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墨書 Inktalez
After a meal, taking a nap is something even a deity would envy.
The monk, wrapped in a thick blanket, was just about to enjoy a nice sleep. However, as soon as he poked his head into the warm bedding, he pulled it back out with a look of disdain, pushing the blanket down to his chest.
Zhao Heitie chuckled awkwardly, "I hope I didn't embarrass you, Master."
The monk replied seriously, "Monks are used to hardship; having a soft place to sleep is already a blessing."
For the monk, sleeping was merely closing his eyes and resting his mind.
A capable monk had arrived at the village chief's home, sweeping through the village like a whirlwind in what felt like a dead town. The villagers were like drowning people desperately grasping for a life raft, filled with a strong desire to live.
Zhao Heitie knew that the village chief was not just any ordinary person. In this world, those with great talents often had eccentric personalities. At this moment, while the monk was taking his nap, whether he was a genius or just an ordinary person, he would surely have some morning grumpiness.
A throng of people squeezed into the village chief's house. The two wooden doors of Zhao Heitie's home finally couldn't bear the pressure and crashed open with a loud bang, sending up a cloud of dust.
"What are you all pushing for? If you annoy the Master and he decides to wash his hands of everything with just a clap, I wonder what you'll do then?" Zhao Heitie shouted angrily from the center of the doorway. If he had been given the Purple Gold Whip at that moment, he would have resembled the door god Wei Chi Jing De from traditional New Year paintings.
A woman holding a child, her face flushed from the crowding and sweat beading on her forehead despite the cold weather, cried out, "I don't care! My baby is on the verge of death!"
As soon as these words were spoken, the crowd surged into the house like a tidal wave, and Zhao Heitie was swept inside like a twig caught in a tornado.
Usually, Zhao Heitie's three-room brick house was considered quite spacious in the village. But now there was hardly any room to stand.
Though everyone was anxious, they dared not act recklessly. They surrounded the small bed tightly. Countless pairs of eyes were fixated on the snoring monk lying on the bed.
At that moment, the monk resembled a lamb surrounded by wolves.
The monk's gaze burned with intensity, making him feel as if he were being pricked by needles. His heart raced as he abruptly sat up in bed.
"Is it impossible to let someone sleep peacefully? Is your family's idea of resting like visiting a zoo to see monkeys?" The monk placed one hand on his hip and pointed at everyone with his index finger, gesturing around the room.
The woman who had spoken earlier felt the monk's anger and, with red-rimmed eyes, attempted to kneel on the ground. However, there were too many people, and despite her efforts to bend down, she couldn't manage it properly. In a twisted position, she half-squatted and cried out, "Master, you are so compassionate. Please show mercy and save my child. He is barely a week old!"
From his elevated position, the monk looked down at the infant in the woman's arms. The child's complexion was not the rosy hue typical of a healthy baby; instead, it had an eerie bluish tint. The corners of its mouth were darkened, and its half-open eyes were completely black, with only a hint of white visible at the corners.
With a grave expression, the monk squatted down and pressed one hand against the child's forehead while closing his eyes to chant: "Xi Wanxiang, All Buddhas lend their power, Hui Yan open! Om Mani Padme Hum!"
The crowd held their breath in tense silence as they watched the monk on the bed radiate an aura of solemnity. His originally bright eyes now shone with visible brilliance.
When he opened his eyes again, he noticed that the child was surrounded by a thick aura of Corpse Qi.
"Why is there such a strong presence of Corpse Qi around this child?" The monk's voice carried an air of authority.
Zhao Heitie stepped forward and whispered back, "There are about ten such children in the village. It all started because of the Ling Family Daughter-in-law from the west side of the village. She has been dead for some time but still feeds these infants every night. How can a dead person still have milk?"
Zhao Heitie had witnessed this terrifying scene firsthand and felt a chill run through him. Though they were huddled together, an inexplicable cold breeze seemed to sweep through them.
The monk chuckled nonchalantly and instructed, "Bring all such infants over here. You people are quite carefree; if it weren't for this Poor Monk's intervention, none of these children would likely survive past three months."
Upon hearing this, everyone gasped in shock. They had initially thought that the children's pallor was simply due to being cold.
Soon after, about ten swaddled infants were laid out on the bed. The monk sat cross-legged and removed a string of black obsidian prayer beads from his hand—each bead was round and glossy with a hint of purple hue—eighteen beads in total. It was evident that he frequently used them for chanting prayers.
The monk held a set of Obsidian Prayer Beads in his hand, continuously reciting the Six-Character Great Bright Mantra. The other end of the beads hung gently against the infant's forehead.
One by one, the obsidian beads rolled through the monk's fingers, their colors growing increasingly vibrant, as dark as a polished mirror. Within each bead, one could faintly discern various forms of monks—some sitting cross-legged, some with hands clasped in prayer, and others with fierce expressions like wrathful deities.
If someone with keen eyesight were present, they would see a faint black mist slowly being absorbed by the obsidian beads from the infant's forehead, gradually dissipating.
Everyone could clearly feel the chill that had previously filled the room slowly fading away, replaced by the stuffy air of the enclosed space and the warmth radiating from the crowd.
After a long while, the monk exhaled a breath of stale air and slowly opened his eyes. "It is done. The Poor Monk has extracted the Corpse Qi from these children. Take good care of them. If there’s sunlight, let them bask in it; if not, let their fathers hold them more often. Men have strong yang energy, and close contact with the children will benefit their recovery."
The Jiao Woman beside him pinched the man standing next to her and said, "Usually, I just want you to hold the child more. Look at what the Daoist has said; starting tonight, the child will sleep with you."
Laughter erupted among the crowd, and the man stood there awkwardly chuckling along.
Perhaps it was too stuffy in the room or too noisy; all ten or so children lying in their beds began to cry in unison, their voices ringing out loudly as if they wished to lift the roof off.
Everyone noticed that the infants' complexions had indeed turned rosy, and their eyes appeared normal again. Even their cries were noticeably louder than usual.
The monk wiped his brow as if sweating, though there was nothing there. In truth, this was a minor task for him, but appearances had to be maintained.
Zhao Heitie had sharp eyes; seeing this, he quickly pulled out some crumpled bills and handed them to the monk. "Master, you are truly remarkable! In just a moment's work, you have healed these children. Your merits are boundless. Please accept this small token as my offering; I hope you won't find it lacking."
The monk glanced at him and politely declined. "Village Chief, you are being too formal. This is what the Poor Monk ought to do. Besides, this is also about accumulating virtue and doing good deeds. As a common saying goes: 'What you sow in this life will bear fruit in the next.' Plant goodness to reap goodness; if you plant evil, naturally there will be retribution."
Everyone nodded in agreement, praising the monk as a transcendent figure who regarded wealth as worthless. Previously, some monks and Taoists had visited their village who acted like bandits, eager to strip away every last coin from one’s pockets.
It truly is the case that without comparison, there is no harm!
Zhao Heitie thought to himself, measuring the intentions of others with his own heart, mistakenly assuming the monk to be a wise man. Just as he hesitated and began to withdraw his hand, the monk, smiling kindly at the crowd, caught sight of Zhao Heitie's retreating hand. A thought crossed his mind: even a mosquito is still meat. In an instant, with lightning speed, he snatched a few banknotes from Zhao Heitie's hand and calmly tucked them into his robe, saying, "Since the village chief is so generous, if I were to refuse again, it would seem insincere and go against the true spirit of Buddhism."
He then joined his hands in prayer and uttered a chant of Amitabha.
The other parents of the children exchanged glances and reluctantly pulled out some banknotes from their pockets as well, though the denominations were significantly lower.
The monk did not mind; he accepted everything with a smile, saying, "Your kindness will be blessed by Buddha, protecting you and your families."
Three lines of black appeared on Zhao Heitie's forehead in an instant. This was far too undignified! But then he reconsidered; while the child had been cured, it was merely treating the symptoms rather than addressing the root cause. The real issue lay with the Ling Family Daughter-in-law or perhaps that missing Two-Headed Freak.
As the saying goes, one is at a disadvantage when accepting favors. With the monk taking both food and money in this manner, it would be even more difficult to refuse the villagers' requests.
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