In September, autumn was in full swing. The mountains blazed red beneath clear, high skies—a rare and perfect season for an outing.
Shaolin commanded the martial arts world, and it was also the foremost temple of Zen Buddhism. Yet it had not claimed the entire mountain range as its own or barred woodcutters, hunters, and herb gatherers from entering. Thus, Outer Scenery Experts often ventured into the depths of the Back Mountain to capture poisonous creatures for their training, while visitors could still be found on the front slopes. Only beyond the halfway pavilion, near the monastery itself, did Attendant Monks patrol and turn away those with no business there.
At that moment, still some distance from the halfway pavilion, Hutuktu heard birds chirping nearby. He looked up at the white mist in the secluded valley, the ancient evergreen trees, and the broad swaths of crimson maple leaves. From time to time, visitors climbed past him or returned down the path. Everything was so leisurely, revealing the true beauty in the ordinary. Even he, a man known as the Living Buddha, could not help wandering amid the scenery, reflecting on impermanence and savoring this rare taste of worldly serenity, ease, and peace.
The feeling made him draw in his aura until he seemed like an ordinary old monk, like any of the visitors one might encounter along the trail: plain and mild, content and at ease. Not the slightest trace of a Dharma Body remained. No one recognized him, and no one even noticed that Hutuktu, once the number one on the Heaven Ranking, had come to Shaolin.
At that moment, in this state, Hutuktu finally felt a sense of perfect completeness. No amount of healing and secluded cultivation during his forty years in retreat had given him this inner