You Crossed Me Over, and I Crossed You Over

"Hm?"

The Young Monk seemed to notice the young Daoist looking at him. Confused, he said:

"It was me."

A question and an answer: the one answering had no intention, while the one asking had a purpose.

The young Daoist smiled faintly, his gaze gentle. "This poor Daoist is Bodhi."

The Young Monk hurriedly returned the greeting. "This little monk is called Wu Ming."

The young Daoist murmured to himself.

Wu Ming, nameless, my name...

Neither coming from anywhere nor going anywhere; just as one comes, just as one goes.

He looked at the naive child before him. The child was the reincarnation of Buddha, yet he was no longer Buddha. Buddha had naturally returned to the great void, never to look back. This was merely the soul of that monk, transformed into a wholly new life—like two similar waves rising from the vast ocean.

Was he the same person?

A hint of sorrow appeared in Bodhi's eyes. He said gently, "That's a good name."

A radiant smile spread across the Young Monk's face.

The young Daoist had planned to slay this God and Devil, then ascend to Heaven himself and take the sea-calming divine needle iron he had found in the East Sea to Doushuai Palace for reforging. But now he was in no hurry to leave. Smiling, he asked, "Little Master Wu Ming, and this great master here, where have you come from, and where are you headed?"

The old monk thought for a moment, pressed his palms together, and answered with a solemn expression, "My disciple and I have spent many years wandering outside, cultivating through wind and rain. We intend to go to the nearest city and ask my senior brother to find us a place to stay."

The Young Monk widened his eyes, reached out