Chapter 135: The Story of the Great慈恩 Temple

A winding path made of stacked bluestones meandered forward, flanked by blades of grass creeping along the ground, glistening with the dewdrops of early spring. At the end of the narrow, twisting trail stood an arched stone gate, its flanking walls stained with vermilion lacquer, exuding a solemn and dignified aura.

Ascending the steps and passing inward, one found a quaint and unadorned spacious courtyard, the inner walls adorned with numerous murals depicting the Mahavairocana Tathagata.

At the four corners of the courtyard stood grey stone niches for Buddha statues. Inside, however, no sacred images were enshrined; instead, several sticks of burning incense burned upside down.

In the main hall of the courtyard, several meditation mats were laid out. Sitting casually in a half-lotus position on the central mat was a woman dressed in pink, while a blind monk sat upon a raised platform.

He remained utterly motionless, sitting quietly in meditation with his knees resting flat on the platform cushion. The blind monk was the master of this small courtyard.

He did not open his eyes because they had been impaired since birth, just as they had been from the moment he entered the world.

Perhaps because his karmic affinity for Buddhism was exceptionally profound, the heavens grew jealous, plunging his eyes into darkness; yet, at the same time, he attained enlightenment in many supreme Buddhist principles,从此 calming his heart and detaching his spirit, desiring only to propagate the Dharma and save the world.

"Long time no see!"

The woman's voice rang out in the main hall, shattering the quiet atmosphere. Her pink dress made her look enchanting and captivating. Seated sideways on the meditation mat, though she was a woman past her prime, her grace and charm still lingered.

The one offering the greeting was named Gongsun Fu. A sword dancer famed throughout both the martial world and the marketplaces, she bore a universally recognized title: Madame Gongsun.

During the Festival of the Eight Immortals, she had danced with a sword beneath the bridge and before the pavilion to cheer on the Princess Guarding the Nation.

The motives that led her here also began from this very point.

"It has been a long time!"

The blind monk responded faintly, as calm as ever, using the familiar tone of old friends meeting again.

The two were originally old acquaintances who had once loved one another, yet ultimately their relationship had shifted into one of mutual guardianship. Moreover, this dynamic seemed to have grown somewhat hazy and indistinct as time eroded it away, no different from a winter frost on a windowpane.

"I have seen the Princess! She is no different from others, save that she is younger and rather remarkable compared to ordinary women."

Madame Gongsun offered her assessment. Even so, she still felt that the Princess Guarding the Nation was indeed extraordinary—was this, too, a matter of destiny?

Besides, did destiny truly exist? Something that sounded so ethereal was just as illusory and impractical as the eternal youth that men chased after day in and day out.

"That is good. If given the opportunity, I would like to meet her as well! After all, if one observes with a devoted heart, one can distinguish good from evil, and future fortunes are tied to the prosperity of the Great Tang!"

The blind monk's voice was very faint, recounting it calmly as though bearing a heavy sense of mission. Then, seeming to recall something, he picked up a letter from beside him and slowly pushed it forward.

"What is this?"

Leaning sideways to take it, she looked at the unsealed envelope, examining it with a puzzled expression.

"A farewell letter from Elder He."

The reply was brief and concise, delivered in a voice that remained exceedingly faint—almost unfathomably so.

Yet the woman found this very point vexing, for the monk understood no romance. In a fit of pique, she forcefully flung the envelope back.

The envelope dropped onto the ground with a soft thud, the sound carrying a trace of loneliness.

The man before her was someone she had once loved deeply; as for now, the impulsive passions of her youth had long since faded.

"Are you angry?"

Faced with this lukewarm question, Madame Gongsun stood up, smoothed her sleeves, and snatched up the twin swords resting against the side of the food table.

"In a little while, this lady will also be leaving Chang'an, which is why I came to reminisce!"

Though she feigned indifference, she placed heavy, emotional emphasis on the word "reminisce." Yet no matter how she vented her spleen, the monk before her would not show the slightest ripple of emotion, maintaining only a sculpture-like expression, uttering a single "Take care," and offering nothing more. Such were her thoughts within her heart.

"Take care!"

That flat voice rang out predictably, like a bowl of plain rice porridge. Madame Gongsun let out a self-deprecating laugh. Just as she had guessed, there was not a shred of sincerity in it—utterly boring. Now that he pursued Buddhist principles and had become a monk, the seven emotions and six desires had long since been severed. Why should she entangle herself further and suffer a lifetime of bitterness?

Walking gracefully to the threshold, she paused, turning her head back abruptly. The fierce, colorful gaze in her eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second before immediately returning to normal.

She chanted silently in her heart: Farewell.

Leaving Chang'an this time, she would never return.

Withdrawing her gaze, she resolutely departed from this courtyard, so pure it bordered on desolate. With her youth faded, what was there to pray for? The sword dancer had grown old, and the world had changed, but the edge of her treasured sword remained as sharp as ever.

She cast her sword into the center of the courtyard; no one could ever clearly judge the rights and wrongs of love.

The one who threw the sword never returned, and the master of the courtyard never drew it. The long sword inserted into the stone flags of the courtyard seemed as though it did not exist, yet in reality, it did.

Later on, the blind monk also left Chang'an, crossing the eastern sea to Japan. Separated by the ends of the earth, this sword remained planted in the courtyard, never aging, until a millennium later, it became an obscure and mysterious rumor within the Da Cien Temple.

Meanwhile, at the temple gates, a little bald novice swept the ground with a broom against the breeze, sighing helplessly. Because of the kidnapping incident, he had been grounded for three years—a truly monumental tragedy. The Journey to the West! He really wanted to keep listening to it.

The one who ordered him grounded was not his master, but his senior martial brother. He could only leave once his Pure Heart Sutra reached mastery. Mastering both the techniques of deflecting and exerting force required seven or eight years of cultivation; being grounded for three years was already agonizing enough, let alone achieving mastery over the Pure Heart Sutra.

Sweeping the ground while muttering complaints, he noticed that over the past few days, Ji Xuan and Ling Yun—who now resided in the Princess's estate—had come to visit him, which brought him a measure of peace.

Fortunately, the Princess possessed great capability and was able to save his good friends; otherwise, he truly wouldn't have been able to face himself. If he had been stronger back then, he wouldn't have been dragged away by a mob of people.

The broom swept away the dust on the ground when a pink, graceful figure also appeared at the edge of his vision. Raising his head to look, he saw a woman leaving in a hurry, her face set in a resolute expression, her mood seemingly less than pleasant.

He lowered his head to continue sweeping, unaware of when his befuddled master had appeared beside him. Sensing his master's presence, the little bald novice looked up along the line of sight and noticed that his master seemed somewhat different today.

It appeared as though he was watching the departed figure with a regretful shake of his head, only then acting muddled again as he blankly stared ahead, pretending to be lost in thought.

"Master, who was that person?"

The little bald novice stopped sweeping and asked.

After a long while, the old muddle-head gave a deeply meaningful reply, showing not a single trace of confusion.

"A person who will never return!"

"Master's acquaintance?"

Curiosity piqued, the little bald novice wanted to get to the bottom of it. Often, taking advantage of his master's absent-minded moments was the best way to extract his secrets.

However, Jingxu did not know that the so-called confusion was merely the state of mind of Abbot Wushi, who had attained sudden enlightenment regarding the world.

Faced with his endlessly questioning little disciple, the old monk first rubbed the smooth, bald head, then gently tapped Jingxu's pate, and answered with deliberate vagueness:

"An acquaintance of your martial uncle!"