handful of monks, those are ridiculed as [Wild Zen] for lacking a formal lineage.”
“Many monasteries have dozens, even hundreds of monks. Some even have thousands. If there were osmanthus cakes, not everyone could get a piece. Missing out once is fine, twice is a little disheartening, but if the ones who always get to eat the osmanthus cake keep praising it in front of you—”
“Ah, the osmanthus cake is so sweet! Ah, the osmanthus cake is so delicious!”
“Then of course, you’d feel like pulling something out and giving that guy a good whack.”
Mingxin clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and made a swinging motion before solemnly concluding:
“So people start arguing, then they start fighting, and in the end, everyone’s scrambling to get a piece of osmanthus cake.”
“The ones who get to eat it want to make sure they get it again next time.”
“The ones who don’t start forming groups, saying, ‘Next time, we’ll snatch the osmanthus cake together.’”
“And then, no one wants to read the scriptures anymore.”
“So in the end, the place that was supposed to be for studying the scriptures turns into a place where everyone just fights over osmanthus cakes. Is that still a monastery for studying the Dharma? Or has it become an ‘Osmanthus Cake Monastery’? Everything’s changed, so of course, that old monk would be upset.”
“He’s the kind of person who wants to restore it to how it was in the beginning, when people only focused on the scriptures.”
“That’s really hard.”
“There are places like that in the Daoist sects too.”
“When too many people gather, it’s no good. It’s still best to have just one old Daoist and one young Daoist. I’ll find a little Daoist for myself in the future too.”
The little Daoist muttered to himself.
The young Daoist thought of the Dream of Yellow Millet, reached out, and patted the little Daoist’s head. “Well said.”
“What do you want to eat today? Uncle Master will buy it for you.”
The little Daoist’s eyes lit up instantly. “Alrighty!”
He jumped higher this time, landing in a puddle and splashing water everywhere. His Daoist robe got wet, and the osmanthus cake in his hand was stained by the dirty rainwater. He frowned for a moment but soon couldn’t help but laugh. Tugging at Qi Wuhuo’s sleeve, he exclaimed: “Uncle Master, Uncle Master, look! I just made this big of a splash.”
“Amazing, right?!”
The young Daoist couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Amazing!”
The two young Daoists continued forward, buying some necessities for their temple and, of course, a candied hawthorn stick for the little Daoist.
Qi Wuhuo had been selling herbs he gathered from the mountains, so while he wasn’t wealthy, he had enough to buy some treats.
The little Daoist was happy again.
Perhaps youth was always like this.
The young Daoist thought to himself.
He had been the same, once.
By the time they finished shopping, the sky had already darkened. As they returned, they were surprised to find that the young Junwang was still there, waiting for them. He had lit two oil lamps and was sitting on a pile of bricks, resting his chin on his palm in a daze. When he saw the two Daoists, he immediately brightened up, jumped down, and patted the dust off himself. “You two really kept me waiting. Come, come, the food is ready.”
“But, well, it’s just the leftover meat congee from today.”
“I hope you won’t mind.”
He invited Qi Wuhuo and Mingxin to sit, then brought out the congee, which was still steaming, with fresh ginger shreds sprinkled on top.
There was also a plate of cold-tossed shepherd’s purse. In this season, fresh spring greens were rarer than meat. The shepherd’s purse had been blanched, chopped finely, and mixed with diced dried tofu. It was dressed with minced ginger, sesame sauce, and vinegar, making for a refreshing dish that paired perfectly with the congee. The setting was just an ordinary porridge stall with wooden boards blocking the wind. Though the Central Plains(Zhongzhou) were not as bitterly cold as the far north, winters were still harsh.
A brass brazier was burning nearby.
The young Junwang laughed as he entertained them, making casual conversation.
However, every three to five sentences, he would always mention [Elder Sister] this, [Elder Sister] that. The young Daoist’s mind was as clear and still as a tranquil lake, unfazed by it. But the little Daoist was different. After finishing a sip of porridge, his eyes darted around, and he curiously asked: “Hmm, Erlang, since you’re the second child in your family, does that mean your sister is the eldest?”
“Then others should address her as [Daniang]?”
The young Junwang said: “According to custom, that would be the proper way.”
In the customs of the time, men in a household were addressed by their seniority followed by “Lang”, while women were addressed by their seniority followed by “Niang.” This way, there would be no mistake. Even if one had an elegant courtesy name like ‘Sanlang’ or titles like ‘Gongsun Daniang’, the same rule applied—meaning the surname was Gongsun, and she was the eldest daughter of the family. However, if one encountered a stranger on the road and did not know their surname, given name, or family ranking,
One could only clasp their hands and say, “Langjun.”
If it were the more uninhibited women of Pingkang Fang, they might call out, “Dear little Langjun, do stay a moment.”
And if it were the powdered and preening men striking up conversation with a girl by the roadside, they would often begin with:
“Little Niangzi, do you have some free time today?”
Thus, the young Daoist addressing her in such a manner was not incorrect.
Yet, the young Junwang merely furrowed his brows and said: “It just feels far too common for you to address my sister like that.”
“How could my sister be called the same as everyone else?”
Mingxin asked: “Then what kind of person is your sister?”
The young Junwang glanced warily at the two Daoists, holding freshly harvested winter chestnuts in his hand. With a flick, he tossed them into the brazier, where they crackled and popped. He hesitated for a moment, then eyed the young Daoist before him with deep suspicion. “You people from Lianyang Temple have a lot of rules. You’re forbidden from marrying, aren’t you?”
Mingxin nodded repeatedly. “This humble Daoist is from Lianyang Temple.”
“Our founder traces his lineage to Patriarch Lü, and the rules are quite strict.”
“Ha! Then there’s no problem.”
At that, the young Junwang relaxed, his demeanor becoming much more enthusiastic. “My sister, ah, she is the most beautiful and the most intelligent person in this world. Her beauty is truly peerless. Perhaps only the eldest daughter of the Cui family could come close in appearance—but the Cui family’s young lady is far too sharp and unyielding, unlike my sister, who is both clever and composed…”
It seemed rare for the young Junwang to find someone he could safely boast to about his sister.
The little Daoist Mingxin took small sips of meat porridge, eyes wide.
Oh. Oh.
So that’s how it is, that’s how it is.
This fellow—he really is just a little tag-along who only knows how to follow his sister around.
Even though he looks older than me, he’s not nearly as mature.
The little Daoist thought smugly.
Licking his lips, he recalled the candied hawthorn that Uncle Master Qi had just bought him. It had been truly delicious.
But the young Junwang couldn’t help but continue: “It’s a pity. My sister, though she is good in a thousand ways, in ten thousand ways, she has the highest expectations for me. Every day, she wants me to aim for the unparalleled grandmaster of the world, saying this and that—how things should be done this way and that way, how, back in his youth, the Grand Scholar did such and such. Ah, it’s exhausting, truly exhausting.”
The little Daoist’s eyes widened.
It was clear that, though the young Junwang spoke of hardship, his face was full of pride. He was clearly boasting—boasting about how strict his sister was with him, boasting that he had the talent worthy of such expectations.
Unconvinced, the young Daoist retorted, “I—I!”
“My master always wants me to compare myself to Uncle Master Qi too!”
The young Junwang glanced at the youth beside him and said: “The Daoist is, of course, impressive!”
Lifting his chin slightly, he continued: “But my sister said that the Grand Scholar is the foremost figure in the court and beyond!”
“In all the mortal world, he is the matchless grandmaster, the supreme Grand Scholar!”
The young Daoist countered: “But my master also said that my uncle master follows the most difficult and highest path. He has already completed the Three Talents. Even those famed Daoists who have attained Innate Qi cannot match his foundation. In the future, my uncle master will be called a True Person and will be capable of establishing his own sect!”
The young Junwang pressed his palm against the table and declared,
“My sister said that if the Grand Scholar pursued governance and scholarship, he would become the foremost literati of the world.”
“If he devoted himself to the qin, even the most beautiful woman in the world would bow before him.”
This last line was his own addition.
A young man always felt that such things were essential to the elegance of a true scholar.
The young Daoist Mingxin was dumbfounded.
He turned to look at Uncle Master Qi beside him.
Imagining Uncle Master Qi playing the qin while a group of beauties gathered around… he figured that Uncle Master Qi would probably just sit there and quietly play, treating those beauties as if they were nothing more than air, right?
But someone like Uncle Master Qi seemed like the type who would attract many beauties. Ew!
In that case, who would be the true beauty here…?
He could only say in the end: “Uncle Master Qi’s cooking is really delicious.”
“He also knows how to heal and save lives.”
The young Junwang mused: “Healing and saving lives…”
With a sigh, he lamented: “To have such aspirations already makes one a first-class scholar.”
Scratching his head, he chuckled self-mockingly: “Ah, why are we competing over this?”
The little Daoist answered with utter seriousness: “Yes, why are you competing over this?”
“It’s really exhausting. The Grand Scholar is too powerful.”
“Yeah, it is exhausting. Uncle Master Qi is also incredible.”
The young Junwang, around fifteen or sixteen years old, stared at the little Daoist. The two of them burst into laughter together.
Beside them, the young Daoist remained quiet, his gaze serene. He simply sat in front of the brazier, focusing intently on the chestnuts roasting within.
Crackle—pop! A few chestnuts that had been tossed into the fire earlier suddenly burst open. Their shells split apart. The young Daoist picked up the roasted chestnuts, rolling them between his palms to cool them, then peeled one open and tossed it into his mouth. The moment it entered, its rich sweetness spread across his tongue. Noticing the gazes of Mingxin and the young Junwang, he smiled faintly and asked: “Want some roasted chestnuts?”
Both of them suddenly felt that their argument had been pointless. A sense of deflation washed over them.
The young Daoist opened his palm and divided the roasted chestnuts.
The Junwang muttered: “It’s not like I’ve never eaten them before…”
Yet, he still reached into the young Daoist’s palm, grabbed a chestnut, and threw it into his mouth, chewing heartily.
On a winter night, with no one else around, eating like this—it wasn’t some rare delicacy, but it was a rare joy of youth.
After finishing the chestnuts, the night deepened. The young Daoist then picked up the little Daoist, whose belly was now round and full, and took his leave. Beneath a sky full of stars, they walked through the night dew, heading toward the small mountain within the city, back to their Daoist temple. The young Junwang, his eyes slightly narrowed, withdrew his earlier smile and murmured: “A Daoist’s nature is inherently free-spirited… Those two are truly extraordinary. They will surely become true cultivators.”
Stretching lazily, he said: “Let’s head back.”
In the darkness, a voice answered.
He stood up, leisurely made his way back, then boarded his carriage. After traveling for about the time it took to burn three sticks of incense, he arrived at a grand estate with three courtyards layered in and out. Stepping down, he changed into fresh clothes and rinsed his mouth with clear tea to wash away the lingering taste of ginger from the meat porridge. He even exhaled several times toward his attendants beside him, ensuring there was no lingering scent in his breath. Only then did he push open the door, a smile on his face.
“I’m back.”
“Big Sister Qiongyu.”
