That night, the wails of ghosts and wolves from the back mountain were unceasing.
Inside the Great Compassion Temple, a small monk knelt fearfully in front of the Buddha, trembling as he chanted scripture.
A sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy with shaggy hair sat cross-legged in a corner, a strand of rosary beads hanging from his hand.
The howling from the back mountain did not affect his mood, and his calmness sharply contrasted with the other monks around him.
The elderly abbot, his life nearing its end, entered the hall with a sigh:
"Everyone leave."
Upon hearing this, the monks got up from their ditation mats, preparing to return to their quarters.
The old abbot said:
"Do not co back."
The monks trembled all over, understanding sothing.
One by one, they approached the old abbot, bowing respectfully, then left hurriedly.
In the vast hall, only the incense, the old abbot, and the boy remained.
The old abbot looked at the golden statues of the Buddhas in the hall with reluctance and said:
"What a pity for this century-old temple."
The boy spoke:
"Master, I can make those developers give up the idea of demolishing the Great Compassion Temple, so you can continue to cultivate here."
The old abbot lanted:
"It’s not about them; it’s fate."
The boy was puzzled.
The old abbot said:
"When I first arrived at the Great Compassion Temple, I knew the story of it suppressing demons was false.
The Great Compassion Temple doesn’t suppress demons, it suppresses the desires of the human world.
Don’t underestimate this little temple; it is indeed the first barrier against chaos under heaven.
Tomorrow, when the Great Compassion Temple is demolished, the mortal world will indeed fall into chaos, and the most terrifying disaster will co.
Heh heh, this poor monk won’t be wrong."
The boy was even more puzzled.
Was the Master speaking of sothing evil?
Although he was a lay disciple of the Buddhist Sect, a layman cultivating in the purity of Buddhism, he did not believe in gods or demons.
The old abbot, with his cloudy eyes, solemnly said:
"There is sothing this poor monk must tell you."
The boy clasped his hands together:
"Please tell , Master."
The old abbot said:
"I was originally a barefoot ascetic monk. When I calculated that the Great Compassion Temple was extraordinary, I vowed to stay here.
And you? You bear the rare Ghost Star’s Fate.
The Ghost Star is the beginning of calamity.
With evil fortune in your body, if you don’t cultivate in a temple, you won’t live past seventeen.
This poor monk had old relations with your parents and was fated with you, so I took you into the temple."
The boy remained silent.
His parents and Master both said he had the Ghost Star’s Fate, and if he weren’t in the Buddhist Sect, he would die a premature death before seventeen.
If he lived past seventeen, he would need to cultivate in a temple, or he would beco a demon bringing chaos to the world.
He sneered at these claims and had resented his parents’ superstition.
Fortunately, he could absorb the Buddhist scriptures, which kept him from going mad in the temple.
The old abbot sighed:
"This poor monk knows you feel wronged.
But you must believe your parents have your best interest at heart and understand this poor monk’s earnest intentions.
Qilin, there are so words you must rember."
The boy bowed his head:
"Please instruct , Master."
The old abbot’s gaze was distant:
"Tomorrow is your seventeenth birthday; having passed the threshold of life and death, the road ahead will depend on how you walk it.
You can go back to your parents, chant scriptures and worship Buddha daily, ignoring the affairs outside the window, and enjoy a long and peaceful life."
The boy said nothing, clearly weary of such a life.
The old abbot’s face was full of helplessness:
"If you insist on involving yourself in the worldly conflicts ahead, you must rember the words I am about to tell you."
The boy said:
"Please speak, Master."
The old abbot sighed:
"Do not kill or commit evil.
Do not beco enemies with those whose nas contain ’Ming’, ’Yi’, or ’Fan’.
And..."
The old abbot suddenly widened his eyes and grabbed the boy’s arm tightly:
"Never set foot in the South Sea!"
The boy was stunned, seeing his Master like this for the first ti. Though confused, he did not say much and responded nonchalantly:
"I understand, Master."
After hearing this, the old abbot relaxed, his entire body softening:
"As long as you rember, that’s good.
Go rest now. Tomorrow, when the demolition team arrives, you probably won’t be able to sleep."
The boy got up, walked to the door, and turned back:
"What about you, Master?"
The old abbot clasped his hands:
"To prevent that disaster is this poor monk’s destiny.
Tomorrow, this poor monk will risk his life to stop the demolition team."
The boy frowned.
The Master is so strange; clearly, a single phone call could save the Great Compassion Temple, but the Master wouldn’t allow it.
Since it’s useless, why fiercely argue with the demolition team tomorrow?
He asked:
"What exactly is that disaster? Is it really unstoppable?"
The old abbot closed his eyes:
"It is fate, a divine decree. How can we re mortals defy its will?"
The boy didn’t understand and didn’t ask further, finally asking:
"Master, after all these years together, I still don’t know your secular na; I wish to rember it."
The old abbot clasped his hands:
"This poor monk has nearly forgotten his own na, though I vaguely rember being nad Mu, Bowen."
Mu Bowen.
The boy rembered the na, turned, and left the hall.
...
The next day, outside the Great Compassion Temple.
Barriers surrounded the area, and several bulldozers and excavators were ready.
The workers were dressed in winter clothing, holding hamrs and shovels, waiting for the foreman’s orders.
The elderly abbot lowered his gaze, clasping his hands at the temple entrance.
The developer was a nouveau riche wearing fur and a gold chain.
He smoked and pointed to the Great Compassion Temple, saying:
"If I demolish this temple, will it really increase my fortune and lifespan?"
A middle-aged man holding a compass pretended to calculate, then said:
"Absolutely, demolish this temple, give eighty-eight thousand, and I will transfer the temple’s entire fortune to you."
Though he was a swindler, he understood these bosses’ thoughts very well.
Those bosses burn incense, worship Buddha, and seek guidance just for peace of mind.
For example, this boss took on a project to develop a real estate complex here.
He was afraid that demolishing the temple would bring retribution, so he sought him out.
After babbling nonsense, the boss could work without fear, and he could earn money; wasn’t that a win-win?
The old abbot chanted a Buddhist mantra:
"Amitabha!
The Great Compassion Temple suppresses a land full of demons.
Demolishing it will not bring you fortune, but calamity to the world.
You will also lose your life because of it.
Please reconsider!"
The boss hesitated, looking at the "expert" beside him.
The middle-aged man with the compass was angry; the old monk was cutting off his livelihood!
He pointed at the old monk and cursed:
"You bald monk, stop spreading feudal superstitions...
Cough, cough, cut it out!
You’re just worried you won’t have a place to chant scriptures and are trying to stop us!
Once this temple is demolished, I will use mysterious techniques to extend Boss Zhou’s life by twenty years!
Can you stop being so selfish?
Only caring about yourself and ignoring others?!"
After cursing, the middle-aged man leaned in and whispered to the boss:
"Do you believe in demons?
If there were demons, that old bald would have run away long ago!
He’s just too selfish, doesn’t want you to be well.
Doesn’t want you to make a fortune, and curses you!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)