Cutting Off the Mountain's Incense

Early the next morning, Golden Buddha Temple rang its bell as usual.

The melodious toll echoed through the mountains and carried in every direction.

The enormous Golden Buddha atop the mountain glowed once more, bathing the temple gate, stone steps, and incense burners in splendor.

The monks swept the courtyards as usual, set out the incense tables, and prepared the donation ledger, waiting for worshippers to climb the mountain.

Yet after a long wait, the mountain path remained deserted.

By this hour on any other day, the sick, women, wealthy gentry, and villagers would have packed the path, jostling to be first up the mountain to pray for blessings.

Today, no one had brought up even a single stick of incense.

The guest-receiving monk was the first to notice something was wrong.

He stood at the temple gate, staring down the empty path, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

Another half hour passed. The sun was already high, but not a soul had appeared from below.

Growing suspicious, the monk hurried to the prayer hall in the rear courtyard and reported to Huiming.

Inside, Huiming sat upright on a meditation cushion, turning prayer beads between his fingers. His face was kindly and solemn.

After hearing the report, he slowly opened his eyes, unhurried.

"It's normal for worshippers to arrive late. There's no need to worry."

His voice was calm, as though he cared little.

But the guest-receiving monk noticed that the beads had slowed in the abbot's hand.

Several breaths later, Huiming spoke again.

"Go. Send a young novice down the mountain to have a look."

"Yes." The monk bowed and withdrew. Before long, he had sent a quick-witted novice down a trail on the Back Mountain to investigate.

About the time it took a stick of incense to burn