CDJMM – Volume 3 – Chapter 12 Compassion of the Buddha (12)

At Fayan Temple, Kongming was dozing off.

Although to outsiders this inner-sect disciple from Huayan Temple appeared as unmoving as a mountain—his posture lofty and profound, like an old monk in deep meditation—he was, in fact, taking a nap. This too was a basic skill monks practiced from childhood: how to make dozing off look like entering a meditative state was its own kind of art.

Even though the surroundings were noisy—those inexperienced Daoist novices were gawking at the cloud mirrors in amazement—none of it disturbed Kongming’s boredom-induced drowsiness.

The Ascension Gate selection was originally just an internal Daoist disciple recruitment ceremony. Even the later Dao Debate Assembly was a grand Daoist event and had little to do with the Buddhist sects. Buddhists usually just recruited gifted children with Buddhist affinity from among devoted believers and didn’t host such large-scale ceremonies.

Still, for the sake of giving the Daoists face, each time the Ascension Gate ceremony was held, some high-ranking monks from major Buddhist temples would attend and observe. They would also bring a few excellent disciples to spar with the Daoist disciples during the Dao Debate Assembly.

This year, however, was destined to be the year with the fewest Buddhist attendees.

Abbots from major temples such as Fahua Temple, Liudao Sect, and Pure Land Sect were all absent, having only sent a few Zen masters to go through the motions. Even the number of talented disciples brought for the Dao Debate was far fewer than usual.

Yet despite this “cold treatment,” the Daoist sects felt no displeasure.

In recent days, the Buddhist sects’ search for the Buddha Child was no secret among the upper ranks of the Daoist world. In order to find him, hundreds of Buddhist temples had sent out nearly all their monks and promising disciples—day and night, practically digging three feet into the ground if needed.

Compared to the Ascension Gate ceremony, the Buddha Child was obviously far more important. So this year, the Buddhists only sent a symbolic group, while the rest were out scouring the world.

Thinking of the Buddha Child made Kongming recall Master Huitong of the Pure Land Sect. One day, the master suddenly had a prophetic dream—he dreamed of the Buddha Child’s birth.

The entire Buddhist world was shaken.

The Buddha Child—what did that mean? It meant one who was born as a Buddha.

Cultivation, which was a thorny and obstacle-ridden path for ordinary people, was a smooth and natural journey for the Buddha Child. Cultivation for him was like eating or drinking—bottlenecks, inner demons, none of them applied. As long as he continued cultivating steadily, he would inevitably attain the golden body and become a Buddha.

Because such a prodigious talent was practically heaven-defying, he was called the Buddha Child.

In many ways, he was the living symbol of the Buddhist sect—Buddha incarnate.

To countless believers, the Buddha Child represented the reincarnation of Buddha himself, the spiritual pillar of innumerable devotees.

Thus, the Buddhists would stop at nothing to find him.

But that was exactly where the problem lay.

No one knew what he looked like. Even Master Huitong, who saw him in the dream, forgot his appearance the moment he woke. This too was Buddha shielding the Buddha Child—but it made the search agonizingly difficult.

There were countless boys in the cultivation and mortal worlds. Searching aimlessly was like looking for a needle in the ocean.

If it were anyone else, they might divine the direction. But this was the Buddha Child—born with pure Six Roots, unstained by karma, protected by myriad deities. He could not be divined at all.

They still had not found him, and even the abbot of Fayan Temple was driven into anxiety. Kongming himself had been preoccupied for days; even while nodding off, he couldn’t help worrying about the Buddha Child’s safety.

Master Huitong had said: “The Buddha Child and the Buddhist sect are connected by fate. No need to force the search. When the time comes, fate will bring him before us.”

Which meant—finding him would depend on sheer luck. The more paths one walked, the higher the chance of bumping into him someday.

Truthfully, Kongming would rather be searching for the Buddha Child than sitting here bored out of his mind.

“Huh? This illusion… interesting.”

“Such a young child—what, eight years old at most? Yet he has such clear awareness and perception… unbelievably bright.”

“Extreme brilliance leads to harm…”

“If he cannot let go of his fear, his cultivation path will be severed. He’ll fall into madness and join the demonic path.”

“Strange, though. The moment I saw this child, I felt a deep fondness. I like him immensely—he fits my karmic eye perfectly.”

Kongming twitched his ears and opened his eyes. The monks beside him were staring intently at the cloud mirrors, whispering among themselves.

He felt a strange stirring in his heart and asked, “Who are you talking about?”

His junior disciple, Kongyan, replied, “Fifth row, eighth cloud mirror from the left.”

Kongming looked in that direction—and unexpectedly met a pair of glass-clear eyes. Luminous, crystalline, pure and unstained. For a moment, he was struck dumb.

Though it was their first meeting, the boy gave him an inexplicable sense of familiarity. Just looking at him filled Kongming with joy. His recently restless mind calmed significantly.

While he was frozen in place, the cloud mirror shifted again. The monks burst into exclamations. The monk who’d earlier predicted the boy would fall into the demonic path now said excitedly:

“Amitabha. All forms are illusory; fear is likewise illusory. He saw fear, understood it, and then let it go. His mind became clear and empty. This child has profound Buddhist nature! He should enter our Buddhist sect!”

“What’s the point of saying that? With talent like his, would those Daoists give such a precious gem to us?”

“Look—the Star-Origin True Lord can’t sit still.”

“The True Lord hasn’t taken a disciple in a hundred years… yet today he actually came out.”

Kongming snapped back to his senses. Seeing the monks chattering excitedly, he paused and quietly asked:

“Do you think… he might be the Buddha Child?”

It was like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. The monks fell into stunned silence, heads spinning.

After a long while, someone stammered, “His age… seems about right.”

“So young, yet incredibly perceptive…”

“And gifted. And he has Buddhist affinity…”

They muttered in circles, and gradually, hesitantly reached a conclusion: that boy might possibly maybe perhaps… be the Buddha Child?

Except—

“This child’s nature is free. He belongs in the Purple Cloud Sword Sect!”

“Nonsense! His temperament is free yet resolute—emotional yet detached. Perfect for our Heavenly Dao Sect!”

“No, this young lord’s ambition is for the world! Only our Qingshan Mathematics Confucian Law can teach him to rule and uplift the people!”

Not far away, the venerable leaders of major sects were arguing loudly, completely losing their composure—like commoners fighting over the last fresh cabbage at the market.

Kongming was speechless. The monks beside him were stiff-faced, silent as if practicing the vow of silence.

“What… what in the world is this!” Kongming sighed. “A Buddha Child joining the Daoists—what utter nonsense!”

“It’s not certain yet whether he’s the Buddha Child. When the exam ends, we’ll verify.”

The speaker was Elder Huiwu of the Pure Land Sect—the senior brother of Huitong, the abbot who received the prophetic dream. Steady, deeply learned, highly respected by all.

Someone asked, “And if he is the Buddha Child?”

Huiwu lifted his eyelids. His ancient-gold pupils flashed with cold divine authority.

“If he truly is the Buddha Child, then even if we must fight, we will snatch him back from the Daoists. The Buddha Child must be in the Buddhist sect.”

“Are you willing to become my disciple?”

Le Jing blinked. The exam wasn’t even finished yet, and this man was already recruiting?

“Sorry—I’m not planning to take a master for now.”

The Ascension Gate might appear like the sect choosing disciples, but in truth, it was the disciples choosing the sects—just like universities scrambling for top scorers each year. Le Jing wasn’t stupid. The exam wasn’t over, he had no idea who this man was, nor did he understand the cultivation world. There was no way he would accept a master now.

The Star-Origin True Lord looked a bit disappointed but did not persist. At his age, he saw through fate clearly. His offer came from admiration, a passing impulse. Since the boy declined, that simply meant they had no karmic bond.

The old man disappeared just as mysteriously as he came. The dense mist dispersed, and Le Jing could finally see the surroundings again.

Everywhere he looked, the examinees were sprawled or slumped, laughing, crying, muttering, or dazed—lost in the illusion.

Su Jian stood beside him, eyes empty, expression blank, body stiff—clearly trapped in an illusion as well.

What surprised Le Jing was the big wolfdog.

It was perfectly fine, curled by his feet, even yawning—completely unaffected by the illusion. As soon as Le Jing moved, the dog sprang up, tail wagging excitedly.

Le Jing patted its head and laughed. “You really had it easy.”

“Woof woof!”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Without the illusion, the cloud staircase was just a staircase. However long, it would eventually end.

Le Jing walked for about half an hour and finally saw the scenery at the end: a massive white jade gate—and two gatekeepers.

They wore white robes, long hair flowing—radiant like immortals. One held a sword; the other a zither.

Sword like frost, zither song drifting. No sun or moon in sight—only the white jade capital in the heavens.

When they saw Le Jing, the swordsman asked, “Who are you?”

“Le Jing.”

“Why have you come?”

“Naturally, I’ve come to cultivate.”

“What is your Dao?”

The boy raised his brows and smiled. His eyes were blazing like the morning sun, yet clear as snow.

“My Dao lies in the freedom of all beings.”

The zither stopped abruptly. The musician lifted his gaze.

“What is freedom?”

“To control one’s own fate—that is freedom.”

“And what is freedom for all beings?”

“A farmer can become an official. An official can become a carpenter. A carpenter can become a general. A general can return to farming. No one should be bound by unreasonable rules. That is freedom for all beings.”

On the white staircase beneath the vast sky, the boy’s eyes were pure yet unwaveringly resolute.

The musician paused, then asked: “How will you realize your Dao?”

“With compassion. With blades and spears. With rain. With thunder. With gentleness. With blood.”

Le Jing smiled casually, thinking: In chuunibyou terms—wherever my sword points, justice follows?

This time, both gatekeepers were silent for a long while.

Le Jing waited patiently.

Finally, the swordsman looked at him complexly and said, “Forget it. Just go in.” The great jade doors slowly opened.

“So young, yet such dangerous ideals…” the swordsman muttered. “I wonder which master will dare take you.”

Le Jing smiled calmly and stepped forward. The wolfdog bounded after him—

—only to slam headfirst into an invisible barrier with a loud thud.

Le Jing turned back.

The swordsman said coldly:

“Dogs cannot enter.”