Killing Monks

"You want to save all living beings?" Old Master Xu stood in the twilight, his voice carried away by the wind.

Guangyuan shook his head.

It wasn't the kind of gentle, polite head shake; it was the kind of head shake that moved from the neck to the shoulders, and from the shoulders to the back, like an old tree swaying in the wind, shaking off its excess leaves.

"I cannot save everyone," he said, his voice flat, as if stating something self-evident. "Not only me, but even the Buddha cannot save everyone."

Old Xu was stunned for a moment. Even Buddha couldn't save everyone?

He recalled the words in the Buddhist scriptures: "The Buddha saves countless sentient beings" and "The Buddha's light shines everywhere, and there is no one who is not saved."

He had heard those words since he was a child, until his ears were calloused and his heart was calloused.

But now Guangyuan says that even the Buddha cannot save everyone.

He wanted to argue, but when he opened his mouth, he realized he had nothing to say. If Buddha could truly save all sentient beings, why are they still suffering so much?

If Buddha can truly save all sentient beings, what about those children who starved to death in mud houses, those tenant farmers who were beaten to death by officials, and those who never had a full meal in their entire lives?

The Buddha did not save them. It wasn't that the Buddha didn't want to save them, but that he couldn't.

"Then who can save all living beings?" Old Xu asked. His voice was somewhat urgent, as if he was chasing something, chasing it for a long time, and was about to catch up, but then that thing suddenly turned a corner and disappeared.

"What's the point of all this?"

Guangyuan looked at him. She took a step back, retreated into the house, and stood inside the threshold, where her shadow could no longer reach him.

"Only sentient beings can save all sentient beings," he said. "Only sentient beings can save themselves."

Old Xu stood in the courtyard, chewing over that sentence several times.

Only all sentient beings can save all sentient beings? Then what's the point of having a Buddha? What's the point of having Bodhisattvas? What's the point of having your extensive connections?

Old Xu is gone.

He didn't turn around, but he knew Guangyuan was watching him from behind. He knew it because his back was always warm, not the kind of warmth from the sun, but something else entirely.

He couldn't explain it. There were many things he couldn't explain over the years. He couldn't explain why he put down the knife in the first place, why he followed Guangyuan for so long, and why he was standing here now, able to turn around and leave, yet his feet felt like they were nailed to the ground.

All he knew was that he had never truly understood Guangyuan. He thought he had, but in reality, he had only seen the surface.

He thought there was bone beneath the surface, but beneath the bone was bone marrow, and beneath the bone marrow were even smaller, finer, and deeper things, so deep that he himself didn't know what he was looking at.

By the time we got back to the capital, it was already completely dark.

Rows of lanterns hung on the city wall, illuminating the city gate as brightly as daytime.

Old Xu rode his horse past the city gate and glanced up at the lanterns. The lanterns were red, made of paper, and had candles lit inside. When the wind blew, the candlelight flickered, and the lanterns swayed along with it, like a string of red dates being blown by the wind.

He suddenly remembered what Guangyuan had said: "All living beings should stand up."

What happens after all living beings stand up?

Will those who stand up kneel down again?

Once you kneel down, can you stand up again?

he does not know.

All he knew was that Guangyuan was doing one thing. A very big, very slow, and very difficult thing.

It was so vast that he couldn't see the whole picture, so slow that he felt he would never see the result in his lifetime, and so difficult that he himself wanted to give up.

But Guangyuan did not give up.

He sat in that impoverished rural school, telling a group of children from the countryside about the "Classic of Mountains and Seas." After finishing the story, he would ask them to share their thoughts, and then sit on the doorstep to bask in the sun.

He didn't care if the sky fell; he didn't care if the earth collapsed. He was just doing his own thing. Very small things. So small as to be insignificant. But it was these insignificant things that made Boss Xu travel such a long way back to the capital to continue doing what he had to do.

The meeting of the Twelve Earthly Fiends lasted all day.

The organizational structure of the Heaven and Earth Society was laid out on the table, and each document was examined and discussed one by one.

Those structures were established by Guangyuan in their early years, when they were still conquering the world, running around, enduring wind and rain, and didn't even have a fixed place to live.

After conquering the Tang Kingdom, the Twelve Earthly Fiends were surprised to find that these structures, with slight modifications, could become a complete strategy for governing the country.

It's like a piece of clothing that was originally tailored to someone's body shape. Now that person comes along, puts it on, and it fits perfectly.

The Tang Kingdom must become powerful. This is the consensus among the Twelve Earthly Fiends.

But how to become strong? Some say we need to train more troops, some say we need to open more mines, some say we need to trade with neighboring countries, and some say we need to uproot those unruly powerful clans.

There were all sorts of opinions, and the arguments went on and on, with no one able to convince anyone else. But there was one thing they were surprisingly in agreement on: the structure of the Heaven and Earth Society contained far too many clauses concerning "lower classes."

Establish village schools and determine how much grain each child can receive upon enrollment.

This was the first point raised. An official stood up, holding a stack of account books, opened them, and read out a long string of numbers.

How much food, how many teachers, how many school buildings, how much writing materials are needed?

After reading it aloud, he closed the ledger, looked at the people present, and said, "It's unrealistic. The Tang Dynasty has just been established, the national treasury is empty, and the people are impoverished."

"Running a village school costs so much money, we can't afford it. Even if we could, we couldn't find enough teachers. And even if we could find teachers, the children from poor families might not be willing to come."

"They have to work at home, helping their parents farm, herd cattle, and take care of their younger siblings. If you send them to school, who will farm their land? Who will herd the cattle? Who will take care of their younger siblings?"

Some nodded, some remained silent, and some lowered their heads to drink their tea.

Xu Laoda didn't say anything; he just glanced at Su Er.

Su Er sat at the other end of the long table, holding a bowl of tea in his hand. The tea had gone cold, but he didn't drink it.

His face was flickering in the candlelight, as if he were deep in thought. After the official finished speaking, Su Er slammed his teacup down on the table with a soft "thud," which brought silence to the entire room.

"No," Su Er said. Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into the table, "Absolutely not."

The official was taken aback, not expecting to be rejected so decisively.

He opened his mouth, wanting to explain those numbers, those difficulties, those unrealistic things again. Su Er didn't give him the chance.

"I have never been to school before."

"Su Er said. His voice was a little rough and hoarse, like water squeezed from a crack in a rock."

He is not a scholar; he doesn't quote classical texts or preach profound principles.

He only talks about his own affairs. His own affairs are the most important things in the world.

"When I was a child, I wanted to go to school, but I couldn't afford it. The village private school cost two bushels of rice a year. My family couldn't afford it. My father said, 'Forget it, accept your fate.'"

"Farming is one way to make a living, chopping wood is another; as long as I don't starve, that's fine. I refuse to accept my fate. But what good is it if I refuse to accept my fate? I still can't afford to go to school."