Stone Fairy!

As dusk settled, the mountain breeze carried a hint of dampness.

At first, it was just a few scattered raindrops, but then the rain gradually intensified, and the pattering sound came from afar and merged into a continuous drizzle.

Lightning tore through the sky, and thunder rumbled over the mountain ridges.

A bolt of lightning struck a stubborn rock lying on the edge of the cliff, blasting a charred crack down its body, sloping downwards from the top, resembling a hole.

The mountain rain poured down, and the muddy streams surged.

The stubborn rock lay motionless, waiting for the rain to stop.

From then on, every time the sun rose, a wisp of purple mist would fall into the depths of that acupoint; every time the silver moon hung high, a wisp of moonlight would flow down.

Spring goes and autumn comes, the grass turns green and then yellow, yellow and then green again.

The life force left by that wisp of lightning gradually grew warm.

One morning, as the first rays of light crossed the mountain ridge and fell on the stone, the depths of that acupoint trembled slightly.

The stubborn rock became conscious for the first time.

It didn't know what it was, only that a comfortable feeling was seeping in from its acupoints, making it want to stretch.

The stubborn stone began to look forward to that feeling, even though it didn't know what looking forward meant.

Later, the stubborn stone learned to discern.

The rain is cool when it falls, and it makes the moon feel slightly tighter; when the moon is full, its light is at its brightest, and there is a sense of peace; the wind blows from the mountain stream, carrying the scent of distant flowers and grasses.

It can even distinguish the birds that land on it; the larger ones are heavier, the smaller ones are lighter, some like to hop around, while others just stand quietly after landing.

They gradually became familiar with these stubborn rocks.

The stubborn stone had its first thought: What is it like in the more distant places?

The thought was extremely faint, flashing by in an instant. But it did appear; for the first time in this wisp of chaotic consciousness, there was a desire to "know."

Gradually, other acupoints began to appear on the stubborn stone.

The second opening appears on the side of the stone, in a place that has been eroded by rainwater over the years.

The third opening is on the top of the rock, where birds have pecked countless times.

The fourth opening is at the bottom of the stone, close to the soil.

The fifth aperture, the sixth aperture, the seventh aperture, the eighth aperture...

The emergence of each new skill is accompanied by a long period of time.

Sometimes it takes decades, sometimes hundreds of full moons. There is no fixed number, no pattern; it just happens that on a certain night or day, a fine crack suddenly appears in a certain place on the stone, and a new opening is formed.

Each new opening brings new perceptions. Some can smell the fragrance of flowers wafting from afar, some can hear the flow of underground rivers, and some can sense the faint tremors deep within the mountain.

As the number of openings increased, the stone's consciousness became clearer and clearer. It was no longer a chaotic mess, but knew that it had been lying on this cliff for a very, very long time.

But it still doesn't know what it is.

The night the ninth aperture appeared was again accompanied by thunder and rain.

Lightning tore through the sky and struck the lying rock once more.

The moment the lightning flashed, all eight acupoints trembled simultaneously, and a ninth crack suddenly opened up at the deepest part of the stone.

The thunder faded away, and the rain gradually stopped.

The moonlight shone down again, and the nine orifices on the stubborn rock all flowed with a crystal-clear luster. Although it had not yet taken shape, it already possessed the qualifications to contemplate the heavens and the earth.

At this moment, the stubborn rock is no longer a stubborn rock.

And it is—the nine-aperture stone embryo.

In the years that followed, the stone remained lying on the cliff, quietly contemplating the world.

It prefers two times: sunrise and full moon. It can't explain why, but at those times, a comfortable feeling seeps in from its nine orifices, spreading deep within the stone.

While holding the stone, visualize the rise and fall of the stream, visualize the ancient pine tree sprouting new branches, and visualize the flourishing and withering of plants.

Gradually, it began to realize that these things were different—a pine tree was a pine tree, a stream was a stream, a bird was a bird, a beast was a beast, and each was its own. It couldn't understand why there were so many different things in the world.

Those confusions were light, like ripples on the water, spreading out and dissipating.

Until one day, the stone fetus sensed something was wrong.

Two auras were approaching from afar, unlike any other living creature in the mountains and forests. They stood upright, had no fur, and emitted an unfamiliar scent.

On the other side of the cliff, a middle-aged man dressed in a blue Taoist robe stopped with a seven- or eight-year-old boy.

The middle-aged Taoist priest's gaze fell on the stone embryo, and he smiled: "Let's leave it here."

A few days later, a Taoist temple was built on the edge of the cliff.

The Taoist temple wasn't far away, and the stone embryo could clearly sense the two wisps of energy moving in and out of it. The larger one was steady and profound, while the smaller one was crisp and light.

One day, the middle-aged Taoist priest brought the young Taoist boy to the stone embryo.

The young Taoist boy got very close, and the stone fetus sensed his appearance: a round face, short arms and legs, and bright eyes.

"Afu," the middle-aged Taoist priest said in a deep, resonant voice, "it will be your junior brother from now on."

Afu tilted his head: "Master, why is Junior Brother a stone?"

"Your junior brother hasn't taken human form yet."

"What will my junior brother become when he transforms into human form?"

The middle-aged Taoist smiled and gently stroked the stone surface: "Junior brother is indeed junior brother."

The stone fetus felt an unusual warmth in that hand, unlike any other sensation it had ever experienced before; it possessed a life-giving quality.

The days that followed were completely different from before.

Inside the Taoist temple, wisps of incense smoke rose, and scriptures were being chanted. The stone embryo couldn't understand those sounds, but over time, it found the incense smoke pleasant and the scriptures possessed a peculiar rhythm, which made it absorb the energy much faster.

Afu would often come alone. He would sit beside the stone statue, carrying a scripture book bigger than his head, and read it word by word. He would read some words smoothly, others haltingly, and if he made a mistake, he would scratch his head and start over.

After each recitation, he would reach out his little hand and pat the stone surface, saying, "Junior brother, junior brother, grow up quickly. Master said that if you listen to the scriptures more, you will grow up."

The feeling of that little hand covering me was different from my master's; it was smaller, softer, and warmer.

After the photo was taken, Afu would lie down, press his face against the stone, and whisper, "Junior brother, I'm going back to eat now. I'll come again tomorrow."

The stone felt the tiny figure hopping and skipping away, and felt the warmth remaining on the stone surface.

It remembered that feeling.

Later, the master planted a small tree next to the stone embryo. As he added soil, he said, "Bodhi tree, although you are a disciple of my Taoist school, it is good to hear the sound of the Bodhi leaves."

The sapling slowly grew, sprouting new leaves in spring, becoming lush and leafy in summer, turning yellow in autumn, and falling to the ground in winter. The stone felt its roots extending underground, and sensed the rustling of the leaves when the wind blew.

More people came and went to the Taoist temple. They lit incense and placed it in the incense burner that the master had placed in front of the stone statue. They knelt down and bowed to the stone statue again and again.

The wisps of smoke contained all sorts of things: anticipation, reverence, prayer, and gratitude.

The stone figure didn't know what those things were, but it was lively.

It was also during these decades that the stone body sensed another change.

Master's body was slowly changing. At first, he only coughed occasionally, but later his back gradually became hunched, his walking became slower, and he was not as steady as before. His senior brother helped him more and more often.

My senior brother has also changed, from a stammering little boy clutching scriptures to a kind and upright young man. He began to wear the same Taoist robes as his master and began to recite scriptures in his morning and evening prayers.

The master chanted scriptures less and less; it was mostly the senior disciples who chanted them. Yet, those scriptures still made the stone embryo absorb them faster.

Later, the master's back became more and more hunched, and he could no longer walk without a cane. The stone fetus sensed him moving over step by step, sitting under the Bodhi tree, leaning against the stone fetus, panting heavily.

The hand that once touched it is now withered and thin. When it rests on the stone, it is still warm, but much thinner.

The stone embryo sensed the aura emanating from its master, an aura it was familiar with.

An old tree about to wither, an old beast about to die—these all carry this kind of aura.

Decay, decay, are the breath of death.

It doesn't like this smell.

For the first time, the stone fetus had a thought: it didn't want this person to die, but it couldn't speak or move.

On this day,

The stone embryo sensed a long-lost aura.

Master has arrived.

He was helped by his senior brother and moved over step by step, very slowly, each step as if he had used up all his strength.

Under the Bodhi tree, the master slowly sat down, leaning against the stone embryo, and it took him a long time to catch his breath.

Then the master began chanting the sutra, the one the stone fetus had heard countless times. But now his voice was hoarse, with a decaying quality.

After finishing the recitation, the master raised his withered hand and touched the stone embryo with lingering affection.

"I'm leaving," the master said softly, his voice faint, as if it came from a very distant place.

"It's time for you to have a name."

The stone embryo quietly sensed that hand, that lingering warmth.

"Call him Daozhen." The master paused, as if using his last bit of strength.

"All living beings possess the Tao... True nature is ever-present."

Thus, the stone embryo got its name.

That same night, rays of light shone everywhere.

Daozhen had never seen such light before; it emanated from the small hut where his master lay, its myriad rays illuminating the entire night sky. And from the horizon, a similar glow also surged forth, echoing the light.

The rosy light surged in and fell upon Daozhen, warm and comforting, like his master's hand caressing him.

Suddenly, Daozhen remembered a sentence from long ago.

"Master, why is Junior Brother a stone?"

"Your junior brother hasn't taken human form yet."

"What will my junior brother become when he transforms into human form?"

"A junior brother is indeed a junior brother."

At that moment, Daozhen suddenly understood.

It remembered its master's hands, its senior brother's hands, the rhythm of the scriptures, the rustling of the Bodhi tree leaves, the smoke from the incense burner, and the people who came and went, bowing again and again before it.

"Buzz!"

Deep within the stone, all nine orifices resonated.

All those things accumulated over countless years—the essence of the sun and moon, the wind, frost, rain, and snow, the birdsong and the fragrance of flowers, the scriptures and incense—all surged forth at this moment and converged in one place.

The outer layer of the stone began to peel away like a cicada's molt, revealing something brand new underneath.

Daozhen thought of his master and his senior brother, and so the new thing took on the shape of a human.

This night,

When a cultivator attains enlightenment, heaven and earth raise rosy clouds to transform the mortal realm.

This night,

When spirits shed their original forms and see their true selves, they are transformed into mortals.

......

Moonlight streamed down, and the Bodhi tree swayed gently.

Daozhen slowly opened his eyes.

This is the first time it has seen the world with its own eyes.

The cliffs remain, the Taoist temple remains, and the Bodhi tree remains.

A person was standing nearby; it was her senior brother, staring blankly at her, tears silently streaming down his face.

Daozhen opened his mouth, as if to say something.

But it can't speak yet.

It simply raised its hand, mimicking its master's gesture from memory, and gently placed it on its senior brother's forehead.

Just like Master did back then...