A Return Gift

West City, Taian Temple.

Master Guanghong stood before the Ten Thousand Buddha Hall, his gaze calm as he looked into the distance, prayer beads turning one by one in his hand.

Though building temples and monasteries in the midst of bustling markets was unfavorable for quiet cultivation, the incense and fire were at their peak. It was not yet noon, yet pilgrims at Taian Temple came in an endless stream; the green smoke from the censers could be seen clearly from several streets away—how could the temples outside the city compare?

"Master Guanghong."

"Amitabha."

Whenever a familiar pilgrim passed by and greeted him, he would lower his head and respond with a smile, but his heart was not as calm as his face.

The night before, he had sent a Yaksha into the city to trouble that meddling cultivator, but it had never returned, and without a sound, it had lost contact with him—the art of the paper Yaksha was by no means a matter of simply drawing a Yaksha's form and talismans on a piece of paper. To bring a Yaksha to life and imbue it with spirit required long-term accumulation; to make a Yaksha capable of manifesting a strong, weapon-resistant body also demanded constant refinement.

Those two sheets of paper were consumables to begin with—lost was lost—but losing the spirit within them meant starting everything from scratch.

Years of accumulation, and three parts lost two.

Master Guanghong knew the other party was no simple foe, yet he found it truly hard to accept.

Clutching the thought that "perhaps the other party merely happened to recognize it as a paper Yaksha and happened to know it could be countered with fire, thus gaining the upper hand," Master Guanghong sent out the Dream Ghost he had nurtured for years last night, initiating a second clash of arts.

Unexpectedly, he performed the ritual at the third watch, yet the Dream Ghost had not returned by the fifth watch; it only came back belatedly as dawn was about to break.

It turned out the other party had pasted a talisman on their door.

That single talisman had left the Dream Ghost wandering outside, anxious but unable to enter, forced to return only as daybreak neared.

Dream Ghosts often entered people's dreams, capable of crafting dreams—whether nightmares or sweet ones—and were a major helper in his scheme to swindle incense and fire. They could also take lives within dreams, unknown to gods or ghosts. Nurtured for years by the temple's incense and fire, the Dream Ghost's abilities and intelligence were far beyond those of ordinary demons and ghosts, yet it had been blocked by a mere talisman.

Master Guanghong was immediately shaken with alarm.

Aside from the Yakshas and the Dream Ghost, he had little skill left. By now, how could he not know that the other party's abilities far surpassed his own?

In his panic and unease, he had the last paper Yaksha and a few paper soldiers and generals stand guard inside the room, only calming slightly when he heard the temple bell at dawn. When a disciple came to call him for a meal, he finally escaped his state of terror and gradually came to his senses.

The other party had just arrived in Yi Capital—how could they know it was his doing?

Yi Capital was so vast, the sea of people boundless—how could they find him? And who would dare to think that the one driving ghosts to harm people at night was actually a high monk of Taian Temple?

Before he knew it, it was noon.

Master Guanghong turned his head and saw a young novice monk striking the bell in the tower.

"Dong!"

"Dong!"

The melodious bell sound carried far into the distance.

Song You, clad in an old robe, ascended the steps step by step.

The Three Flower Cat followed behind him, constantly looking left and right.

Pilgrims came and went all around.

Among them, quite a few martial artists could be seen, perhaps accustomed to lodging at temples, or perhaps they had slipped into the city but still lacked travel permits and had to stay here.

"The incense and fire are truly thriving."

As a cultivator from a Daoist temple, and as the heir of one, Song You considered the monks here to be half his colleagues. Seeing so many pilgrims, his first thought was to calculate, based on Fulong Temple's revenue model, how much incense money they could collect daily.

After all, the head of a household had to manage daily necessities.

Cultivators had to eat too.

"Meow~"

The Three Flower Cat echoed him from behind, while lifting its head high to gaze at the Buddha statues in the halls on either side and the giant censers stuffed full of incense sticks.

If it had known the place they were going was someone else's temple, it probably wouldn't have agreed to come. If it had known it was such a huge temple, with every deity gleaming gold and incense smoke like clouds, it definitely wouldn't have come.

Now it had no choice but to steel itself and press forward.

"Meeeow~"

It tried hard to act like an ordinary cat.

Song You couldn't understand what it was saying, but he slowed his pace, waiting for it to catch up, and walked side by side with it, looking around as they went.

Learning from the advanced experience of his peers.

When it came to expanding followers and drawing in incense and fire, Great Yan's Buddhism was a crushing blow to Daoism.

Great Yan's Daoism valued following one's heart, being at ease, and preferred to live and cultivate in the way they wanted; they might not even bother with pilgrims who came, and often didn't take their benefactors seriously.

Compared to Buddhism, they were somewhat aloof.

Great Yan's Buddhism was far more professional in this regard. Not only did they have a stronger desire to spread their teachings, but they were also better at catering to the wishes of believers and those in power.

Buddhism also had a broader range of services.

Take Taian Temple as an example—

Besides incense, oil, selling trinkets and various blessed items, exorcising evil, curing illnesses, handling funerals, naming ceremonies, and such, they also offered services like lodging and lending. Some large temples owned thousands of acres of land, which could be rented out to tenants for income; some city temples even functioned as commercial markets, where vendors set up stalls and had to pay them a cut.

As for Great Yan's Daoist temples...

Whether you can stay overnight depends on the abbot's mood.

"Can't compare."

In theory, this world is filled with countless gods and buddhas. Taoism, as the native religion of Great Yan, holds the advantage of time and place, while the Heavenly Palace governs all deities—at least in Great Yan's legends, Chijin the Great Emperor of the Heavenly Palace holds the authority to command all buddhas, so it wouldn't be easy for the foreign Buddhism to gain the upper hand. Yet in reality, since Buddhism entered Great Yan, it has stubbornly secured a foothold and rapidly expanded through its strong operational capacity and cohesive power.

Song You had no particular thoughts on this.

He was a fake Taoist priest to begin with, and he understood in his heart that gods and ghosts all come from people, and that Buddhism and Taoism have no essential difference—both have lofty figures, common folk, good people, and bad. Those who favor Buddhism over Taoism or Taoism over Buddhism are also hard to distinguish in intelligence.

In the end, they're all just people.

Thinking this, Song You had already wandered through the temple grounds and arrived at the central Ten Thousand Buddha Hall.

He stopped at the entrance.

Looking up, he saw the couplets on either side:

Be a good person, with a righteous heart and a steady soul, dreams calm; Do good deeds, known to heaven and earth, witnessed by gods and spirits, admired.

Song You smiled and stepped inside.

A thick scent of incense and fire rushed toward him.

In the center, the Lord of Ten Thousand Buddhas sat with solemn majesty, the surrounding bodhisattvas either kind-eyed and compassionate or sorrowful and merciful, while the guardian deities on both sides glared with dignity and anger.

Incense smoke curled, like clouds and mist.

Many worshippers knelt on prayer cushions—men and women, old and young. Some prayed silently, some murmured aloud, some kowtowed and rose to leave, while others kept entering from outside to kneel on their cushions.

Countless wishes glowed, brighter than the sun.

Jumbled voices reached his ears.

Some begged the bodhisattva to cure a family member's grave illness, some prayed to the buddha for smooth business, some hoped for their children to succeed, and some couldn't conceive—desires and pleas filled the air.

"Alas..."

Before the buddha, three sticks of incense are never lacking, yet life holds ten thousand kinds of sorrow.

After sighing, Song You glanced left and right but saw no monks here.

Checking the time, it was already mealtime.

He went forward to offer three sticks of incense himself, then looked back at the Three Flower Cat. It was hiding outside the hall's threshold, which was taller than it. Its front paws clawed at the threshold, probably standing on its hind legs, poking a small head above the threshold to stare at him with wide eyes.

Song You smiled again and walked out.

"Let's go."

"Where to?"

"The Five Contemplations Hall."

"What's that?"

"The place to eat."

"Are you going to eat now?"

"That works."

Thinking of this, Song You suddenly stopped, dropped a few copper coins into the donation box, and thus decided to have lunch here: "I've heard Taian Temple's vegetarian meals are quite famous. I'm not sure if they'll let you in."

"Oh..."

The Three Flower Lady was still shaken by the top-tier big shots she'd encountered earlier and hadn't recovered yet. In this place, she instinctively dared not act up, meek and timid.

Fortunately, the novice monk at the Five Contemplations Hall didn't stop her.

Inside, it was bustling, filled with devout men and women, as well as many monks eating. At Taian Temple, monks and worshippers ate together, but mostly monks sat with monks and worshippers with worshippers; only when there was no space left would they mix.

Song You swept his gaze around, his expression calm, then walked toward one of the few empty seats.

"Master, may I sit here?"

Master Guanghong instinctively sized up Song You—

He held a high status at Taian Temple, and in the eyes of the worshippers as well. Even though monks and worshippers ate together at Taian Temple, out of respect, most worshippers wouldn't share a table with him. Only distinguished guests would have the nerve to approach or receive his active invitation.

This person didn't look like a distinguished guest.

But seeing the stranger and noting that the Five Contemplations Hall was nearly full, he roughly understood the situation.

Regardless, he certainly wouldn't refuse.

"Please, benefactor, make yourself at ease."

"Thank you."

Song You sat down with a smile, sharing the table with Master Guanghong, two other monks, and three distinguished guests.

The food was nothing special. With pickled radish, fermented bean curd, and two small dishes, he had a bowl of vegetable porridge. It had no particular flavor, and he roughly understood that the temple's vegetarian meals were famous probably because they were friendly to the lower classes and due to long-term porridge distribution.

Meanwhile, his tablemates finished eating one after another, cupped their hands in farewell, and left the table. But Master Guanghong, preoccupied with something, ate more slowly.

As he ate, he suddenly heard someone call out to him.

"Master Guanghong."

Master Guanghong looked up and saw that it was the young incense-offerer who had arrived last, gazing at him calmly.

At some point, a cat had sat down beside him.

"Amitabha."

Master Guanghong set aside his troubled thoughts for the moment, placed his chopsticks horizontally across his bowl, pressed his palms together in greeting, and spoke in a gentle voice:

"Benefactor, do you know this humble monk?"

"I do."

The incense-offerer smiled as he spoke, still staring at him, then continued: "But it seems Master Guanghong doesn't recognize me."

"Oh?"

A foreboding unease suddenly rose in Master Guanghong's heart. He quickly apologized: "This humble monk has a poor memory. May I ask your esteemed name..."

"My surname is Song, my given name You."

"Who?"

Master Guanghong was greatly startled, his eyes wide open.

It immediately drew the attention of many around them.