CDJMM – Volume 3 – Chapter 17 Compassion of the Buddha (17)

Autumn winds swept through the land, cold and desolate, scattering fallen leaves in all directions. Another deep autumn had arrived.

Inside White City, however, the bustling crowds and noisy chatter diluted the season’s chill.

In a teahouse by the street, several traveling merchants were resting.

A young merchant casually asked, “Brother, how much did the ginseng you collected in Beihuang City cost this time?”

The middle-aged merchant sighed. “Don’t even mention it. Ten-year red ginseng — one tael for a single root.”

“Good heavens! Why is it so expensive?”

The man let out a bitter smile. “That’s the price now. Give it a few more days and it’ll double again!”

Everyone sighed in unison. Someone said, “These savages raise the price every day. If you don’t buy, they hold a knife to your neck and make you buy. After this trip, I’m never going back.”

The young merchant was first shocked, then furious. “The court doesn’t do anything about this?”

The middle-aged merchant snorted and gulped a mouthful of tea before replying angrily, “Do something? With what? The border soldiers have long been stuffed full by the barbarians. Forget fighting — they can’t even catch a rabbit anymore!”

Someone else, emboldened by alcohol, joined in, “Hah! Even if the court knew, they wouldn’t dare interfere! If the barbarians get upset, His Majesty won’t be able to sleep at night!”

“Shh! Watch your mouth! You trying to get yourself killed?!”

The merchants had only been idly chatting. But seeing that someone had begun spewing nonsense after drinking, none of them dared to stay longer and quickly dispersed.

At a nearby table, a youth who had been sitting with his back to them put down his teacup. Most of his face was hidden beneath a bamboo hat; only his tightly pressed lips could be seen — sharp as a blade.

“It seems the mortal world is about to fall into chaos again.”

Across from him, a young man with a high ponytail calmly poured himself a cup of tea, his gaze cool. “But it has nothing to do with us.”

The youth remained silent.

The young man shot him a glance and warned, “You and I are no longer people of the mortal world. Whatever happens down here has nothing to do with us. Don’t get confused.”

The youth lowered his bamboo hat and murmured a soft “Mm.”

The young man breathed a sigh of relief and changed the subject. “After cutting off your worldly ties and returning to the sect, you should be able to break through to Foundation Establishment, right?”

“Probably.”

“As expected of someone born with a Dao Seed — progressing a thousand miles in a day.” The young man sneered. “Compared to that, the Buddhist Sect’s so-called ‘Buddha-child’ whom they waited a hundred years for is nothing impressive.”

“…Why do you say that?”

“These ten-plus years, have you heard even a whisper about him outside? If he had progressed even a little, would the Pure Land Sect have been able to hide it so strictly? Obviously his talent is poor. For the sake of their dignity, they’re locking him up so he doesn’t embarrass them.”

The youth stayed silent. The young man, used to his stuffy personality, continued leisurely:

“The Buddhist Sect has been declining for a hundred years. They pinned their hopes on the Buddha-child to rise again, but now it seems impossible. Let’s see what they use to compete with our Daoists next!”

The youth set down his teacup and simply asked, “Senior Brother, can we go now?”

“Let’s go!” The young man drained his tea, wiped his mouth, grabbed his sword, and tossed some coins on the table. The two walked out of the teahouse and blended into the crowd like drops of water disappearing into the sea.

A waiter passed by the now-empty table and was startled to see two strings of coins left behind. “Huh? That’s strange… Was someone sitting here just now?”

…

The two brothers walked all the way out of the city gates. Only after reaching an empty stretch of road did the youth untie the cloth bundle on his back and pull out a sword. The next moment, two swords flew out of their sheaths. The two stepped onto their swords and disappeared into the sky.

In front of the Linqing Sect mountain gate, several young Daoist children were cleaning. Suddenly sword light flashed overhead — a youth with a bamboo hat shot past riding his sword.

The little Daoists looked up at the dark silhouette flying away, eyes full of envy. They whispered:

“Senior Brother Su is back! And Senior Brother Teng!”

“I wonder what they went out to do.”

“Probably to sever worldly ties?”

“I heard Senior Brother Su is already at late Foundation Establishment.”

“Wow! Doesn’t that mean he’ll reach Heart-Moving soon?”

“He’s only been in the sect ten years!”

“Well, Senior Brother Su is a natural Dao Seed. It’s normal he progresses fast!”

…

The youth — Su Jian — parted ways with his senior brother and rode his sword to his cave-residence halfway up Lingyun Peak.

He removed his bamboo hat, revealing a sharp, determined face like an unsheathed blade. Ten years of cultivation had transformed him from a brash, reckless young man into someone cold and steady.

He broke the seal at his door, entered, spread out a sheet of paper, and began writing truthfully about everything he had seen in the mortal world during his two years of severing worldly ties.

When he wrote the final word, he paused.

This letter was for Le Jing.

Over the past decade, he had written many such letters.

They had not seen each other in more than ten years.

The last time he saw Le Jing was at his tonsure ceremony. Because they had known each other before, he had been allowed to accompany the Sect Master to witness the Pure Land ceremony.

Even after all these years, he could still clearly recall Le Jing back then.

In a room filled with silent statues of gods and Buddhas, the small boy sat on a meditation mat. Incense smoke curled around him, Buddhist chants echoed softly. An old monk stood behind him, shaving away his hair with each stroke of the knife, revealing pale blue skin beneath.

The boy’s eyes were lowered, calm and unmoving. Golden candlelight fell upon him, gathering faint divine radiance — like a tiny Buddha.

Time in cultivation flowed differently. Twelve years passed in a blink. The boy must now be a young man.

The Pure Land Sect and the Linqing Sect stood in the far south and far north of the empire, nearly spanning the entire realm. So he and Le Jing had only exchanged letters for years.

Le Jing had been in seclusion the whole time; only Su Jian wrote to tell him of worldly affairs.

Thinking of what he had seen in the mortal realm this time, Su Jian frowned and sighed.

The world was about to change.

After the ink dried, he took out a lotus lamp. A blue flame flickered in its center. The moment the paper touched the flame, it vanished.

…

The breeze gently rustled the bamboo forest. Deep in the thicket stood a thatched hut. From within came the muffled sound of a wooden fish.

A young monk sat inside, eyes closed. A red mole on his brow glowed like a drop of blood. One hand held prayer beads, the other tapped the wooden fish rhythmically.

After a long time, he opened his eyes — golden light flashed in his pupils, solemn and ancient. Golden Buddhist radiance flowed from the red lotus beneath him. His yellow robes fluttered without wind, glowing faintly as though a divine being had descended.

A few breaths later, the radiance withdrew.

The white lotus lamp flickered, spitting out a letter.

Le Jing reached out; the letter slid neatly into his hand.

He opened it — Su Jian’s familiar handwriting greeted him.

He read the important news conveyed this time:

The border was growing increasingly chaotic.

Beihuang City lay at the northernmost frontier of the Great Liang Dynasty, bordering the grassland tribes. Since ancient times, it had always been a place of war.

Especially now that Great Liang grew weaker year by year, its army soft with long peace, the grassland tribes raided every autumn and winter — looting, raping, slaughtering civilians.

Thus the people of Liang called them “barbarians,” both hateful and feared.

But worldly chaos could never stain the purity of the Buddhist Sect.

The monks of the Pure Land Sect chanted daily to purify the resentful spirits of the dead.

After the Human–Demon War a century ago, Beihuang City — one of the main battlefields — had tens of thousands of buried corpses beneath its soil. Though the humans won and the demons retreated to the Snow Plains, the city was left full of ghosts.

If not for the Pure Land Sect’s unwavering purification, the entire city’s souls would have been swallowed by vengeful spirits.

Yet the barbarians had been more restless than ever.

Though collectively called “barbarians,” the grasslands held over a dozen tribes. They once fought constantly among themselves, reducing their threat. That was why the emperor had slept peacefully.

But now…

The tribes had united under a single powerful leader. Their ambition was swelling.

Moreover, since the demons fled the war a century ago, they had hidden among the grasslands — turning it into a grave threat.

Great Liang was weak. A war between the barbarians and Great Liang was inevitable.

Perhaps the foretold calamity was pointing to this.

Since entering the Pure Land Sect, Le Jing had been in seclusion for ten years.

With suffering in the world, it was time to descend the mountain.

Le Jing stood, smoothed his robes, and walked out of the thatched hut.

The bamboo forest was serene. A young monk in yellow robes walking through it was a picture of Zen.

As he stepped out of the bamboo grove, Le Jing saw a familiar figure.

His master stood holding prayer beads, smiling softly.

Le Jing bowed with folded hands. “Master.”

Huitong asked, “Where are you going?”

Le Jing answered reverently, “To where I ought to be.”

Huitong looked at his most cherished disciple, eyes filled with quiet sorrow. “Do you still remember how the Great Strength Bodhisattva answered when the Buddha asked the great Bodhisattvas how they entered samadhi and attained enlightenment?”

The young monk lowered his eyes. “The Buddha asked about perfect penetration. I chose none. Gathering the six senses, pure thoughts continue unbroken. Attaining samadhi — that is the foremost.”

“And what does ‘gathering the six senses, pure thoughts unbroken’ mean?”

“Six senses clear, free of distraction, chanting Buddha’s name without pause.”

Huitong stared at him. “And you still intend to go where you think you must?”

Le Jing replied softly, “This disciple remembers only the Twelve Great Vows of Medicine Buddha.”

Huitong’s cheeks twitched, rare despair appearing.

He tried one last time, “The path you walk is full of karmic obstacles. You will bear the world’s cause and effect. It brings retaliation, rarely merit. Even so… you still wish to go?”

Under the sunlight, the young monk’s clear eyes were flawless like white jade. The red mole on his brow gleamed like a drop of blood. His golden gaze surged like mist.

His voice was grand and solemn:

“May I, in a future life, upon attaining Bodhi —
have a body like pure glass, clear within and without, flawless and radiant.
May my virtue be vast, my form dignified, shining brighter than sun and moon.
May all beings in darkness be enlightened and guided toward their chosen paths.”

“May I, in a future life, upon attaining Bodhi —
deliver all beings from demons and deviant paths.
If they fall into forests of false views,
may I draw them to right understanding
and guide them to practice the Bodhisattva path,
until they attain unsurpassed enlightenment.”

These were the Medicine Buddha’s Second Vow and Ninth Vow — vows of saving all beings and dispelling evil.

Huitong again recalled the youth’s words he’d once heard in an illusion:

“I ask the Buddha — if killing one can save ten thousand, is it sin or merit?”

“If slaughtering a city can save a nation, is it thunderous retribution or instant Buddhahood?”

Back then, he had already understood — their Buddha-child walked the Asura path of attaining Buddhahood through killing. One misstep and he would fall into darkness.

Looking into the youth’s eyes, Huitong was full of struggle and sadness. Finally he sighed and said quietly, “Go.”

Le Jing bowed. “Thank you, Master.”

Huitong added, “If that day truly comes… I will end it with my own hands. Consider it the last affection between master and disciple.”