Buddhist Sect in Turmoil
The main grounds of the Danzhu Buddhist Sect were home to rolling mountain ranges, where countless ascetic monks trudged across snowy peaks and perilous slopes.
Countless lakes were also scattered like stars across the mountains and plains.
Temples of every size were either hidden in the forests or tucked away in the middle of lakes.
On one lake, its surface rippling with glittering waves, an old monk in gray robes sat in a small boat, fishing. Beside him stood a monk as thin as a bamboo pole, his hands pressed together. One sat and one stood, both motionless as stone statues aboard the boat, blending seamlessly with the mountains and waters around them, without a trace of incongruity.
They remained there in silence the entire time. At last, the gray-robed monk lifted his fishing rod, bringing up a blue carp, then released it back into the lake. A ripple appeared on the surface.
"You've been back from Ten Thousand Vines Mountain for so long, yet your mind still won't settle," said the gray-robed monk.
"Martial Uncle, this disciple is dull-witted!" The monk, thin as a bamboo stalk, was none other than Venerable Mingyi. At that moment, his face was filled with shame.
"What is victory, and what is defeat? Where does the wind rise, and where does it come to rest?" The gray-robed monk spoke kindly, without a trace of blame.
"This disciple understands the meaning, yet his heart remains troubled. Only by fighting that wicked poison with everything I have can I dispel the unrest in my heart." Venerable Mingyi let out a long sigh.
"That is how you fall short of Ming'e. Enough. There is no point in staying here. Choose a day and leave the mountain," said the gray-robed monk.
Mingyi was about