Chanwood Temple's Buddha Child

There were still two days until the Waterwood Dharma Assembly began.

Preparations had already begun at Chanwood Temple. Since the assembly would be held at night and most attendees were ordinary folk, lanterns had to be hung all around the temple.

The Guanyin Statue in the center of the temple also had to be moved. For now, they would put it near the Buddha and let them have a good discussion about the Buddhist Scriptures together.

The monks needed this spot to earn their keep first.

People loved beauty. Only an attractive sight would draw them in, so the garlands and wreaths all had to be arranged properly, making the place beautiful enough to impress at first glance.

Although it looked a little like a funeral hall, strictly speaking, what they were doing was no different from what went on in one.

After all, both were nominally about delivering souls, so it hardly counted as unconventional.

The monks of Chanwood Temple took this very seriously, arranging the flowers as beautifully and cleverly as possible, especially around the places where their patrons intended to put memorial tablets.

Their service in this regard had to be impeccable, so the patrons could tell at a glance that their money had been well spent.

After all, how could those filthy-rich patrons understand the Buddhist Scriptures they chanted? Even if they chanted flowers into bloom, their patrons still wouldn't understand a word. A grand spectacle, however, was something they could appreciate.

They had to emphasize the essentials-elegant, but not too elegant; vulgar, but not too vulgar.

The abbot of Chanwood Temple, an old man with a whitening beard draped in a bright yellow kasaya, was leaning leisurely against a pillar outside the main hall.

Beside him stood a young Śrāmaṇera with a shiny bald head, dressed in a little yellow monk's robe. His thick eyebrows and large eyes made him look rather adorable.

Watching the leisurely abbot, the young Śrāmaṇera finally couldn't help asking:

"Senior brother... did you really agree to this year's Waterwood Dharma Assembly?"

"Monastics do not speak falsehoods. Since I gave my word, I agreed." The abbot turned and smiled at the young Śrāmaṇera. "You're not the one who has to stand up there holding it. Are you still afraid of losing face?"

The young Śrāmaṇera lowered his head and said dejectedly, "Senior brother, the other temples already call us greedy monks... and now you're doing this..."

"Whether something is greed lies in the heart. Acting for yourself is greed, but does acting for others still count?" The abbot reached out and rubbed the young Śrāmaṇera's head. "If I'm not doing it for myself, where is the greed? If you're not doing it for yourself, that isn't greed either."

"Then why do you need so much money, senior brother?" the young Śrāmaṇera asked unhappily. "The Buddha said all five aggregates must be empty."

The abbot remained perfectly at ease. "Then if you're already empty, why care what others say?"

"Only a Buddha is empty. I'm not, so of course I care," the young Śrāmaṇera retorted.

The abbot burst out laughing at that, rubbing the young Śrāmaṇera's head with even greater delight.

"Good, good, good. Only a Buddha is empty. This old monk isn't a Buddha either, so I'm half empty, with half still left."

The young Śrāmaṇera was about to say more, but the abbot raised a hand to stop him.

Smiling, the abbot tried to bargain. "Just this year, all right?"

The young Śrāmaṇera plainly didn't believe him. Apparently, this promise had been made more than once.

The abbot lightly tapped his own head. "Monastics do not speak falsehoods."

"Then... all right." The young Śrāmaṇera sighed. "But no more falsehoods this time. You won't become a Buddha if you tell too many lies."

The abbot laughed heartily.

"You'll have to lead the chanting at this assembly..."

The abbot left his sentence unfinished, merely raising his eyebrows mischievously to indicate what the young Śrāmaṇera should be doing now.

The young Śrāmaṇera sighed like a little grown-up, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked into the hall.

Watching his retreating figure, the abbot smiled softly, pressed his palms together, and silently recited the Buddhist Scriptures.

The young Śrāmaṇera stepped into the Buddha hall.

The monks cleaning and decorating the hall stopped what they were doing, hastily pressed their palms together, and bowed in unison.

"Greetings, granduncle master."

The young Śrāmaṇera gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, then sat cross-legged alone on a cushion beneath the Buddha and resumed silently reciting the Heart Sutra for delivering souls, which he had already chanted a hundred times.

The young Śrāmaṇera was small, but he was very clever.

At least, that was what everyone said.

He also understood that whether he recited the Heart Sutra correctly or not, the people coming to enjoy the spectacle wouldn't understand it anyway.

But both being a person and becoming a Buddha required one principle-a clear conscience.

As the young Śrāmaṇera reached his fifth recitation, a commotion came from outside the hall.

As Chanwood Temple's only Buddha Child, the young Śrāmaṇera was naturally gifted. He could let outside noise enter his ears without letting it enter his heart.

But then some monk called out:

"Abbot! That man sent someone to deliver the plaque you're supposed to hold up at the assembly. Look at this! This is going too far! We should just smash it!"

The young Śrāmaṇera's ears instantly pricked up.

"M-monastics cannot speak falsehoods... a promise is... a promise."

The abbot's rather troubled voice also reached the Śrāmaṇera's ears.

Forgive me, Buddha! Your disciple's heart is itching terribly right now!

The Śrāmaṇera stopped his silent recitation and cautiously turned around.

An enormous, conspicuous plaque came into view.

It had even been written in regular script, as though whoever wrote it feared people wouldn't be able to read it clearly.

Nor did the words on the plaque have anything to do with a memorial tablet.

The Śrāmaṇera stared at the plaque for a moment, then broke his vows.

Losing his composure, the Śrāmaṇera blurted out:

"Fuck his mother!"

Li Yingling was dumbstruck.

Even Li Xingtian, who had returned through rebirth, had never seen anything like this. He suddenly felt that this fucking rebirth had truly been worthwhile.

Chu Xingchen laughed uncontrollably. "Hahaha... as expected of Yuzhou City's number one temple! If you want to catch fire, you really do have to know how to put on a show first!"

Yaoqin hurriedly removed the rabbit mask from her face in disbelief.

She would sooner suspect someone had tampered with the rabbit mask than believe an abbot would actually be willing to hold up that sign.

But even after she removed the mask, the scene before her remained unchanged.

Chanwood Temple's renowned abbot, Yuanjing, was already advanced in years, his beard entirely white.

He stood in the most conspicuous spot among the wreaths, holding a plaque high with both hands.

Written on the plaque in small, neat regular script were the words: "Don't fight this old monk over the nun."

With their abbot holding that plaque overhead, every monk of Chanwood Temple looked downcast and dispirited that day.

Many of the faithful around them couldn't hide their amusement, pointing and commenting.

Yet the abbot seated high on the platform looked perfectly content, turning a deaf ear to their mockery and remarks.

Still, this wasn't Chanwood Temple's first Waterwood Dharma Assembly, and everyone knew how it worked.

Someone must have paid an enormous sum specifically to humiliate Chanwood Temple with this plaque.

After all, no one would believe that an abbot who looked too old to raise his spear anymore had wanted to hold up this sign himself and destroy half a lifetime's reputation.

But holding up such a sign for money had still dealt Chanwood Temple's reputation a severe blow.

At the very least, Chanwood Temple would never escape its reputation for loving money now.

They could also look forward to seeing what sign this renowned abbot would hold up at next year's Waterwood Dharma Assembly.

The Śrāmaṇera who had lost his composure and broken his vows two days earlier approached from a distance, squeezed through the crowd, and came up to Yaoqin and the others to ask:

"Excuse me, are you Benefactor Yaoqin?"

Yaoqin looked at the Śrāmaṇera as he offered a respectful greeting. She had yet to dispel her technique.

There were no fluctuations of energy around the Śrāmaṇera, either. He should have been an ordinary mortal.

The Śrāmaṇera probably possessed the ability to see through illusions.

Presumably, this was the Buddha Child Chanwood Temple had proclaimed to the cultivation world-Yuankong.