Killing Monks

Looking at their devout faces, Guangyuan suddenly didn't know what to say.

He smiled, a smile tinged with helplessness.

"Instead of thinking about the afterlife," he said, "we should think about having enough to eat in this life."

Ma Youcai stared at him blankly.

There was something in that smile he didn't understand. But he felt that this new abbot was easier to talk to than the monks at the small temple, so he mustered his courage and spoke:

"Buddha, we only consider the next life because we can't make it in this life."

He spoke as if it were perfectly natural.

"The monk at the small temple said that our poverty is all due to fate. It's all because of our actions in our past lives that we suffer like this in this life."

As he spoke, a devout expression appeared on his face.

That wasn't an act; it was genuine belief.

Years ago, after he donated his land to the small Buddhist temple, the abbot called him aside and spoke to him earnestly. He knew those words by heart; every word was etched in his heart.

"...Your life is filled with suffering in this world. You toil in the fields and struggle to make ends meet. It is not that Heaven does not pity you, but that the evil deeds you committed in your past life have not been expended. You have sown the seeds of suffering, and that is why you are reaping the bitter fruit of today."

He repeated it, his voice growing softer and softer, as if he were chanting a sutra.

"Now that you understand the root of this karmic obstacle, you must diligently cultivate yourself to atone for your sins. Cultivating the Buddhist fields of our temple is planting seeds of merit; paying rent and offering sacrifices to the Three Jewels on time is accumulating good deeds. Only in this way can you offset the evil karma of your past life, escape the sea of ​​suffering in your next life, and enjoy a peaceful and blessed life..."

He finished speaking, looked up at Guangyuan, his eyes shining.

A person like him, who is always hungry and cold, is already like this in his life, working himself to the bone all year round.

Since there's no hope in this life, of course we should pray for the next.

I pray that I can be reborn into a good family in my next life, preferably into a wealthy family, where I can eat my fill without having to work.

If you don't even believe this, what's the point of living?

Guangyuan looked at him and remained silent for a while.

"Is that really what you think?"

Ma Youcai nodded vigorously, as if afraid that he wouldn't believe him.

"It's true! Absolutely true, Buddha!" ​​He paused, then added, "My whole family worships Buddha. We really do, it's not fake."

As he was speaking, he suddenly remembered something, turned around and ran into the house.

"Your Holiness, please come and see!"

Guangyuan followed.

The house was small; the stove was right inside the door, and a couple of steps further in was the earthen bed where people slept. Some broken household items were piled up in the corner, and a few strings of dried vegetables hung from the roof beam.

But right next to the stove, against the wall, there was a small Buddhist shrine.

The shrine didn't look old. Inside was a clay Buddha statue, about the size of a palm, painted with cheap paint, its eyebrows and eyes blurred.

Ma Youcai pointed at the Buddhist shrine, his face showing an undisguised smugness.

"This is the money I saved up during the bumper harvests of the past few years. I saved up three years' worth of grain and specially brought it from the temple."

He looked at Guangyuan cautiously, as if waiting for praise.

Guangyuan remained silent.

He turned and went out the door, heading towards Wu Laosan's house.

Wu Laosan's house was the same; it was also bare, with mud walls and a mud-brick kang (heated brick bed), and only a few pots and pans intact.

However, the Buddhist shrine inside the house was older than the one in Ma Youcai's house.

The lacquer on the shrine was peeling and the Buddha's face was blackened by incense smoke, making it unrecognizable. Wu Laosan said that it was brought back by his father's generation and had been in his hands for more than 30 years.

Guangyuan stood in front of the Buddha niche and looked at it for a long time.

He didn't turn around.

"The Buddha does not need your offerings."

His voice was very soft.

Behind them, Wu Laosan and Ma Youcai were both stunned.

Then, a look of horror appeared on their faces. It was as if they had heard something outrageous, or done something they shouldn't have.

Guangyuan ignored their reactions.

He continued, "The Buddha only needs you to be able to eat your fill."

He paused, then turned to look at the two bewildered farmers. He wanted to say something, but ultimately said:

"The rent will be as I say. I am the abbot, and I have the final say here. I will not harm you."

"If you wish to make offerings to the Three Jewels, your well-being and peace of mind are the greatest offerings."

After saying that, he lifted his foot and left Wu Laosan's house.

Behind me, there were two thumping sounds.

Wu Laosan and Ma Youcai knelt down. Their family members also knelt down, prostrating themselves on the ground with their foreheads pressed against the soil.

"Living Buddha... Living Buddha..."

"Buddha, have mercy! Buddha, have mercy..."

The voices came from behind, filled with sobs, trembling, humble gratitude, and inner conflict.

Guangyuan did not look back.

He continued walking forward, neither slowing down nor speeding up.

But he would rather they hadn't called him a living Buddha, and he would rather they hadn't knelt down and cried "Buddha, have mercy!"

When Guangyuan returned to Prajna Temple, the sun was already close to noon.

In the corner of the yard, some rice was being cooked, and Hu Dafu, the mute man, was sweeping the fallen leaves and dust in the yard with a broom.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and saw Guangyuan; his eyes immediately lit up.

He put down the broom, hurried over, calling out "Ah ah" and gesturing with his hands.

He first pointed to Guangyuan, then to the small Buddhist temple and himself, and then made a gesture of eating.

That means they're asking if you've encountered any trouble? Have you eaten?

Guangyuan looked at him and smiled.

"I'm fine," he said. "They didn't try anything funny."

But Hu Dafu, the mute man, refused to give up.

He scrutinized Guangyuan's face, continuing to utter "ah ah" sounds, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

He noticed that Guangyuan looked unwell.

It's not a physical problem, it's something on my mind.

He tugged at Guangyuan's sleeve, gesturing for his name: What's wrong? What happened?

Guangyuan looked at him and opened her mouth.

He wanted to say something.

I want to talk about those thirty acres of land, about those two families, about Ma Youcai who donated the land to the temple just to avoid being a constable, and about Wu Laosan who devoutly worshipped the Buddha statue, hoping for a better life in the next life.

But he swallowed the words back down his throat.

How so?

These people have been deceived by a lie their whole lives, yet they cling to that lie as a lifeline.

They say they'd rather believe in the afterlife than believe they can have a good life in this one.

Even if I said it, would a mute person understand?

Guangyuan suddenly felt a sense of loneliness.

It was an indescribable loneliness.

The world is drunk, but I alone am sober.

He stood in the courtyard, muttering to himself:

"Imagine an iron house, utterly without windows and impossible to destroy, where many people are fast asleep. Soon they will suffocate, but they will die in their sleep, unaware of the sorrow of their impending death..."

Hu Dafu, the mute man, stood aside, looking at him with a blank expression.

He couldn't understand a single word of what Guangyuan was saying. But he could sense that Guangyuan was very, very far away from him when he spoke those words.

Guangyuan turned his head and looked at the mute's confused face.

He suddenly understood why Ren Shan said that the old bastard liked to drink and kill.

How can a modern person not feel lonely in this world, watching those who are entangled in lies and crushed by fate without even realizing it?

There wasn't even anyone I could confide in.

He sighed.

"Alone in a foreign land, I feel like a stranger; on festive occasions, I miss my family all the more."

He also wanted to kill someone.