Raising My Head to Gaze at the Bright Moon

The Servant Courtyard's refectory was simple and worn, with wooden tables paired with long benches, green lamps illuminating the faces beneath them.

You never knew until you saw it, and once you saw it, it gave you a fright. Only after Meng Qi entered the refectory did he realize there were a mighty fifty or sixty Sectarian Monks. By that count, the entire Shaolin Temple probably had to number in the thousands.

Amid the sea of drab gray monk robes, no one paid any attention to Meng Qi and the other newly arrived Young Monks. They each sat on the long benches, waiting for the Sectarian Monks on duty to carry in the food boxes.

"Little Junior Brother, sit here." Meng Qi carried a great secret and had fallen into unfamiliar territory. It was rare to have foolish, dull-witted Zhenhui by his side, so, with the mindset of an adult, he took rather good care of Zhenhui. It also helped ease his own unease around strangers.

Zhenhui's expression had remained serious throughout, with no trace of shyness or fear. He sat openly across from Meng Qi, his gaze fixed on the food boxes nearby.

"Could this kid have been starved stupid before?" Meng Qi muttered quietly, suspecting there was something wrong with Zhenhui's intelligence. Otherwise, he would not be this wooden and slow.

At last, the Sectarian Monks on duty carried the food boxes to Meng Qi's table. When the lids were lifted, a rich fragrance rushed into their noses and burrowed straight into their hearts.

"Smells amazing!" Meng Qi could not help praising it. Suspiciously, he thought, Was Shaolin's Head Chef really this skilled? Or was I simply too hungry?

The Sectarian Monk bent over, removed the dishes from the food box, and set them one by one upon the table. Meng Qi focused his eyes on them and was instantly dumbfounded. Th-this seemed, perhaps, possibly... meat?

In the plain large bowl at the center, those plump, glistening chunks had to be meat, right?

But this was a temple full of monks!

Meng Qi picked up his chopsticks in disbelief, intending to take a piece and taste it. Yet with several whooshes, chopsticks shot in from his left, right, opposite, and diagonally ahead. The suspected meat in the bowl instantly vanished by an entire layer. Every Sectarian Monk at this table was extraordinary when it came to snatching food.

Watching Zhenhui bite into the food until his mouth was slick with grease, Meng Qi became even more certain of his guess. While marveling at how well they could fight for food, he picked up a piece and stuffed it into his own mouth.

Fat but not greasy, it melted the moment it entered his mouth. The texture was superb—it was truly a delicacy from the mortal world!

But it was fucking meat!

Meng Qi felt that only profanity could express his current feelings. First, to shout and cheer for his stomach; second, to vent his utter disbelief.

"Hey, Little Junior Brother." Meng Qi called quietly to Zhenhui.

Zhenhui's chopsticks flew like the wind, and his mouth never stopped moving. His delicate little face was filled with concentration. "Mm?"

"This is meat!" Meng Qi felt obligated to remind his Little Junior Brother not to fall into a trap and violate the precepts.

Zhenhui nodded earnestly and said indistinctly, "It's meat."

I'm not asking you... Meng Qi felt that communicating with Zhenhui was somewhat difficult.

At this moment, someone beside him said coldly, "Before Orifice Opening, only pungent foods are forbidden."

"Isn't pungent food just meat?" Meng Qi asked reflexively, only then realizing that the person seated beside him was his "roommate," Zhen Guan.

Zhen Guan did not stop eating. With a hint of mockery, he said, "You look like the son of a wealthy family, yet you do not even understand the word 'pungent'?"

This struck right at Meng Qi's weak spot, and for a moment he did not know how to answer. Suddenly, a young monk seated diagonally ahead, with clear and open features, smiled and said, "Pungent foods refer together to strongly flavored things such as onions and garlic. They do not specifically mean meat. But over the past century, people have often used the word for pungent foods to mean meat, so it is perfectly normal that Junior Brother does not know."

Meng Qi nodded gratefully. The young Sectarian Monk continued, "Our Buddhist sect originally prohibited only killing and pungent foods, not meat. Later, out of compassion, meat was gradually prohibited as well. But Shaolin is a great martial sect under heaven. Our disciples often train their bodies, and without meat, if there are no spirit herbs or medicinal pills to make up for it, their bodies will inevitably suffer. Thus the Shaolin Precepts state that before Orifice Opening, disciples follow the original intent and need only abstain from pungent foods, though they must not kill living beings."

In other words, they could ask lay disciples or farmers at the foot of the mountain to do the slaughtering? Meng Qi roughly understood what was going on. As a martial Buddhist sect, Shaolin naturally had to consider disciples in the stage of tempering their bodies, so it had left a loophole by invoking Buddhism's original meaning.

Seeing that this young Sectarian Monk spoke with uncommon grace and clear logic, Meng Qi took a liking to him and asked with a smile, "May I ask Senior Brother's Dharma name?"

"Zhen Yan." The young Sectarian Monk's wooden chopsticks did not stop either.

Meng Qi pressed on, "This Junior Brother is Zhending. May I ask, Senior Brother, what does 'Orifice Opening' mean?"

He was taking advantage of this body's young age, since he could simply claim that his family had not yet taught him and forcefully seek answers.

Zhen Yan laughed heartily and pointed at the wooden table with his left hand. "You will know in time. Take care of your stomach first."

Meng Qi followed his finger and looked. Of the seven or eight large bowls of dishes on the table, half were already empty!

Fuck! These bastards, couldn't they wait for me?!

After cursing inwardly, Meng Qi picked up his chopsticks and joined the ranks of food-snatchers.

After finally eating his fill, Meng Qi wiped his mouth and strolled back toward the Zen Room with Zhenhui, as though taking a walk after dinner.

"Ah, honestly, the food was still a little lacking. It probably only tasted so good at first because I was too hungry." Meng Qi rubbed his stomach, let out a full belch, and evaluated this evening's meal.

Zhenhui thought seriously for a moment. "Everything I ate before was worse than this. But since Senior Brother thinks it was a little lacking, then it must have been a little lacking."

"Ah, you trust me that much?" Seeing that Zhenhui spoke quite logically, Meng Qi felt that he might still be salvageable. Curious, he followed up on Zhenhui's words.

Zhenhui raised a hand to rub his bald head and said somewhat embarrassedly, "I think Senior Brother is a good person. You are not like the others, who all dislike me, so I trust you."

<On the Relationship Between Childhood Experiences and Psychological Illnesses>... Somehow, that title surfaced in Meng Qi's mind.

Just as he was about to boast a little more and establish the glorious image of a Senior Brother, Xuan Xin waddled over with his belly jutting out. "Hey, you two, go sweep the courtyard. Later, this Martial Uncle will broaden your Jianghu knowledge."

Broaden their Jianghu knowledge? Meng Qi was immediately interested. After asking where the brooms were kept, he called Zhenhui over and headed for the storeroom in the corner of the courtyard.

As a Sectarian Monk, one had to be prepared to be assigned work at any time. Meng Qi did not resist it. So long as it was not excessive or specifically targeted at him, it was fine. It was like when he had studied or worked—when a homeroom teacher or boss assigned tasks and arranged a big cleanup, it was nothing unusual.

Swish, swish, swish. The brooms swept across the gray-white stone-brick ground, raising dust and clearing away fallen leaves.

Meng Qi and Zhenhui's still-undeveloped bodies found it a little strenuous to wield the brooms, but it was manageable enough. The courtyard was swept often, after all, and was not very dirty.

As he swept, a strange yet amusing thought suddenly surfaced in Meng Qi's mind. He immediately chuckled and put on an aged voice. "Little Junior Brother, does this make us Shaolin Sweeping Monks?"

Tsk, the advancement path of a generation's great master.

"Mm, Sweeping Monks." Zhenhui continued sweeping without even raising his head.

Meng Qi's smile froze on his lips. He sighed inwardly, It's no fun when you don't get the joke!

Pulling himself together, Meng Qi worked with Zhenhui and finished sweeping the courtyard before nightfall. Then he saw gray-robed Sectarian Monks carrying the refectory's long benches into the courtyard, setting them down in their places amid disorder that was somehow not disorder.

"They are very practiced at this..." Meng Qi suspected that Xuan Xin often broadened everyone's Jianghu knowledge.

When night fell, Xuan Xin, his face shining with grease, swayed out of his own Zen Room. Several Sectarian Monks immediately went up to greet him. Some arranged benches, some lit lamps—they were incomparably attentive.

"Senior Brother, what is Jianghu knowledge?" The dull-witted Zhenhui seemed somewhat interested in it.

"Well, well, that is a long story. After Martial Uncle Xuan Xin explains it, I will slowly explain it to you." Meng Qi, newly arrived as he was, had no interest in explaining such a "complex" term to Zhenhui. He sat steadily on the long bench and waited for Xuan Xin to begin.

Xuan Xin looked around and was pleased to see eager expressions. After clearing his throat, he said, "Today, I will continue telling you all about the great battle I experienced in Jiangzhou City."

"Speaking of it, Flying Yaksha Yan Wuwo and Ice Fairy Ye Yuqi were both renowned figures on the Earth Ranking. That battle left Hundred Miles of Scorched Earth and froze the great river. This Martial Uncle was filled with compassion—how could I bear to watch the masses suffer calamity? So I announced a Buddha's name, intending to dissolve the private grudge between the two..."

He spoke with animated gestures and glowing expression, while the Sectarian Monks below wore varied looks. Most were half disdainful and half expectant.

"Martial Uncle Xuan Xin was that amazing?" When listening to Jianghu anecdotes, Zhenhui was much livelier than usual, as though he had the same interest in them that he had in food.

The sleepy monk Zhen Ying in the front row did not turn around. In a voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz, he said, "Flying Yaksha Yan Wuwo is the Sect Master of Jiangzuo's Zombie Fist. Ice Fairy Ye Yuqi is the younger sister-in-law of Master Lu of Northern Zhou's Huamei Villa. Both are within the top thirty of the Earth Ranking, comparable to the Chief Monks of Shaolin's Damo and Bodhi Courtyards."

The Chief Monks of the Damo and Bodhi Courtyards, the Attendant Monk of the Servant Courtyard... Meng Qi instantly understood that Xuan Xin was boasting. Of course, he boasted skillfully, cleverly grafting real major Jianghu events onto himself.

This sleepy monk Zhen Ying was more knowledgeable than the icy Zhen Guan?

Zhenhui continued asking blankly, "Martial Uncle Xuan Xin was actually so amazing!"

He completely failed to understand the hidden meaning in Zhen Ying's words.

Meng Qi tugged at his monk robe and whispered, "The Chief Monks are much, much stronger than Martial Uncle Xuan Xin."

"But..." Zhenhui had wanted to ask why Martial Uncle Xuan Xin could stop that great battle if he was not powerful. Yet Meng Qi waved him off and told him to ask later, lest Xuan Xin overhear, become angry, and punish them.

Xuan Xin spoke until spittle flew everywhere. Only after quite a while did he finish this Jianghu anecdote in which "every family became a Buddha." At the end, he looked toward Meng Qi, Zhenhui, and the other newly arrived Young Monks. "Do you have anything you want to ask? As for Jianghu affairs, this Martial Uncle knows everything."

Meng Qi hurriedly said, "Martial Uncle Xuan Xin, we know very little of Jianghu matters. The way you explain them, there is much we cannot understand."

"That makes sense. If you cannot understand, you cannot truly feel my magnificence." Xuan Xin nodded and cleared his throat. "Then I will first introduce you to some Jianghu common knowledge, beginning with our Buddhist Four Great Temples."

"Thank you, Martial Uncle Xuan Xin." Meng Qi said happily.

Xuan Xin spoke smugly. "Though there are countless martial sects under heaven, standing thick as forests, those that can truly hold the martial world's ox-ear are only the Buddhist Four Great Temples, the Three Daoist Sects, the Six Sword Schools, the Six Great Powers, the Nine Demonic Paths, the Fourteen Noble Clans, and the inheritances left behind by the Six Heretical Masters."

When he mentioned the Six Heretical Masters, he did not seem very certain either, but that did not stop him from continuing. "The Buddhist Four Great Temples are our Great Jin Shaolin Temple, Northern Zhou's Shuiyue Nunnery, the Western Regions' Vajra Temple, and... Lanke Temple."

When he mentioned Lanke Temple, he paused again, revealing an uncertain expression. Then, looking as though he had become angry from embarrassment, he said, "Actually, this Martial Uncle has never understood why Lanke Temple is counted among the Buddhist Four Great Temples. No one knows where it is located, and its inheritors rarely walk the Jianghu. They have no deeds that shook the world at all."

The other Sectarian Monks seemed to be hearing this claim for the first time as well, and they all asked curiously, "If so, why is Lanke Temple included among the Buddhist Four Great Temples?"

Xuan Xin began looking pleased with himself again and said boastfully, "It is said that when the Abbot traveled the Jianghu in his youth, he once encountered an inheritor of Lanke Temple. Later, he said only one thing about it: 'If fate exists, Heaven's edge is close; if fate does not exist, close is far away.'"

Heaven's edge is close, close is far away?

How mysterious!

Including Meng Qi, every gray-robed monk was shaken. They were confused, curious, and alarmed all at once.

Seeing that he had stunned the Sectarian Monks, Xuan Xin chuckled. "Back to the main matter. Let us first speak of Shaolin Temple."

"Tens of thousands of years ago, Demonic Buddha's chaos ravaged the world and was suppressed by Buddha's descent. Yet Buddha's Palm was scattered to the ends of the earth, leaving no trace behind. Then, two thousand years ago, Shaolin's Patriarch Damo came from the Southern Wilderness, crossed the river on a single reed, and chanced upon the third form of Buddha's Palm. Only then did one of Buddhism's supreme ultimate arts reappear in the world."

"Though there was no general outline, Patriarch Damo possessed heaven-bestowed talent. Facing the Wall for ten years, he comprehended the Yi Jin Jing and many ultimate arts from the third form of Buddha's Palm, founding Shaolin's lineage. In barely a hundred years, it had become a great martial sect under heaven. Later, through the combined efforts of successive Patriarchs and Divine Monks, Shaolin came to possess as many as Seventy-two Ultimate Skills. Besides the Yi Jin Jing, treasures that guard the temple include the Great Dream Scripture and the Maha Demon Subduing Fist. As for which Patriarch or Divine Monk created or obtained them, I will speak of that another day."

What Demonic Buddha, what Buddha's Palm, what Great Dream Scripture and Maha Demon Subduing Fist—Meng Qi's mind swayed as he listened, and longing surged within him. The martial arts of this world were likely not as simple as he had imagined. There were even gods and Buddhas! Of course, they might only have been legends.

Cough. Xuan Xin suddenly coughed and said with a grin, "It is late. I will tell you the rest tomorrow."

With that, he rose at once and slipped into his Zen Room.

Th-this was far too much of a tease! Meng Qi had been preparing to hear about the Seventy-two Ultimate Skills, Vajra Temple, and more. Now he was scratching at his ears and cheeks, his heart itching unbearably, but Xuan Xin had already left.

After tidying the courtyard, Meng Qi and Zhenhui silently returned to the Zen Room. Zhen Guan and Zhen Ying were already fast asleep, their breathing long and even.

The two said nothing. Each removed his shoes and socks and lay down on the shared bed, as though still immersed in the martial world Xuan Xin had just described.

"Little Junior Brother, are you willing to remain a Sectarian Monk forever, unable to learn Shaolin's ultimate arts?" In the silence, Meng Qi suddenly asked in a low voice.

Zhenhui asked in confusion, "Senior Brother, what does willing mean?"

"It means being happy with it, pleased with it, liking it, not wanting anything more." Meng Qi once again felt that communicating with childlike Zhenhui was difficult.

Zhenhui gave an oh. "I can eat, sleep, work, eat my fill, and listen to Martial Uncle Xuan Xin tell stories. I am very willing. It is much better than before."

As he spoke, he added, "If I could learn Buddha's Palm, that would be even better."

Pfft. Meng Qi nearly sprayed out his saliva. He truly did not know whether Zhenhui counted as willing or unwilling.

Meng Qi paused, just about to speak, when he suddenly discovered that Zhenhui's breathing had become soft. He had already fallen asleep.

The entire Zen Room fell completely silent, with only several breaths rising and falling softly. That only made the night seem deeper and more secluded.

Outside the window, the bright moon hung high, casting a layer of silver-white light before the shared bed, like cold frost.

As Meng Qi gazed at this tranquil, peaceful scene, all the things of his past could no longer be suppressed. They surged into his heart together—longing, grief, hesitation, confusion, self-pity, and countless other emotions arriving in a flood.

There had been no time to think so much during the day, which was why this quiet night was especially soul-consuming.

That past he could not sever, that heart-wrenching "final farewell," kept Meng Qi awake for a long time.

Only at this very moment, in this very scene, did he truly understand the real meaning of Qinglian Jushi's poem.

"Moonlight before my bed, I wonder if it is frost upon the ground. I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon, then lower it and think of home."

Gazing at the cold moon beyond the window, Meng Qi was lost in a daze.