Deep in the secluded grounds behind the temple, a lotus pond lay quietly nestled amid the mountain mist.
Its waters were clear as empty space, yet three parts more transparent still. There was no sand or mud at the bottom, only a faint golden glow bleeding upward from unfathomable depths, turning the entire pool into flowing glass. Amid the rippling light, countless tiny swastikas seemed to drift with the current.
Many fallen leaves and drifting blossoms touched the water's surface and seemed to hang in midair. They neither sank nor stirred in the wind, simply floating there in silence, unattended and uncleaned.
Dust is not dust; why need one diligently wipe it away?
No ordinary lotuses grew in the pond. There was only a single ninth-grade golden lotus rooted in the void, its roots not touching the water, its leaves untouched by dust. It stood pure and graceful, like a lamp before the Buddha.
Its stem was like jade, its leaves like gold, its flower like a world. Fine Buddha-light flowed through every vein of every leaf.
Ordinary people who gazed upon it could faintly hear chanting; those with affinity could see bodhisattvas lowering their eyes and Buddhas holding flowers. Those whose hearts harbored demonic thoughts would see wrathful Vajras and the Eight Legions of Heavenly Dragons.
Beneath the bodhi tree, an old monk in a worn kasaya sat as still as a boulder.
Huixing, abbot of Great Awakening Temple.
His body was gaunt, as though he had fused with the ancient tree's roots. His kasaya was covered in patches, yet it appeared more solemn than any silken robe or golden finery.
The old monk's face was lean and withered, and even his bald head had little sheen to speak of. His appearance was utterly ordinary, with nothing to compare