Done! Your Majesty is going to prostitute me for free!

Chapter 85

As soon as these words were spoken, a ripple of dissatisfaction instantly aroused in the crowd, spreading like a stone thrown into the middle of a lake. "What! We have spent a whole day here, and now we are sent away so hastily. Isn't this too cold and callous?" People's voices were intertwined with fatigue, unwillingness and confusion, echoing in the night. around the temple.

Exactly! An indignant echo exploded through the crowd like fire cooking oil, like a stone thrown into an ancient well, causing ripples. This is a middle-aged man dressed in commoner clothes with an unfair look on his face. His eyes sparkle with deep dissatisfaction with the monks who have broken their promises. His simple and resolute face looked particularly dignified in the sunshine.

Immediately afterwards, a rough, slightly tired and anxious voice penetrated the silence of the temple like rolling thunder. "Grandma, you're a bear!" The voice was hoarse but powerful, as if it was a cry from the deepest part of my heart, "Can you handle these things quickly? I have been waiting in line all day, from the twilight of dawn to the setting of the sun. This torture is really going to break people's hearts! If it continues like this, I can tell you that even if you beat me to death in the future, I will never step into your dilapidated and deserted temple to burn incense and worship Buddha! All you see are those who talk sweet talk but are full of swords. You villain, doing one thing in front of others and doing the other behind your back is really the ugliness of the world!"

Some people expressed their anger and helplessness in an almost roaring manner, and the waves came and went, like waves crashing on the shore, unstoppable. "Bald donkeys, can you work faster! We, a group of people, have spent a whole day waiting in line here from dawn to dusk. Now, we must give an explanation, otherwise, we swear we will not give up!"

This scene is like a sharp confrontation between the secular fireworks and the lonely realm of Zen. The two collide fiercely, which makes people sigh: the world is changing rapidly, and people's hearts are difficult to fathom, even those who seem to be devout and innocent Buddhist believers. Once you encounter the trivial grinding of life, the tranquility and tranquility on the surface will fade away. The patience and cultivation in their hearts are like the grains of sand in an hourglass, being swallowed up silently by time during the long and hopeless waiting in line, leaving only the mark of fatigue and anxiety.

And amidst the noise of the crowd, the eminent monks who were still carrying out the crazy consecration ceremony under the dim candlelight felt as if their hearts were turned into sharp knives by the dissatisfaction and complaints in the crowd, and they were cut open one by one, and the pain was unbearable. They endure high-intensity chanting lessons and heavy physical labor every day, and their bodies are already swaying, like candles in the wind and rain, which may be extinguished at any time. What's even more severe is that in order to stick to that supreme belief, they have not been contaminated by any food or drink from early morning to this moment. Their lips are so thirsty that they are as chapped as cracked earth, and the skin of their hands is also worn out from repeatedly rubbing the rosary beads. It was beyond recognition and shocking.

However, even with such hard work, they failed to win everyone's understanding and gratitude. Instead, they became the target of people venting their dissatisfaction. This is the ruthlessness and bitterness of life, and it is also the trial that practitioners must endure. Despite the sorrow in their hearts, they still tenaciously remain silent and continue their path of practice, like a lone boat traveling against the wind, surging in the wind. Forge ahead in the sea of ​​​​people.

In that ancient temple, Abbot Wujue saw this scene, and his heart was as anxious as a burning fire. His face was as gloomy as ink, and his steps were hurried and chaotic. He wandered back and forth on the narrow stone road in front of the temple, as if every step he took was stepping on the anxiety in his heart. In the end, he could only comfort the angry people with his voice full of vicissitudes of life and compassion: "Dear devout donors, please be sure to restrain your eagerness for success. This matter concerns the deepest things in the world. The mysterious reincarnation of cause and effect cannot be forced by human beings. Since we have reached such a situation today, you might as well put down your obsessions for the time being and go home early to rest. It will not be too late to come back when the sun rises tomorrow."

A wave of hesitant inquiries suddenly rang out from the crowd: "Master, will you continue to give out consecration beads tomorrow?" Faced with such a question, Abbot Wujue gritted his teeth, and a resolute and helpless look appeared on his face. His expression was as if the years had carved a deep mark between his eyebrows. He spoke calmly and forcefully, each word seeming to burst out from the deepest part of his heart: "Send! Tomorrow our temple will continue today's action and continue to give beads for one day! However, it should be noted that the reserve of Buddhist beads in the temple is already stretched thin, and it is extremely difficult. It is limited, so the Pearl of Tomorrow can only be received by the earliest believers to arrive. Today's Buddhist relationship will temporarily come to an end with the long sound of the bell."

"Huh--" As Abbot Wujue's decisive words fell, a murmur of disappointment and boos came from the crowd, like the sound of gravel in a mountain stream, cold and hollow. Everyone looked at each other, their eyes full of unwillingness and disappointment, but they could not go against the will of God and human kindness, so they had to endure this helplessness silently. After all, they dragged their heavy steps and left in despair. Their figures disappeared one by one into the alleys shrouded in twilight, gradually getting further and further away until they merged into the boundless night, becoming blurry and lonely silhouettes.

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The next day, the morning light shyly tore apart the corners of the night in the sky. The old yet ever-new bulletin board on the street seemed to have just woken up from a deep sleep, taking on a new look like a newly exhibited painting. The handwriting on it was clear and the ink was still fresh. . The speaker stood in the open space in front of the bulletin board, his face shining, and his energy was like a burning fire cooking oil, hot and vivid. His figure reflected the morning light, like a beacon of faith standing among the fireworks of the world.

He raised his hands high, his eyes were bright, and his voice was sonorous and powerful, and he announced to the villagers, elders and many onlookers gathered from all directions: "Dear neighbors and fellow believers! All the faithful men and women who are paying attention to this! Yesterday's grand gathering at the White Horse Temple was an unprecedented event. , the streets were empty, and the strings of Buddhist beads were instantly consumed by devout believers rushing to buy them like water in a mountain stream!"

At this point, an indescribable emotion of awe and curiosity rippled through the crowd. He paused at the right time, and then announced even more shocking news in an earth-shattering tone: "To thank you for your long-term devout belief and strong support for the White Horse Temple, today the White Horse Temple opens an unprecedented door of grace - - Anyone who comes to the temple to worship and offer incense, regardless of their status, can bring their favorite things and wait quietly for the virtuous and respected eminent monks in the temple to consecrate and baptize them with the supreme Dharma, so as to receive blessings and drive away evil spirits."

As soon as these words came out, the crowd was like a huge stone thrown into a lake, and waves suddenly broke out, and whispers instantly merged into a sea of ​​discussion. The expressions on everyone's faces varied from surprise, joy, or confusion, but they all revealed their deep concern and expectation for this unexpected move. The figure of the speaker became more solemn and sacred under the illumination of the morning sun, as if he had transformed into the embodiment of the faith of the White Horse Temple, slowly kicking off a grand ceremony to save all sentient beings.

What is even more exciting is that this rumor is like the dawn of dawn, illuminating the hearts of every pilgrim who steps into the White Horse Temple today - the temple authorities are compassionate and decide to give each person three copper coins as a blessing for piety. However, it is a pity that the group of attendees yesterday who also paid homage and were full of expectations were unable to bask in this unexpected blessing.

At this moment, the discussion in the crowd spread like ripples on the lake, until an indignant question broke the delicate calm: "Why didn't we, the people who came here early yesterday for pilgrimage, get the gift?" No feedback at all? Could it be that what the White Horse Temple does is making fun of us believers? Those who arrived early did not taste any sweetness, but the latecomers returned home with wealth in hand. How can there be such confusion of right and wrong and confusion of right and wrong in this world? Woolen cloth?"

As soon as these words came out, the crowd immediately responded with a resonance, and everyone echoed with excitement. In the midst of the noise, a man's expression remained unchanged, with a calm and slightly cunning smile on his lips. He stood up calmly and responded in a playful yet free and easy tone: "If you really If you are interested in this sudden gift, why not try to disguise yourself and blend in with the crowd again? Please note that in that bustling, crowded and bustling place, who can see through your true identity at a glance? "

Before the matter was settled, Abbot Wujue, who was in retreat in the White Horse Temple, had smelled the strange movement in the wind like an old fox in the mountains. He was like a steelyard, weighing the whole story of this incident impartially. It turned out that the black hands hiding behind the scenes to control the overall situation and manipulate power were actually the Gonggun princes in the yamen. They used provocations in the name of testing to try to find out the bottom line of what the White Horse Temple could bear.

Faced with this messy and complicated situation, Abbot Wujue did not act rashly. Instead, like an old man who was well versed in chess, he temporarily suppressed the turmoil in his heart and secretly thought about how to properly deal with the endless stream of people tomorrow. Pilgrims, and looking for the best opportunity to start a head-on contest with the government about the dignity of the temple, to win a fair statement for the White Horse Temple.

When the morning light of the next day broke through the sky, the ancient bronze door bearing the mottled traces of time once again made a long and dull creaking sound after sleeping all night, as if an old man who had gone through many vicissitudes was telling the story. Endless stories. At this time, Abbot Wujue was standing in front of the door. His figure was outlined with a solemn outline by the rising sun. Seeing this scene, a chill suddenly passed through his heart. It was a kind of fear of unknown events deep in his heart. The terrifying premonition seemed to indicate that something ominous was about to come quietly.

The morning glow is like a colorful tapestry, gently falling on the stone steps, reflecting a golden color. Believers are like streams flowing into the river and the sea, and they come one after another under the light and shadow of the morning glow. All kinds of objects in their hands, either tributes or sustenance, pour into this peaceful Buddhist pure land. In an instant, the Zen-like silence of the past was broken, replaced by the bustling crowds and the smell of human fireworks. In the midst of this noise, the figure of Abbot Wujue became more and more calm and firm, as if a plant was rooted in the earth. , The big tree, despite the wind and rain, is quietly waiting for the upcoming challenges and duels.

At that moment when the sun penetrated the dilapidated porcelain bowl and reflected the mottled rust stains in an extremely dazzling way, those shoulder poles that had been polished as smooth as mirrors and carried the vicissitudes of time, as well as the most common utensils in ordinary people's homes, were all Exposed in broad daylight. What is even more jaw-dropping is that someone in the crowd was holding an old urinal in his hand. This absurd scene instantly solidified the air in the temple, embarrassment and heaviness intertwined, as if one could hear the slow dragging footsteps of time. .

Abbot Wujue, who was wearing cassocks, witnessed this scene, and a silent sigh rolled in his throat. The sigh seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, but he suppressed it in his heart, and finally uttered it in a low and slightly confused voice. The words echoed in the empty and lonely hall, as long as ringing a bell: "Dear donors, how could you carry so many daily clutter and step into the pure place of my White Horse Temple today?"

The crowd instantly became active under the abbot's words, as if a wave of laughter exploded instantly, colliding back and forth between the four walls of the hall, spreading in circles, and its momentum was like the ripples of a stone thrown into a lake. One of the believers, with a joking smile on his face, responded in a light and joking tone: "Is it possible that the supply of Buddhist beads in your temple exceeds the demand, and we, ordinary people, need daily necessities to attract spiritual light and give them divine power?" ? We prepared carefully according to every word in the announcement, and we did not dare to be negligent in the slightest. We will never let the eminent monks down. Oh, by the way, where should the three-money reward mentioned in the announcement be? Where to receive it?”

The three words "three cents" suddenly floated by Abbot Wujue's ears, like a rusty lock unearthed from the depths of distant memory. His throat trembled slightly with this string of syllables as heavy as copper coins. It felt as if these three words had turned into an invisible hand, silently squeezing his throat, causing his words to linger in his throat, with a hint of desolation and helplessness tempered by time: "Poverty" The monk really knows nothing about this matter."

"The announcement clearly states the promise written in black and white - every pilgrim who steps through the gate of Baima Temple and offers incense sincerely will receive three coins as a return gift from the Buddha." The believer's voice was astonishing. Ripples arose in the crowd, and their doubts were like sharp blades, piercing directly into the heart of Abbot Wujue, "Your temple is an ancient temple with thousands of years of history, and it has high morals and prestige. How can it be treacherous?"

Faced with such a sharp question, Abbot Wujue's face instantly turned as pale and bloodless as rice paper, and his eyes showed waves of fear and uneasiness, as if the calm lake in his heart was shattered by a sudden stone. He subconsciously clasped his hands together, seeming to hold the credibility and dignity of the entire temple in his palms. He hurriedly tried to resolve the misunderstanding with the most sincere words: "How dare a poor monk think of breaking his trust with all living beings? The White Horse Temple stands tall. In this world, I promise a lot of money, and I will not easily break any promises to our benefactors. Please put aside your doubts for the time being and complete today's consecration ceremony with us. When everything ends successfully, we will follow the previous agreement. The three coins, which carry the compassion of the Buddha and the sincerity of the temple, are distributed to the hands of every good man and woman one by one."

At this moment, Abbot Wujue's inner world is like a lonely boat in the stormy waves, churning with endless thoughts, like rivers converging into a sea, vast and deep. His eyes that were insightful of the world were lowered, hidden in the pupils under thick eyelashes. The light was flowing, but the anxiety and struggle inside could not be concealed. He weighed it over and over in his mind and calculated in his mind: Each person only had three coins for incense, and now there was an endless stream of pilgrims in the temple. However, could the copper coins collected yesterday be able to withstand this sudden and overwhelming change? This question was like a huge stone weighing on his heart, heavy and unable to be relieved.

Abbot Wujue was wearing a dark golden cassock, and his fists were clenched as tightly as iron, and his sharp-jointed fingers sank deeply into the flesh of his palms, as if he wanted to condense every trace of worry and pain into the joint between skin and flesh. His nails pierced the delicate skin, and blood seeped out quietly, staining the palms of his hands covered with traces of time. However, he was unaware of it and was immersed in contemplating the plight of the temple.

Faced with this unprecedented crisis, White Horse Temple seems to be pushed to the forefront by an invisible force. The hand of fate is arbitrarily playing with it, leaving it passive and at the mercy of others. Abbot Wujue couldn't help but look up at the sky, and the confusion in his heart became heavier and heavier - what mistake had he made that caused the White Horse Temple to offend God, suffer such an unreasonable disaster, and be ruthlessly manipulated in the palm of his hand? This series of question marks hovered in his mind, like dark clouds covering the sun, which could not be dispelled for a long time.

In the deep light and shadow of the ancient temple, behind them were several old monks who had reached the pinnacle of cultivation. Their faces were so pale that they were even more cold and desolate than the kind-faced Guanyin Bodhisattva on the wall. Their bodies were shaking and trembling, as if they had just recovered from an event that had not been seen in a thousand years. We trudged out in the storm. Their eyelids were drooped like the dusk, unable to conceal their eyes that had been tempered by years and full of traces of vicissitudes. The emotions flowing in them were complex and profound, containing both indescribable sorrow and full of hope for unknown hardships. Deeply confused.

Everyone lamented in their hearts that they had been cultivating all their lives and experienced all the ups and downs in the world, but at such an age they encountered a disaster that could subvert their faith. They couldn't help but look up to the sky and let out a long and heart-shaking roar: "How unfair is the way of heaven? The principles of justice are here to stay. ?" This question, like a bell, echoed around the temple, hitting every inch of ancient brick and stone and every falling leaf. Among this group of monks, the state of Master Wu is particularly shocking. His originally skinny but resolute palm was now swollen and twisted, like a cooked pig's trotters just taken out of a hot fire. It was trembling slightly, as if every skin texture was silently telling the story of pain and fear. Symphonic movement. He muttered to himself, as if he was delving into some obscure mystery over and over again, suspecting that behind all these visions there might be hidden secret activities that Lin Xiaofeng had done recently, which secretly stirred up some kind of taboo in the world. His eyes are sometimes confused and sometimes firm, revealing the inner struggle and choices of a practitioner when faced with a crisis of faith.

Even so, these monks still adhere to the Buddhist spirit of enduring humiliation. They are as calm as a rock, suppressing the waves in their hearts like ocean waves, and sit steadily in the temple that has gone through many vicissitudes but is still sacred. on the futon. Every inch of skin reveals determination and persistence, and every gaze embodies endless compassion and wisdom. Full of enthusiasm and expectations, the believers handed the items with countless hopes to the monks one by one, and performed a solemn and mysterious consecration ceremony that seemed to penetrate time and space.

Even though there is a nervous atmosphere inside and outside the temple, there are still many extremely devout believers today, regardless of their physical and mental fatigue. They wait in line all night long, wearing stars and moonlight, just to get the consecration of something, hoping to eliminate disasters and protect the safety of their families. If this wish is not fulfilled, then not only the White Horse Temple may fall into unprecedented difficulties, but even the believers themselves may be trapped in the whirlpool of misfortune and be unable to extricate themselves.

In this solemn and subtle moment, Master Wu was forced to straighten his back, with a calm expression with an imperceptible bitter smile. He slowly stretched out his hand and took the seemingly ordinary thing that had been passed down from three generations in the rogue's hand. In fact, it is a chamber pot that carries family blood and historical memories. His face looked particularly vivid under the flickering candlelight, and the smile he squeezed out revealed an otherworldly perseverance and indifference. He carefully held up this "treasure", and every movement was like weaving a silent scripture. With an extremely pious and focused attitude, he began to recite those ancient and profound sutras and mantras, trying to use the boundless power of Buddhism to help it. Inject spirituality and complete this extraordinary consecration ceremony.

Rascal was watching this scene with interest. He stood leaning against the wall with a sly and playful smile on his lips, as if he was enjoying this dramatic confrontation. He spoke slowly and reminded: "Master, this is not an ordinary matter. It involves a huge matter. You must do it carefully and don't be careless." In his words, there was both a faint expectation for the outcome of the ritual and a hint of anticipation. With a little provocation of unknown variables, the whole scene is more complicated and thought-provoking.

Faced with the fierce urging of the rogue, Master Wu's heart was like a blazing furnace, with rage burning in it, as if it could burn through his chest at any time. However, there was a calm scene on his face. That calm and unhurried smile was like the autumn water sharing the sky, warm and deep, responding to the rogue's anxiety: "Donor, don't be anxious, the poor monk will spend his whole life cultivating To infuse this treasure with the purest and most unsullied Buddha's light." However, Popi was not satisfied with this, and his questions came one after another like a wolf and a tiger: "Master, why are your hands so horribly swollen?"

Faced with this sore question, Master Wu Feng's heart felt as if he had been hit with a heavy hammer, and a dark energy rose from the bottom of his heart. However, he remained as amiable as spring breeze and rain, and skillfully bypassed this problem. core, so as not to stir up more ripples and let disputes and suspicions spread like wildfire.

Time is like sand, passing quietly between the fingers, and it is another day of endless hard work. The hands of Master Wu Feng, which had already been tortured and covered with blood blisters, were now scarred by the long years. Every trace was like the ruthless carvings of the years, which was shocking. Those beads that were once round and smooth, flowing with the radiance of the sacred Buddha nature, have now been replaced by believers with various objects that are messy and secular - including stones with strange shapes and rough and primitive utensils such as bamboo baskets and baskets. . When the eminent monks were devoutly rubbing these rough edges, they stung their already tired palms like knives. Every turn of the beads seemed to be their nirvana and rebirth on the path of practice, but the pain was painful. And extremely tough.

Facing the complex and eager eyes projected by the believers, like a fog intertwined with doubts and expectations, the eminent monks could only grit their teeth like a rock enduring the weight of fate, and deeply bear the heart-piercing pain. Suppressed under the throat. They straightened their backs, letting sweat soak through their cassocks, and performed an extremely complicated and solemn consecration ceremony for the groceries piled up as high and low as mountains one by one.

In this small space, an almost oppressive atmosphere was like an invisible giant hand, tightly strangling the heart of every eminent monk. While their palms brushed those rough objects countless times, they also endured the pain of rolled skin and cracked bones, redness and swelling. Every flexion and extension of their fingers, every stroke of their palms, seemed to be a silent and cruel self-sacrifice. , every subtle movement is a challenge and transcendence of the limit of endurance.

As night falls, the stars quietly rise from the horizon, like guiding lights that light up this endless suffering. At this moment, the eminent monks have been tortured to the point of collapse by exhaustion. Their hands that have experienced many vicissitudes of life are stained with blood, like a sad and beautiful picture with thick ink and colorful colors. Each flowing blood trace details the unspeakable hardships of this day. It records the subtle and contradictory symphony between faith and pain.

In this simple and closed room, a group of believers ruthlessly watched the monks pay their blood and tears. Not only were they not moved by this, but like fire meeting oil, the fanaticism in their hearts became more intense. They regarded the flowing blood as a sacred spring of purification, and firmly believed that the drops of blood dyed red on the magic weapon were the key to the era of the heyday of mysterious power. . Deep in the eyes of these believers, there is only endless greed and desire for extraordinary divine power. However, they are extremely indifferent to the real physical pain of the monks, as if their pain has nothing to do with them, or is even insignificant.

To them, although the bodies of eminent monks are mortal bodies, these bits and pieces of bloodshed and sacrifice are nothing but inevitable thorns and gravels on the road to spiritual salvation, so why bother! As everyone knows, behind this indifference, it reflects the ignorance and numbness of human nature towards real suffering.

Abbot Wujue saw this scene in front of him, and his heart was filled with mixed emotions. Although the monks in his hometown were not enthusiastically sought after by the secular world, and the crowds waiting in line for his consecration were so sparse that they could almost be counted, he was resolute in this absurd and secular farce of "grocery consecration". He threw himself into it resolutely and showed no intention of backing down. Although the scene around him was cold enough to chill people's hearts, those palms, which were also covered with blood blisters and were chapped, were still persevering in carrying out the duties and mission of a monk, even though he knew as clearly as a mirror in his heart that he The hard work and suffering they endured silently with their colleagues around them have not received the recognition and respect they deserve from the outside world.

The night fell quietly like thick ink, instantly transforming the entire temple into a profound picture. The temple was crowded with people and noisy, just like a bustling market. In the bustling crowd, Abbot Wujue stood alone. His heart, which had once been filled with compassion and universal salvation, was now as heavy as a piece of ice. His eyes were fixed on the empty merit box. The charity money contained in it had long been swept away by the rolling flow of people, leaving only emptiness and loneliness. At this moment, he was thinking to himself, if he was tired of dealing with the endless expectations and demands today, how should he deal with the same predicament tomorrow? This series of tangled and complicated thoughts entangled in his mind like a tangle, causing him to fall into deep trouble and confusion.

He straightened his spine in the crowd. Although his face was as calm as water, his eyes revealed complex emotions of perseverance and compassion. Those hands, even though they were scarred, never stopped touching every object that needed to be consecrated, as if they were telling their persistence in faith and their deep sympathy for the suffering in the world. The moonlight shines on his cassock, reflecting the traces of time and the hardships of life. However, his figure becomes more and more solemn and sacred, as if he is announcing to the world: No matter the world is hot or cold, no matter the difficulties, he will remain determined. I walk on my own path of spiritual practice for the belief and responsibility that are deep in my heart and transcend worldly understanding.

For a short while, it seemed as if the whole world turned into a mottled picture in front of Abbot Wujue's eyes. The roar of people was like a flash flood, and the struggle in his heart was rising and falling like a tide. The noisy human voices clashed and swirled in his ears, making the time at this moment seem to be tightly held tightly by an invisible lock and stagnant. However, amidst the endless noise, his figure suddenly stood as straight as a pine tree, and a tenacious force shot straight from the soles of his feet to the sky, and finally condensed between his eyebrows.

At this critical moment, Abbot Wujue shouted sternly, and the voice pierced the air, like a sharp sword cutting through the long night, resounding through the sky: "Dear donors, please listen to my words! Today's consecration ceremony has come to a successful conclusion. , our temple is already stretched thin at the moment, and our money is so tight that we can no longer do good deeds. I ask you to understand the difficulties in the temple, do your own thing, and go home quickly!" As soon as these words came out, it was like a huge stone thundering into the originally peaceful place. The waveless lake surface instantly stirred up thousands of waves, layer upon layer, rolling endlessly.

In the crowd, a man as strong as a bear immediately became extremely angry. His eyes were as wide as copper bells, his face turned red, like burning coals, and he yelled: "You bald donkey, how dare you say such a thing? I have been here for two days and two nights, my feet have become cast iron, and yet you are teasing us who sincerely worship the Buddha?" This roar was like thunder, tearing apart the newly condensed silence, and the complaints and dissatisfaction were like the bursting of a dam. The flood instantly submerged the entire scene.

"Liars! You liars in cassocks!" The voices of criticism in the crowd kept coming, and the anger was like waves in a storm, one after another. "We have been waiting for a long time, but we have never seen the slightest light, and we have not received the promised things. How can rewards be used to compensate for our hard work and piety?" Someone else followed closely, asking with grief and anger, "Yeah, how should you compensate us? You can't just send us away without knowing anything!"

The people's emotions reached a boiling point in an instant. Greedy eyes, angry shouts and disappointed sighs intertwined to form a torrent that could swallow up all rationality. The darkest side of human nature is exposed at this moment. The chaos, the pain, the helplessness. It seems that only the compassionate Buddha comes to the world in person and uses his boundless magic power to calm down this dispute caused by the greed of the human heart. .

In this chaotic and out-of-control whirlpool, Abbot Wujue's heart seemed to be tightly grasped by the power of the ancient world, and the despair lingered in his heart like thick ink. His deep and compassionate eyes stared at the farce in front of him, his throat surged, and he let out a heavy and sad sigh: "Except for the meager things that have been exhausted, this temple does not have any extra wealth for you to share. I sincerely ask, how can you be willing to return home satisfied and stop forcing each other?" However, what responded to him was not understanding and sympathy, but a flood of doubts and accusations: "Is this the case? Isn't it a grand ceremony hosted by your temple? Why did you make such helpless remarks until now!" "This statement is clearly deceiving the world and stealing your reputation! Why didn't you be honest with us early on, instead of waiting until today when it is difficult to deal with it!" These sharp words are like Sharp daggers pierced directly into Abbot Wujue's heart.

The light seemed to have lost its power at this moment and stagnated stiffly in mid-air, watching this human farce with cold eyes. Only the shabby traces of the few copper plates seemed to be silently telling an unsolved mystery that was in urgent need of enlightenment. The abbot gave an explanation. Faced with such questions and misunderstandings, Abbot Wujue felt mixed feelings in his heart. The pain was like a huge wave, as if a mute had swallowed an extremely bitter Coptis chinensis. He felt miserable but could not find a way to argue.

His face looked increasingly weathered, and every wrinkle was engraved with the merciless grinding of the years and the weight of injustice in this world. The face, filled with helplessness and indignation, looked even older and tougher under the dim light. He spoke again, his tone low and powerful, and every word contained boundless desolation, just like an ancient tree that had gone through vicissitudes of life beside a mountain stream, swaying tenaciously in the cold wind, sending out bursts of sad but determined lows. Yin: "Let me tell you, this temple is so poor that only four walls are left. How can we get such a huge amount of money for people to squander? This is the conscience of heaven and earth. I hope you will learn from it."

This ancient temple welcomes a flood of devout pilgrims every day, but amid the bustle, they keep claiming that they are short of money, just like a monk who has broken his robe and can only boil vegetables in front of a table full of delicacies. He, the indignant accuser, was staring at all this with sorrow, his eyes like torches in the dark night, burning with sparks of despair, as if to penetrate the hypocrisy and fraud in the world. "You are a bunch of insincere and hypocritical liars! Liars! Liars!" He shouted angrily, and every word was like a sharp sword, piercing the hearts of everyone present.

As soon as he finished speaking, a tear filled with endless loss and sorrow, like dewdrops on an autumn night, quietly slipped from the corner of his eye under the moonlight, and rolled down the cheek that had been carved with ravines by the years. It was a reflection of the warmth and coldness of the world. The most profound indictment. He glanced around helplessly, turning his gaze to those eminent monks who were also trapped in difficulties in life but still numbly clung to their faith. Wearing shabby cassocks, their hands were stained with blood and in unbearable pain, but they still held onto sundries and persisted in their daily practice. They chanted Buddhist scriptures constantly in their mouths, trying to resist the ruthless hammer of life. Use faith to build an invisible barrier against the cruel reality.

At this moment, Abbot Wujue's words were like the breeze blowing through the fallen leaves in the forest at dusk in autumn, soft and powerful, and instantly plunged the entire temple into silence. The busy monks stopped what they were doing, as if time had frozen at this moment. They looked up at the vast sky and sighed deeply. This long sigh is the relief after a heavy burden has been lifted, or the spiritual comfort after finding a moment of relief. It is also the deep understanding and helpless acceptance of everything that happens and everyone is happy on the road of life where suffering and faith are intertwined. .

At this moment, the figure of the tall monk with a calm face looked particularly solemn in the temple courtyard under the slanting sun. He held a hoe covered with soil tightly in his hand. The hoe was like a rock that had been tempered by time, carrying the weight of life heavily. The monk's movements were extremely delicate and rhythmic, as if he were performing a silent ritual. He slowly placed the hoe gently on the ground, showing endless indifference and detachment in his movements.

Opposite, a pilgrim with an anxious face and eager eyes, like an ant on a hot pot, shouted in panic: "Master, you must not listen to the nonsense of these ordinary people, and you must insist on carrying out this consecration. Oh! You know, the blood in the vessel has not yet been filled with blood, and it has only gone halfway!" As soon as the words fell, it was like a sharp blade that cut through the original tranquility of the temple.

At this extremely tense moment, a huge palm suddenly came into view. The hand was stained with blood that had not yet dried up. Like a heavy hammer, it struck the pilgrim on the cheek hard. . This scene instantly froze time and space and shocked the hearts of everyone present.

(End of this chapter)