Yeluo

Qu Zan had long since understood that the so-called scripture debates were actually debates over names and realities.

This was a form of logical training! Qu Zan had a whole heap of debates over names and realities stored in his head.

And the only way for people to escape the sea of suffering was to take practical, feasible action. Wallowing in armchair discourse and arguing over right and wrong would only wear away the years and squander their time in the end.

Of course, Qu Zan would not say that.

He merely accepted the twenty taels of secret silver in silence.

Chima was so angry that his face alternated between livid and red. He wanted to lash out, but he had indeed made a mistake and lost the scripture debate.

Who could have imagined that this fellow would be so incisive in his very first scripture debate?

Wait, was this fellow really debating for the first time? Had he deliberately pretended it was his first debate as a trap, luring me into taking the floor?

Despicable, penniless bastard.

Chima kept thinking, filling in the gaps with his imagination.

Twenty taels of secret silver was not much to him, but it was still his monthly allowance from his family.

With everyone watching, Chima could only hand over those twenty taels of secret silver. Once the money left his hands, he felt a pang, as though a piece of his flesh had been cut away.

Nyepa said, "Gyatso, considering that this was your first scripture debate, I'll give you fifty-nine points..."

Twenty plus twenty, plus fifty-nine.

"That's almost a perfect score." One Scholar Monk's eyes lit up.

"It was his first assessment, so the Lama opened a convenient door for him," another Scholar Monk remarked.

"So how many points did you get on your first try?" someone else countered.

The Scholar Monks were either astonished or envious...

Within the monastery, memory, comprehension, and skill in scripture debate meant that Qu Zan had the potential to become a High Monk in the future.

Monks in Mìdì had to pass examinations to advance.

This was not something money could buy. It required genuine skill at answering questions.

With the final Scholar Monk finishing, the reading assessment came to an end.

Qu Zan took first place with a score of ninety-nine. Second was the one named Namkha, who had scored ninety.

By now, the sky had gone completely dark.

From a box beside his cushion, Nyepa took out a square brick wrapped in dried tree bark.

Qu Zan respectfully accepted it with both hands.

"Gyatso, this tea brick is your reward. Just boil it when you get back. Add some salt, and it'll taste even better."

Worried that Qu Zan had no salt, Nyepa specifically took out a small cloth packet of salt and gave it to him as well.

"Thank you, Lama!" Qu Zan said sincerely.

After the evening session ended.

Chima walked past Qu Zan and gave a loud snort.

Namkha came over, smiled at Qu Zan with refined courtesy, and said, "Don't mind him. Chima is a terribly uncouth fellow. Let's have tea and discuss the scriptures in the tearoom another day."

"Certainly!" Qu Zan replied politely.

Rusu also smiled and nodded at Qu Zan.

The many Scholar Monks' attitudes toward Qu Zan had clearly improved. Without his noticing, his relationships with them had changed.

By the time he returned to his room, Qu Zan was already somewhat tired. The entire afternoon's assessment had indeed been exhausting, especially the strain of being on edge.

It had also increased his Consciousness by 0.1.

[Consciousness: 2.6]-[Consciousness: 2.7]

This is the benefit of advancing a pawn each day, Qu Zan marveled inwardly. Every book I read, every examination I go through, becomes bone and blood, nourishing my mind and Consciousness.

The greatest benefit of the panel was that it let him see that every bit of effort, every difficulty overcome, would not go to waste.

No effort was ever squandered!

Qu Zan took out the tea brick and caught a mellow, woody fragrance.

In Mìdì, tea bricks were prized goods in short supply. Everyone from serfs to the wealthy and the nobility liked drinking tea.

The herders at the bottom drank the coarsest broken tea and old stems, while those at the top drank tea bricks made from carefully selected ingredients.

The tea brick Qu Zan had received was large, as big as a square paving brick from his previous life.

He knew little about tea, but he supposed that a reward bestowed by someone like Nyepa, who was half a step from becoming the monastery head, could hardly be poor.

Qu Zan had originally intended to put the tea brick away and sell it. Feeling the newly acquired twenty taels of secret silver, which added to his savings, he found his spine had straightened considerably.

He planned to boil some tea to reward himself.

I've suffered for most of a lifetime. I'll enjoy myself a little too! Qu Zan teased himself inwardly.

He peeled away the dried bark. The tea brick was a glossy dark brown throughout, with an aged woody aroma mingled with the honeyed fragrance of dried fruit.

He lit the earthen stove and brought water to a boil in a copper kettle. Breaking a small piece off the tea brick, he dropped it into the kettle.

After simmering over a low flame for a while, the tea turned a deep reddish brown. He added a little salt.

Qu Zan lifted the kettle and poured the tea into an earthenware bowl.

The tea was a clear, amber-red, slightly bitter, with a rich, honeyed dried-fruit fragrance and the fresh woody scent of fermentation. As the smooth, mellow tea entered his stomach, warmth spread through his body.

The tea left a sweet aftertaste, and the stems gave it a distinct, gelatinous sweetness.

This brick tea could replenish vitamins and ease the dryness of the highlands. After drinking a bowl, he felt comfortable all over.

There was a folk saying in Mìdì: better three days without grain than a single day without tea...

"If I added some cow's milk, wouldn't that be milk tea?" Qu Zan suddenly thought.

"What would it taste like with cow's milk? I wonder how it would compare with the milk tea from my previous life?"

He decided to try it next time. Drinking tea gave him a sense of happiness.

Even living in this merciless Mìdì, where ghostly horrors were everywhere, he held a bowl of tea and felt a trace of peace and happiness arise naturally in his heart.

"How much farther?" Doje asked the servant ahead.

"Master, we're almost there. Yeluo is in the stable up ahead," the Attendant Monk said quietly.

He bowed and spoke gently, full of deference toward the Scholar Monks.

Although the Attendant Monk was nearly middle-aged, a Scholar Monk's status far surpassed his.

At the agreed time, Qu Zan and Doje went together to see that Gap-Toothed Old Man.

The stable stood against a corner of the monastery's outer wall, a low stone building whose wall coating had been blackened by horse dung and damp. Inside, wooden rails divided it into stalls, where the horses used by the senior monks for travel were tethered.

Fodder lay heaped in one corner of the stable. The smell of fodder mingled with the horses' rank stench and the foul air of dung and dirt, hitting them in the face and making their eyes sting terribly.

An old servant with graying hair and a hunched back was gripping a wooden shovel, slowly clearing the accumulated manure from the stalls.

"That's Yeluo!" The middle-aged servant pointed. "Wait here a moment, masters. It's dirty inside. I'll call him over for you."

He trotted over eagerly.

Pinching his nose, Doje surveyed their surroundings and said, "Junior brother, could this old fellow you mentioned really be the man we met that day? He's clearly just a little old man! That little old man's hand is trembling, too."

The middle-aged Attendant Monk brought Yeluo over.

This little old man was half as tall as the man in their memories, with a sallow, ashen face, cloudy eyes, and wrinkles covering his face.

Yeluo's lips moved, and he said respectfully, "Lama!"

He wore an extremely thin cotton-padded jacket. His right hand looked like a rough, clumsy piece of tree bark and trembled constantly.

Doje said, "Old man, don't be afraid."

The middle-aged Attendant Monk smiled. "Master, that's just Yeluo's condition. His hand trembles no matter whom he sees."

Qu Zan glanced at the middle-aged monk and said, "I'd like to speak with him alone and ask him about tending horses." As he spoke, he took a small leaf-wrapped parcel from inside his robe. There was a piece of butter inside.

"I couldn't possibly accept this." The middle-aged Attendant Monk hurriedly declined.

Doje said, "If you're told to take it, take it."