Chapter 130

Chapter 130

Rong Tang had heard similar words before, when he was entangled in tasks, shrouded in guilt, and crushed by despair. He had wondered what eyes without desire would look like.

But hearing Hui Mian say this now, Rong Tang was only slightly startled, then candidly admitted, "After all, I am a worldly man."

In the dust of the mortal world, living beings have desires. Rong Tang was just a tiny speck of sand among countless others, not an ancient Buddha above, detached from joy and sorrow.

Hui Mian smiled gently, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and leaned forward to pour him a cup of tea, asking, "What brings you here, donor?"

Rong Tang: "To return a painting."

The young monk in robes glanced at the brocade box and asked, "Did the donor open it?"

Rong Tang nodded: "I have seen it."

"Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Buddhism is compassionate; I only sensed its antiquity, nothing unusual," replied Rong Tang.

Hui Mian opened the brocade box, unfolding the Buddha image in his hands. Years of incense smoke had left their mark on the paper. The ancient Buddha's eyes were closed, as if unwilling to witness the suffering of the world, with a backdrop of blossoming lotus platforms.

The monk glanced at it, closed it again, placed it back in the box, and pushed it towards Rong Tang, "This is the donor's destiny. I am merely a guardian of the painting, not its owner."

Rong Tang inquired further, "What kind of destiny?"

Hui Mian: "What doubts does the donor have in his heart?"

Rong Tang thought, his doubts were indeed numerous.

Why did he come to this world, what is his relationship with Sheng Chengli, who among Sheng Chengli and Su Huaijing is truly the protagonist, and is the so-called righteous Path of Heaven truly legitimate?

But with all his doubts colliding in his mind, Rong Tang glanced at him, lowered his head, sipped the tea, then looked up and asked, "Have I met you before?"

Hui Mian answered with a smile, "Last year, in early March, the donor and I chanted sutras together for two nights."

Rong Tang: "Apart from that?"

The monastery was quiet, snow cleared from the mountain gate, the stove burning slowly in front of them.

Hui Mian spoke softly: "The snow in the courtyard of the top scholar was very beautiful."

Rong Tang’s pupils contracted slightly, then he relaxed.

During the funeral in the eleventh year of Qingzheng, Ke Hongxue had invited countless monks to his home to chant sutras and pray for the peaceful rebirth of his senior brother in paradise.

At that time, a fleeting glance revealed nothing memorable, but now with Hui Mian's words, the vague memories began to clear, and among the crowd, there was indeed a monk who looked exactly like him.

In a previous life, he shaved his head and became a monk, last year he was the young monk in black robes, and today he has transformed into an elder with white hair.

Such changes in a monk seemed not at all unusual.

Thus, Rong Tang asked, "What is the connection between the master and me?"

Hui Mian looked at him for a long time, smiled slightly, chanted a Buddhist phrase, and counter-asked, "What is the donor's connection with this world?"

The system was nowhere to be heard, and Rong Tang hadn't heard its voice. In this courtyard, under the eaves, there was only a stove, a pot of tea, branches heavy with snow, and the two of them sitting in front of the fire.

Rong Tang thought deeply and honestly replied, "I don’t know."

He had thought he was the savior of this small world, but after three lifetimes, he couldn’t even save himself.

It seemed...

From the beginning to the end, he was in the midst of a deception. How could he talk of saving the world?

His connection with this world seemed nonexistent, merely passing through, just happening to stop here.

The cold outside contrasted with the mild warmth inside the temple, and a faint noise drew Rong Tang's attention.

A white cocoon appeared out of season, tiny cracks emerging on its surface.

Contradicting the season and the weather.

Hui Mian asked him, "Does the donor miss his home?"

Rong Tang was briefly startled, brought back to the moment. After careful consideration, he shook his head: "I don’t remember."

Nine years in a strange world, the twenty years of his modern life seemed more like a fleeting dream, much of it now forgotten.

The roads I used to walk every day, the trees by the roadside occasionally appear in my dreams, but I can't even recall the faces of my modern family.

Hui Mian asked, "When did the donor arrive here?"

Rong Tang knew what he was asking, yet replied without changing his expression, "Today at noon."

Hui Mian was slightly taken aback, then smiled.

He rose from his cushion and picked up the cocoon beneath the hall, placing it beside the stove.

"Your connection with this world, and with those two people, you will understand when you recall why you asked me this question," Hui Mian explained gently, without insistence, "As for the purpose of your visit, it too will be resolved soon."

He said, "You've only drunk half a cup of tea, and the play is only halfway through. As long as you don't leave on your own, you don't need to worry about an early exit."

Rong Tang opened his eyes, admitting to himself that he was somewhat relieved.

His visit to Tuolan Temple was ostensibly to return the painting, but in reality, it was to talk with Hui Mian.

Regarding the true nature of this world, he didn’t believe Hui Mian knew everything, or even if he did, he might not be able to reveal it all.

Even Rong Tang himself couldn't discuss the novel "The Emperor's Conquest" with Su Huaijing.

The world's consciousness has its limits, that is certain, so what he sought was just some peace of mind.

How much longer could he accompany Su Huaijing?

Would it be like the previous lifetimes, reaching the predestined moment of the world, or would he be dragged down by his illness halfway?

Hui Mian gave him the answer: even with his illness and coughing up blood, he wouldn't easily die.

That was enough.

This resolved Rong Tang's most pressing question.

He bowed and thanked the master: "Thank you, Master."

"The donor is too polite," Hui Mian said softly, his gaze falling on the cocoon.

The crack widened bit by bit, and the sound of fluttering butterfly wings filled the air. Rong Tang, puzzled, looked down to see a light blue butterfly emerging from its cocoon amidst the snow and ice, weakly fluttering its wings as it flew low near the stove.

Almost as if compelled, Rong Tang reached out and caught the butterfly.

The fragile creature rested on his fingertips, its pale blue contrasting with his fair skin, like the most tender painting in the world.

As the butterfly closed its wings, Hui Mian remarked, "The donor is kind-hearted. Millions of people suffering from the disaster in Jiangnan must also be grateful for the donor’s compassion."

Rong Tang observed the butterfly for a moment, then looked up at the monk, his gaze once again settling on the white hair behind him, and asked, "Master, how did you come by these three thousand white hairs?"

Hui Mian smiled and said, "It's my fate."

"Unrelated to me?"

Hui Mian did not directly answer: "Every person in this world is intricately connected."

Within a few breaths, the early-emerged butterfly took a short rest and then flew around Rong Tang's fingertips twice before turning and decisively flying into the flames, turning to ashes.

Hui Mian chanted, "Amitabha Buddha."

Before leaving, Hui Mian called Rong Tang to stay, handing him five brand-new peace charms.

"With the Lunar New Year's Eve approaching, the peace charm you sought at the beginning of the year must be old by now. Take these home and replace it."

Rong Tang paused slightly, remembering that he had obtained a peace charm for Su Huaijing before their marriage, promising the big villain he would get one every year. Indeed, they had two at home over the past two years.

And now suddenly there are five more...

He hesitated for a moment, took the talisman bag and gently twisted it, finding without exception traces of incense ash and paper rubbing in each, indicating that every peace talisman contained a slip of paper with the owner's birth date and time.

Rong Tang wasn't very curious initially, but whether it was the striking white hair or the five talisman bags seemingly signaling something, he paused for two seconds and then asked, "Is the karma mentioned by the master, by any chance, kinship?"

The highly revered monk Hui Mian is famous worldwide. Some say he's a seventy-year-old sage, almost enlightened; others say he's a living Buddha, with a hundred faces. Even the emperor rarely gets to see him, but Rong Tang has met him twice easily and casually, receiving gifts from the monk each time.

If one counts the previous life as well...

The sudden death of the junior minister of Dali Temple led to Hui Mian personally reciting the sutra for rebirth for three days. Why?

He also remembered the fire that burned down Tuolan Temple, almost certain in his heart.

Hui Mian: "Having entered the Buddhist path, one should sever worldly ties."

Rong Tang, unwilling to be brushed off so easily, countered, "Having entered the Buddhist path, why hasn't the master shaved his head yet?"

Hui Mian chuckled softly, "I have shaved it."

Rong Tang paused suddenly, and Hui Mian said, "You have seen it with your own eyes, haven't you?"

"He has been ordained."

In the winter of the eleventh year of Qingzheng, the funeral of Mu Jingxu.

By that time, the Crown Prince of Daisui had died on the way to the Wanshou Festival, Mu Jingxu died from exhaustion, and Su Huai Jing was alive, yet corroded by hatred.

Hui Mian had indeed taken monastic vows at that time.

His long hair was both his fate and his kinship.

And now, these five peace charms represented his myriad worldly connections.

Rong Tang's voice was slightly hoarse as he asked, "Why didn’t you speak out?"

If you had stepped forward then, perhaps Su Huaijing wouldn’t have reached that final step.

Hui Mian joined his hands and slowly chanted a Buddhist phrase, "The observer of the game speaks not, the judge of heaven remains silent. I have glimpsed the stars’ rotation; the variables are not within me."

In other words, the secrets of heaven cannot be revealed; he couldn’t speak.

The variables were not his to control; he had no need to speak.

Rong Tang understood: "Am I the variable?"

Hui Mian: "Where the donor comes from, why he came, when he arrived, and where he will go. When you remember these, you will naturally understand what the variable is."

Rong Tang silently met his gaze, his heart tumultuous.

Nothing specific was said, yet it felt like everything was revealed.

A butterfly plunges into the flames, a handful of snow falls from the branches, a few sticks of sandalwood burn gently. Stepping out of the courtyard, Rong Tang suddenly realized the bustling atmosphere around.

In this renowned ancient temple, with its daily throngs of worshippers, where did such tranquility and composure come from?

Someone was waiting at the corner, with the deep red bricks of the old temple reflecting behind him, like a devout believer waiting for a divine presence.

Rong Tang felt a sudden warmth in his eyes, clutching the peace charm in his hand. He quickly walked towards him, his breathing much smoother than it had been in days, a lightness he hadn't felt for a long time.

Seeing Rong Tang emerge, Su Huaijing's eyes brightened. He hurried over, grasping Rong Tang's wrist and shielding him from the wind, whispering, "Slow down, you're still not well, and the wind..."

Before he could finish, Su Huaijing incredulously widened his eyes, slightly losing composure as he lifted Rong Tang's wrist, carefully checking his pulse.

Rong Tang, guessing what might be happening, still couldn't help but feel nervous, his voice trembling as he asked, "Am I better now?"

Su Huaijing nodded and then shook his head.

Not exactly better, but at least not worse.

To return to the state before this illness would require more care, but no longer was his pulse as faint as a thread, as if he might close his eyes and never wake again.

This nearly month-long critical condition seemed like an illusion, as if it never existed, causing him nightly worries.

Su Huaijing checked again and again, afraid it was just his wishful thinking.

With snow accumulating on the eaves and incense ash floating in the ancient temple, Rong Tang let him check for almost half an hour before softly saying, "I’m cold..."

Su Huaijing suddenly snapped back to reality, without thinking further, holding Rong Tang's hand and starting to walk out of the temple.

Yet he hesitated for a moment before heading alone to the small courtyard where Hui Mian was, bowing deeply and earnestly, saying in a low voice, "Thank you for your kindness, Master. If there is any price to pay, let me bear it alone."

After doing all this, he turned back, took Rong Tang’s hand, and they headed for the temple gate, "Let's go home."

"Can I eat something tasty now?" Rong Tang asked quietly.

Su Huaijing smiled, "How about hot pot?"

"Great!" Rong Tang exclaimed joyfully, then paused for half a second and suggested, "Let's invite my brother too."

"Alright."

On the first day of the twelfth lunar month, the weather was clear and fine; it was time for the old friends to return.

Su Huai Jing finally showed the most sincere smile he had in a month.