With virtue

"I don't know, but it's probably—" Zhao Yunshu was about to express her speculation when, at the next moment, a ceremonial bell rang from the inner courtyard of the shop!

It is called a Dharma bell because when the bell rings, people around can feel a sense of peace and tranquility, as if their impatience has subsided.

The bell rang softly and gently, neither high-pitched nor shrill, but like ripples spreading outwards, passing through the lintel and courtyard, and reaching everyone's ears.

The moment the bell rang, Chen Wanchuan's clenched fist unconsciously loosened, the sweat on the shop assistant's forehead seemed to subside a bit, and even the three children who had been timidly hiding behind him showed a slight decrease in their fear.

Just as he was about to think it over, the beaded curtain in the backyard of the shop was lifted from the inside, and a person came out.

But the one who came was neither the shopkeeper nor the kiln worker; it was a monk.

The monk wore a sandalwood-colored robe, embroidered with a grid pattern of gold thread, each grid containing a lotus flower, the stitches fine and the light shimmering.

The Futian Ge (福田格) consists of identical squares, representing "equality of all beings." Each square represents a realm of Dharma, and each practice creates a field of merit, implying "the unity of all beings in the Dharma realm as one body, with my body as a field of merit."

He wore a plain white monk's robe underneath, with a neat collar that didn't reveal an inch of skin.

He wore a pair of cloud-patterned monk's shoes, the surface of which was spotless. He had a slender figure, a face like a full moon, and his brows exuded solemnity, compassion, and a cool demeanor, as well as a profound meaning that was hard to explain. Just as the Lotus Sutra says: "His excellent features and radiant light illuminate the ten directions, and he possesses the subtle and pure Dharma body."

The monk held a small bronze bell in his left hand, no bigger than a fist, engraved with an eight-petaled lotus design. The clapper was still trembling slightly; the sound of the bell just now had clearly come from it. His right hand was held upright in front of his chest, forming a teaching mudra, his five fingers rounded and smooth, like lotus petals just beginning to bloom.

His steps were steady, each step measured and precise.

Upon seeing the monk, the waiter rushed forward as if he had seen a savior, bowing deeply and repeatedly saying, "Master! Master, you've finally come out! Behind us—"

The monk slightly raised his hand, and the waiter immediately stopped talking.

His gaze swept across the shop, from Chen Wanchuan to the three children, and finally landed on Zhao Yunshu. The expression on his face was reassuring, as if all worries had been melted away by his smile.

The waiter rattled off a string of words: "Esteemed guests, I am truly sorry, truly sorry! There were some miscellaneous matters at the shop today, and I have neglected you all. Please forgive me, please forgive me! Another day, another day I will have the manager come and personally brew tea for you as an apology. Esteemed Taoist priest, you are a magnanimous person, please don't hold it against me. This way, please, this way—"

As he spoke, he turned sideways towards the door, his arm outstretched straight, yet his waist bent just right, inviting them out without making them feel like he was driving them away. He kept muttering, "I will certainly keep the matter of the Taoist priest seeking Master Zhou in mind. When Master Zhou has some free time, I will be the first to inform him. I will not dare to delay. Please take your time, and watch your step—"

Although Chen Wanchuan was very unhappy, he couldn't show it anymore. He could only grunt, take the child, and turn around. Wang Haiting took a few steps and then turned back, his gaze passing over the waiter's shoulder to look curiously at the monk.

Just then, the monk spoke.

"Esteemed benefactor," his voice was not loud, but clear and resonant, like the clinking of jade stones, each word carrying steadily and clearly to everyone's ears, "are you looking for Master Zhou?"

He stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed solely on Zhao Yunshu, as if the rest of the shop didn't exist. The shop assistant, engrossed in his conversation, was abruptly cut off by his words, leaving him speechless and frozen in place, unsure whether to advance or retreat.

Zhao Yunshu turned around and met the monk's eyes.

"Yes," Zhao Yunshu composed himself, bowed, and said, "This humble Taoist, Zhao Yunshu, has a past connection with Master Zhou Cheng'an. I was passing through this place and came to pay my respects. May I ask the Master's name?"

"My Buddhist name is Yuanmeng," he said, his voice clear and melodious like a jade chime. "I have some dealings with the Dingzhou kiln. If you wish to go there to find someone, I can write a letter and introduce you. These days, the kiln is under strict security; without someone to guide you, you might not even be able to get in."

Hearing this from the side, Chen Wanchuan was first delighted, then suspicious. He looked the monk up and down, noticing his sandalwood robe with gold-threaded latticework, the bronze ruyi scepter hanging at his waist, and the cloud-patterned monk's shoes. He couldn't help but scratch his head, lean forward, and whisper, "Master... how much does this cost?"

His question was direct, but it was also a natural human reaction.

It is common knowledge that monks are greedy for money.

Offering prayers for the deceased costs money, chanting sutras and praying for blessings costs money, and even writing a letter requires a fee. Look at this monk's attire from head to toe; it must be worth at least a hundred taels of silver. If he weren't good at earning money, who could afford to wear such clothes?

Upon hearing this, the monk laughed and waved his hand, saying, "Why bother with money? It's just a small favor. Please wait a moment, benefactor, I'll go and fetch paper and pen."

After saying that, he turned and walked into the back of the shop. The shop assistant stood to the side, his expression indescribably strange, as if he wanted to stop him but didn't dare, and wanted to say something but swallowed it back.

He glanced at Zhao Yunshu furtively, but ultimately gave up.

Chen Wanchuan was also somewhat confused. He leaned close to Zhao Yunshu's ear and whispered, "Daoist Master, what's the background of this monk? How come he's more generous than the kiln masters? Could he have some other motive?"

Zhao Yunshu said, "Anyway, it's a good thing for us. We'll go to the kiln, which will not only give the children a way to survive, but also give us some travel expenses."

The beaded curtain swayed, and the monk's figure disappeared into the backyard gate.

Wang Haiting, who had been hiding behind Zhao Yunshu, suddenly tugged at his sleeve and whispered, "Uncle, that monk is so strange."

Chen Wanchuan was still muttering to himself, "No money? Are there still monks who don't charge money these days? Taoist priest, do you think he's playing the long game? Maybe he'll ask us for a bigger one later at the kiln?"

Just then, the beaded curtain in the backyard rustled again, and the monk returned with paper and pen, his steps leisurely and his robes fluttering.

He walked to the counter, spread out the paper, dipped his brush in ink, and as the brush tip touched the paper to write the first character, the small ceremonial bell rang by itself without anyone shaking it. The clear, melodious sound echoed leisurely throughout the shop. Everyone felt a sense of peace; the anxiety and doubts they had felt moments before seemed to have been washed away by the sound of the bell, fading considerably.

After the bell rang, the monk put down his pen, folded the letter, and handed it over with both hands.

"Benefactor," he said, looking at Zhao Yunshu, "the mountains are deep and the roads are long, be careful on the road."

"Thank you, Master!" Zhao Yunshu cupped his hands in thanks, took the letter, and went outside.