He seemed oblivious to Song Jue’s suddenly livid face, single-mindedly staring at Song Chuyi. Those pure and clear eyes held not a trace of impurity, nor even any hatred, speaking so lightly of death as if it weighed nothing. “Sixth Miss has lived this long already—the lives stained on your hands are quite numerous. If you wanted revenge, you’ve achieved complete merit and virtue by now. It’s time to stop.”
Song Jue’s face was iron-blue. Looking at the young monk before him, he felt blood rushing to his head. He raised his foot to kick at him. “What utter nonsense! You people think you can decide others’ life and death? You really think you’re Buddha or Bodhisattva?”
He had always detested these monks who committed wrongdoing in the name of gods and ghosts. In his view, monks should chant sutras if they were to chant sutras, cultivate if they were to cultivate, and absolutely should not meddle in affairs that didn’t concern them. Yet people like Yuanhui not only attempted to interfere in political affairs but also casually decided others’ life and death, placing themselves in a lofty superior position. Their conduct was truly detestable.
After venting his anger, he felt it rather meaningless to argue with a young monk. He looked at him with a darkened face and sighed. “Go back and bring someone who can actually talk to us. And go change into shoes—if you keep freezing like this, you’ll freeze to death.”
The young monk pressed his palms together and shook his head firmly, his gaze revealing a determination and composure that didn’t match his age. “This is cultivation. I am currently cultivating. As for what the benefactor said about going back to bring someone who can speak, I am that person. My master sent me, so I came.”
Talking with these monks was truly exhausting. Song Jue grew somewhat impatient, his face hard as he sneered coldly. “Since you’re the only one who came, and what you’re saying is all unfounded nonsense, even if I threw you into the cold pool right now, no one would know. Let’s see if that omnipotent master of yours can save you or not.”
Song Chuyi caught a glimpse of the prayer beads in the young monk’s hand, and her brows furrowed unconsciously. She asked softly, “You’re Yuanhui’s direct disciple, San Nan?”
The young monk finally showed another expression, somewhat surprised as he tilted his head to look at Song Chuyi.
Song Chuyi knew she had guessed correctly. San Nan—in her previous life, the only disciple who had accompanied Yuanhui until his very last moment when the lamp oil ran dry. After Yuanhui’s death, following Yuanhui’s dying wish, he had returned to secular life and openly remained by Prince Duan’s side. Later, he had even led troops on an expedition against the Tartars.
So the young monk had been following Yuanhui since he was this tiny. She looked at San Nan with lowered eyes and laughed. “San Nan, you captured my people. Your master uncles and senior monks probably don’t know about this, do they?”
That’s what she thought. The monks at Huangjue Temple didn’t seem like the type who would be so lacking in propriety. At this time, with Yuanhui just dead, the monks should be keeping their heads down. How could they risk doing something that would offend the Song family?
If it was Yuanhui’s direct disciple who had acted, that would make sense. A portion of Yuanhui’s power must be something San Nan could freely deploy. She just hadn’t expected such a young monk to have this kind of capability.
She smiled as she watched San Nan’s expression gradually change, then sat down leisurely on the ice-cold stone bench and asked him, “You captured them just to make me die?”
San Nan stared intently at her, maintaining his previous posture without moving, firmly nodding his head. “You killed my master.”
He didn’t care about retribution or karma. Back then, his master had picked him out of a pile of corpses in Fujian. He had long since forgotten who his parents were, and didn’t remember why he had become a refugee. He only knew that in this world, only his master treated him well. Whoever treated him well, he would treat them well in return. All that Buddhist doctrine, all that cultivation—it went in one ear and out the other. He didn’t care about any of it at all.
His master had been killed by this girl standing before him who appeared equally gentle and harmless, only a few years older than him. Then she should likewise die. Debts must be repaid, killers must pay with their lives—he had always believed in this principle.
Song Chuyi restrained the enraged Song Jue, calmly meeting San Nan’s gaze, her words unhurried and composed. “Your master wanted to become Buddha. Buddha saves all beings. Buddha has a mind of renunciation. What is a mind of renunciation? Having studied Buddhism for so long, someone should have told you. Toward reincarnation, toward all people, matters, objects, wealth and position in this world—having not the slightest greed or attachment, being able to earnestly shoulder one’s own responsibilities and obligations. This is the mind of renunciation.”
She looked at San Nan with his wide eyes and bewildered expression, and laughed. “But your master had all of these attachments. He said he would save all beings, yet I am also one among the multitude of beings. He treated my life like grass and weeds. I, my family, and even my maternal family were nothing more than stepping stones for him to climb high and curry favor with the powerful. He wanted to become Buddha, but Buddha is achieved through cultivation on the foundation of being human. He hadn’t even succeeded at being human—how could he become Buddha?”
San Nan pursed his lips tightly, staring at Song Chuyi moment by moment, saying coldly, “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that your master once spoke to me of cause and effect. If we must speak according to his theory of causation—he wanted to destroy me but didn’t succeed, and was instead schemed against by me. This is cause and effect. He brought it upon himself. There’s no talk of who harmed whom. The one who first harbored evil intentions wasn’t me.”
San Nan kept his face cold without speaking. After a while, he stubbornly raised his head to look at Song Chuyi. “Then my avenging my master now is likewise cause and effect. No matter how capable Song Sixth Miss is, you cannot guess where I’ve hidden them now. If I kill them, and Song Sixth Miss then has people kill me, I’m willing and content.”
In the end, he still felt that Yuanhui’s death should be paid for with her life. The young monk San Nan was far from reaching his master’s level, naively thinking that killing must be paid for with life.
“You’re still too young.” Song Chuyi rubbed her head and stood up. “I won’t kill you, nor is there any need to kill you. You likewise cannot kill my people. Your master won’t allow you to offend me at this time. If you don’t believe me, go back and look—see if the people are already gone.”
Song Chuyi pulled her hood close, watching the young monk run barefoot at full speed, sighing softly.
Song Jue’s expression was rather ugly as he watched the young monk run into the distance. He turned back to look at Song Chuyi. “Since you know the Huangjue Temple people will send them back to you, why not eliminate this young monk?”
“Elder Brother is speaking in anger again.” Song Chuyi was somewhat helpless. “Their retreat is meant to show they don’t want to fight to mutual destruction with us at this moment. If I’m ungrateful enough to kill San Nan… then this New Year, I’m afraid we needn’t bother celebrating it.”
One Yuanhui had already died. It was time to stop for now. Otherwise, all their energy would have to be focused on Huangjue Temple again, which would make it too easy to make mistakes in the midst of all the busyness.