Southern Jambu Continent, Yuzhou City.
Yuankong stood silently before the pagoda housing Yuanjing's śarīra.
Of all the myriad thoughts, the reluctance to let go wore a person down the most.
Perhaps it was only because he had once had something that he could not grow used to its absence.
"Old monk, you held something back back then, too. You never taught me how to let go." Yuankong reached out and gently touched the pagoda, feeling its rough, gritty texture beneath his fingertips. His tone held a hint of helplessness. "Being a real monk is the hardest thing these days."
"You want to be selfish, but you can't even do that. Couldn't you have taught me a few tricks for being a fake monk?"
After sighing, Yuankong flicked his ocher monk's robe.
"But forget it. I can't blame everything on you. After all, you died early, and I hadn't grown up yet. Naturally, you couldn't have had time to teach me every lesson."
"Coming all the way here from Dongsheng Shenzhou did take up quite a bit of my time."
"The main reason I made this trip was to tell you that, chances are, I won't be coming here for a good long while."
"Of course, I also came to chat with you and give the feelings in my heart an outlet."
"Also, Chanwood Temple is doing quite well. They're managing it much better now than you did back then."
"So if I come again later, I hope you'll still be here."
Having finished speaking before the pagoda, Yuankong rolled up his sleeves and began walking down the steps, leaving an ocher-clad back behind him.
Once his cultivation reached the required level, the formerly dark-skinned monk had regained his fair complexion.
The young monk, whose looks had been fairly fine back