You've only been cultivating for a few years, and you're already talking about cultivating

Zenxin Temple does not have a fixed mountain gate.

"All phenomena arise from the mind, and all things are empty" is not just a saying. The practice methods of Chanxin Temple are all based on the transmission of mind to mind, without relying on written words.

If we build a magnificent mountain gate, a hall with carved beams and painted rafters, and hang an impressive plaque, wouldn't that be a contradiction?

Wouldn't that contradict the doctrine of "all phenomena arise from the mind"?

Nobody wanted to do it, and nobody wanted to do it.

This results in the fact that although Chanxin Temple is a single temple, it is actually composed of countless temples scattered throughout the mountains and rivers.

The largest houses have no more than three courtyards, while the smallest have only one Buddhist hall, or even just a thatched hut, a cave, or a stone under a tree.

Some temples have plaques, while others don't even have plaques, only the words "Zen Mind" crookedly written on the door.

A more refined option would be like the small mountain temple in front of Chan Kong, with a neat courtyard and a main hall and side halls. Although simple, it at least provides shelter from the wind and rain.

Such places are usually for newly initiated disciples.

Young people who are new to Zen Buddhism have unsettled minds and shallow wisdom. They need a safe place to meditate, chant scriptures, and gradually gain enlightenment.

Those who are less particular, or those who are more "Zen-like," call themselves "Zen Heart Temples" all over the world.

The world is vast, and everywhere you look there is Zen and Dharma.

Just sit anywhere—on a rock, under an old tree, by a stream—and you'll find yourself at Chanxin Temple.

Zen mind, Zen mind; if your heart is filled with Zen, everywhere is a Zen temple.

If one has no Zen in their heart, even if all the temples in the world are piled up together, they are nothing more than a pile of bricks, tiles, wood and stones.

At this moment, Zenkong sensed that something was wrong with the temple.

The feeling of unease didn't originate from any specific place, but rather permeated the entire temple. It was as if the humidity in the air had suddenly changed, or as if the air pressure had suddenly dropped. You couldn't quite put your finger on what was wrong, but you just felt something was off.

There should have been another person in this temple.

His senior brother, Chan Neng, entered the sect more than ten years earlier than him. Although his cultivation was not as fast as his, he was more composed and stayed here all year round to take care of the newly initiated disciples.

At this time of day, Zen Neng should be meditating, but Zen Kong senses a different kind of energy.

A distorted, fiery aura, like several strands of different colors forcibly twisted together.

That's not something that Zen can emanate.

Spiritual practice is a change in cognition; when cognition changes, the aura around the body also changes.

"Who are you...?" Zenkong asked from outside the small temple.

A faint golden light shone around him; this was the "light of the mind." If ordinary people saw this light, they would most likely kneel down and kowtow, saying, "The Buddha's light shines everywhere."

This light is not in the heart, not in the body, not in any place that can be pointed to.

It lies between "appearance" and "reality," between the appearance of things and the essence of things, between the world as seen by people and the true appearance of the world, between "what I think" and "what it is."

Buddhist practitioners believe that the things that the human eye sees are not the things themselves.

Everything you see is an "appearance," and an "appearance" is not the "reality."

This principle is exactly the same as the saying in "The Name That Can Be Named Is Not the Constant Name" in "The Dao Name Sword".

Name is not reality, form is not reality, because this "light of mind" exists between "form" and "reality," so it can resist all laws.

All phenomena exist within appearances, and all phenomena arise from the mind. It stands in the gap between mind and appearance, at the boundary between name and reality, standing on this side and on that side. Therefore, no matter which wind blows, it cannot be moved.

If Zhu Yixin were to unleash "Shadow Fire" to burn away this layer of light, even if it burned for ten or eight years, it wouldn't burn away a single bit.

Because the fire can't reach it at all; the fire burns in the form, while it exists between the form and reality, separated by an entire world.

This is the foundation of Zen practice, the foundation of the Shadow God Technique, the foundation of the Dao Name Sword, and the common foundation of all cultivators who have truly entered the realm of "Observing the Truth".

Only by starting from this point can we see the real world.

Only by starting from this point can one embark on the true path of spiritual practice.

Suddenly, a fiery aura surged from the small temple.

The aura was intense and scorching, as if an invisible, ferocious beast was crouching in the shadows, its massive maw of flames ready to swallow the entire temple and the air within it.

Strangely, the heatwave didn't burn anything; even the moss on the floor tiles remained damp and a vibrant green.

The fire was burning, but nothing was being ignited.

This is not fire from the mortal realm.

Fire in the mortal realm burns wood, stone, meat, bones, and all things with form and substance.

This fire doesn't burn those things. It burns thoughts, perceptions, and the chasm between "appearance" and "reality."

This is the "inner fire" of a cultivator.

Once practitioners recognize the difference between "name" and "reality," they tend to engage in combat at this level.

It's not in swords, not in fists, not in anything tangible or substantial, but in the gaps of cognition.

At the boundary between name and reality, in that unseen and intangible yet truly existing realm.

The "Shadow Fire" and "Shadow Banner" created by Zhu Yixin were incredibly powerful and astonishing. They were filled with black flames and shadows, surging over everything in a terrifying way.

But those were merely rudimentary techniques, barely even qualifying as beginners. When used against a true cultivator, they would be like boiling water poured on snow—it might look impressive, but it wouldn't actually harm them at their core.

A true battle is silent, formless, and intangible, just like the intense heat before my eyes, which caused the light of Zen Kong's mind to flicker slightly.

"Nameless Fire." Zen Kong immediately recognized what kind of technique this was. The golden light around his body suddenly intensified, enveloping him and resisting the scorching heat that was rushing towards him.

The fire that rises between "nothingness" and "name"—only an ordinary person can master this skill.

He stared at the door and said, "Who are you? You're not my senior brother!"

The gate to the courtyard opened from the inside.

A monk came out from behind the door.

He wore the same monk's robe as Zenkū, and his face was that of Zenneng. His body was that of Zenneng.

But the aura emanating from him was not Zen Energy.

An endless "nameless fire" emanated from him, scorching and intense, like a silent volcano, its surface calm, but beneath it churning with heat enough to incinerate everything.

But his eyes remained calm as still water.

Those eyes looked at Chan Kong without any murderous intent, anger, or any other emotion.

The contradictions of fire and water coexist within him.

Calm and still as the earth, deep and secret as a hidden treasure.

Zen Kong looked at the person who had taken over his senior brother's body with a tense expression and asked sternly:

"Ksitigarbha, what have you done to my senior brother?"