Under the tree, Tao Ju shook his head. He had actually wanted to laugh, but facing this banyan tree that had endured who knew how many years, he ultimately composed himself and straightened out his crumpled military uniform a little. After thinking it over, he simply took off his jacket and tossed it aside, leaving only the shirt already stained with sweat and blood.
Then Tao Ju saluted the great tree. He began with a few bows, but halfway through, he felt that they did not seem sincere enough. After hesitating briefly, he finally dropped to both knees and prostrated himself before this banyan tree that had weathered countless years of wind and rain.
Many times, formality was the only path to getting into the right state of mind.
Once Tao Ju had knelt before the banyan tree in the most devout, most humble posture, his confusion and doubts over his own absurd behavior instead settled down and stopped surfacing.
He was only thinking: Did this count as being sincere? And what kind of help could it bring him?
Before this, Tao Ju had thought he knew clearly enough: a stray dog struggling through chaotic times only needed to survive and protect his Mother so that she could survive too. That should have been enough, right?
Yet when he lay prostrate, paying this grand salute to the banyan tree before him—a salute he had never even used on his own parents—that seemingly clear vision suddenly became petty and weightless. He could not help wondering what, exactly, he ought to pray for before this banyan tree.
If gods truly existed somewhere beyond the mortal world, what did he ultimately want to obtain from them?
Was it simply to keep living like a dog?
At that moment, he knew he was unwilling