The Three Teachings Converge into One: The Path of the Mortal and the Saintly is the Same

Poetry:

The wind howls across the border town as wild geese fly south, and the sound of garrison drums echoes through the vast desert.

A lone soldier, loyal and righteous, grows old on a cold journey; a young man in a blue robe comforts his lonely soul.

It is said that Su Qingxuan used martial arts to stop the fighting in Hanshi Town, exposed the conspiracy of the Black Wind Stronghold, and resolved the long-standing feud between the Green Bamboo Gang and the Red Tiger Hall. The townspeople were grateful for his virtue and tried to persuade him to stay, but the young man was determined to pursue the Dao and did not want to stay long. The next morning, as the frost wind swept the ground and withered leaves fluttered down, he bid farewell to the town elders and the leaders of the two factions, shouldered his bag, and, still dressed in his green robe, embarked on his journey north.

North of Hanshi Town, the terrain rises higher and the scenery becomes increasingly desolate. The gentle warmth of Jiangnan and the abundance of the Huai and Si rivers have all vanished, replaced by withered yellow grass and trees, and jagged rocks. The north wind, carrying sand and gravel, cuts like a knife in the face. A layer of hazy yellow dust often hangs over the horizon, and occasionally a flock of geese flies south, their cries piercing the air, adding to the desolation of the north. The young man walks steadily, his inner energy flowing day and night, nourished by his ancestral spirit. Even on desolate and cold paths, he feels no hunger or cold. However, as he sees more and more border guards and grain carts along the way, the air grows thicker with the scent of war, and he realizes that he is approaching the northern border of the Great Xia Dynasty.

Two more days passed, and suddenly a magnificent city appeared on the horizon. Built against the mountainside, its walls rose several meters high, constructed of blue bricks, with numerous watchtowers. A black flag fluttered in the wind, bearing the character "安" (An), signifying Anbian City. This city was a vital fortress on the northern frontier of the Great Xia Dynasty, bordering the desert to the west and the border wall to the north. It served as the first buffer zone against the southward incursions of the northern barbarians, and also controlled the supply lines. The provisions, weapons, medicine, and clothing for tens of thousands of soldiers stationed on the frontier were all transported and replenished through this city, making it the lifeline of the northern frontier. Soldiers stood guard at the city gate, their armor gleaming, their expressions stern. All passersby had to have their identities checked. Supply wagons and medical teams came and went in an endless stream; the sounds of horses' hooves, cart wheels, and commands mingled, creating a tense and imposing atmosphere, a stark contrast to the peaceful and bustling water towns of Jiangnan.

Su Qingxuan walked slowly towards the city gate. The garrison soldiers saw that he was a lone young man dressed in a blue robe, neither a merchant nor a soldier. Although they looked suspicious, they saw that he was calm and composed, with clear eyes and no trace of cunning. Considering that many scholars had recently come to the border city to join the army, they did not stop him and waved him through.

Upon entering the city, the atmosphere became even more tense. On the main street, grain carts stretched in long lines, with laborers sweating as they loaded and unloaded them, and soldiers patrolling back and forth, their armor clanging. Along the streets and alleys, wounded soldiers could be seen everywhere, some with severed limbs wrapped in bandages, others with scars on their faces. Some sat silently sighing, while others gazed into the distance in silence, their brows bearing the weariness and desolation of a life spent on the battlefield. Long queues formed in front of clinics, the aroma of medicine mingling with the smell of dust and blood, permeating the air. The people's faces were solemn, their steps hurried, and there was little of the usual bustling noise of the marketplace. All this was because the northern barbarians had been frequently harassing the border recently, with beacon fires repeatedly being lit. The soldiers and civilians in the city all knew that the safety of this city depended on the lives of countless people in the northern frontier, and there was no time for complacency.

As Su Qingxuan wandered through the streets and alleys, witnessing this scene, he recalled the Analects' saying, "A scholar cannot but be resolute and persevering, for his burden is heavy and his journey is long," his father's teachings of "establishing a life for the people," and the suffering of the people displaced during the flood at Anfeng Dike. The soldiers and civilians of Anbian City, guarding their land against the enemy and transporting supplies, braved the elements to protect the peace of the Central Plains; they were all loyal and righteous men, worthy of respect. He had intended to find an inn to rest and recuperate, so that he could reach Qingxu Temple on Langya Mountain in a few days, but when he reached the entrance of Bifeng Alley in the northwest corner of the city, he suddenly stopped.

An old soldier was huddled at the base of a wall at the alley entrance.

The old man was nearly fifty, his beard and hair streaked with white, unkempt and disheveled. His face was covered in grime and deeply lined, his eyes cloudy yet occasionally flashing with a sharp glint, concealing a fierce spirit forged on the battlefield, now dulled by endless weariness and sorrow. He wore a tattered old military coat, patched upon patched, its original color unrecognizable. His left leg was slightly bent, the trouser leg rolled up, revealing a gruesome old scar running from his thigh to his knee, the flesh torn and peeling, clearly a result of a severe battlefield injury. Every movement caused him to tremble with pain. In his hand, he clutched a broken sword, its blade barely a foot long, rusted and chipped, the spine bearing bloodstains of varying depths, as if it had drunk the blood of the northern barbarians.

The old soldier huddled in the cold wind, shivering uncontrollably. His lips were cracked and purple; he hadn't eaten a single grain of rice for days. Only intermittent, heart-wrenching coughs could be heard, each one causing his chest to heave violently as if he were coughing up his internal organs. Passersby hurried past, some showing pity, others ignoring him. No one stopped, no one asked a question, for the border town was full of wounded soldiers and civilians, and they were already used to such desolate scenes.

Upon seeing this, Su Qingxuan's heart sank. He quickly stepped forward, squatted down, took out a few wheat cakes from his bag, and untied his water bag. He said softly, "Old man, it's freezing cold. Have something to eat to warm yourself up."

The old soldier slowly raised his eyes, his cloudy gaze falling on the young man. At first, he was wary, but seeing the young man's gentle expression and pure eyes, devoid of any contempt or pretense, his tense body gradually relaxed. He trembled as he reached out his hand; his hands were calloused, his knuckles deformed, and covered in scars—marks of years of wielding a spear. He slowly took the wheat cake, nibbling at it in small bites, wolfing it down, clearly starving. Warm water from his water pouch entered his throat, and the old soldier's cough subsided, his spirits slightly restored. Looking at the young man in the blue robe before him, his eyes suddenly reddened, and two streams of cloudy tears rolled down his weathered cheeks, falling into the dust.

"Young... sir... thank you..." The old soldier's voice was hoarse, filled with endless sorrow. "I, Chen San, have guarded the border for thirty years, watching over beacon towers, transporting provisions, carrying wounded soldiers, and slaying barbarians. In the end, I have to rely on a young boy's charity to survive here at the foot of the city wall... How laughable, how pathetic!"

Su Qingxuan sat silently to the side, listening to the old soldier slowly recount his life story.

Chen San, a native of Anbian City, enlisted in the army at the age of seventeen, thus binding his life to the frontier. Over thirty years, he rose from an ordinary infantryman to a garrison commander. During seven large-scale incursions by the Di barbarians, he fought to the death, sustaining seven knife wounds and three arrow wounds, all from defending the city. As he grew older and his strength waned, he transferred to logistics, shuttling day and night between Anbian City and the front-line beacon towers, escorting grain and medicinal herbs. Countless times, he braved attacks by Di barbarian cavalry to deliver life-saving food and medicine to the garrison soldiers, saving countless lives.

"In my entire life, I have never embezzled a single penny of military pay, never missed a single cart of provisions, and never abandoned a single wounded soldier." Chen San gripped the broken sword, his knuckles white, his voice filled with grief and indignation. "The commander praised me for my loyalty and bravery, my comrades respected me for my reliability, and the people remembered my hard work. I believe that even if I die on the battlefield, I will have died a worthy death, fulfilling my duty to my country and my conscience."

But life is unpredictable, and people's hearts are treacherous.

Six months ago, a new commander took office in the Northern Frontier Army. He aligned himself with powerful factions in the court, mistreated his former subordinates, embezzled military pay, and even embezzled frontline provisions, substituting inferior goods for superior ones. Chen San, upright and outspoken, saw countless soldiers die or be wounded due to moldy rations and shortages of medicinal herbs. He spoke out against this, angering the commander. Enraged, the commander fabricated charges against him, accusing him of colluding with the barbarians and stealing military provisions. He was dismissed from the army, stripped of all pay and benefits, and reduced from a garrison commander to a homeless vagrant overnight.

His comrades, fearing disaster, dared not acknowledge him; his relatives and friends avoided him, afraid of being implicated; he dedicated his life to the cause of protecting his country, without a wife, children, land, or house, and in his old age he was left all alone, starving and freezing, only able to huddle under the city walls, barely surviving.

"I guarded the nation's borders my whole life, protected the people my whole life, and in the end, I was abandoned like a worn-out shoe by the very court I protected." Chen San sobbed uncontrollably, his chest heaving violently, overwhelmed by grief and indignation. His coughing intensified, and he vomited a mouthful of blood, which splattered onto the broken sword, making the rust even more gruesome. "My heart was full of loyalty and righteousness, yet I have nowhere to place it... What use is this loyalty and righteousness? Does this country even remember me?"

Su Qingxuan listened quietly, his heart churning with turmoil.

From a young age, he studied Confucian classics, revering loyalty and righteousness, and upholding integrity and courage. He believed that "Heaven will surely reward those who do good" and that "a gentleman's character and reputation will not be tarnished." But the plight of the old soldier before him shattered these Confucian principles in the harsh reality. Loyalty and righteousness do not guarantee rewards; those who defend their country are not necessarily treated well; a heart full of sincerity cannot withstand factional infighting, and a lifetime of merit has left him destitute in his old age. This is the shattering of ideals, the injustice of morality, and the cruelest manifestation of reality.

He recalled the feuds in Hanshi Town, where martial arts could still be used to stop the fighting; he recalled the evil spirits and plague in Anling Town, which could still be dispelled by ancestral artifacts. But the infighting in the hearts of men, the corruption in the court, and the burying of loyalty and righteousness in this world could not be resolved by weapons or removed by magic. The Confucian concept of "righteousness" seemed so pale and so powerless at this moment.

Chen San's breath grew weaker and weaker, grief and indignation exhausting his last vestige of life. He tightly gripped the broken sword, offered it to Su Qingxuan, and said in a trembling voice, "Young master... this sword accompanied me in slaying the barbarians, protecting the grain, and witnessing my lifelong loyalty... Now, I entrust it to you. Remember for me, in this world, there are still words like loyalty and righteousness... Ask for me, where should this loyal heart finally find its place..."

Before he finished speaking, the old soldier's arm dropped, and the broken sword fell into Su Qingxuan's hand. His eyes were wide open, and he died with resentment in his heart, unable to close his eyes in peace until his death.

A north wind swept through the alleyway, stirring up dust that settled on the old soldier's pale face, as if draping a thin veil of sorrow over this soldier who had spent his life guarding the land. Su Qingxuan gripped the broken sword, its blade cold, its rust concealing the hardships of battlefields, its bloodstains holding the weight of a lifetime of loyalty and righteousness. His heart was filled with grief. He had always cultivated his character and maintained a clear mind, yet at this moment, he felt an endless weight—the weight of buried loyalty and righteousness, the weight of crushed ideals, the weight of the innocent suffering of the common people.

The young man stood up, looked around, and saw that although there were thousands of soldiers and civilians in the city, no one was willing to collect the remains of this lone soldier. Without further hesitation, he carried the old soldier's body on his back and slowly walked out of Anbian City, finding a sunny loess slope outside the city. Here, sheltered from the wind and warm, one could see the northern border wall in the distance, with the beacon towers faintly visible. This was the land the old soldier had guarded all his life; to be buried here would be a fitting resting place for his soul.

Su Qingxuan set down the old soldier, using his fingers as a hoe, channeling his immense inner strength, his fingertips digging into the earth like blades, slowly clearing away the yellow soil. Although he was only ten years old, his inner strength was profound, and in less than half an hour, he had dug a neat grave. He took off his blue outer robe and carefully wrapped it around the old soldier's body, then, according to Confucian burial rites, gently placed the old soldier into the grave.

Filling the grave, sealing the mound, and adding soil—the young man moved gently and meticulously, performing a Confucian-style funeral, honoring the old soldier's virtue in guarding the land. Standing before the tomb, he straightened his clothes, bowed three times, and recited Confucian words of loyalty and righteousness: "Old man, you spent your life guarding the border, protecting the land and its people. Your loyalty and courage are evident. Confucian scholars uphold righteousness, respect loyalty and integrity. Your loyalty and righteousness have not failed Heaven and Earth, nor the common people. Though you have not received rewards from the court, your name will live on forever."

After paying his respects, Su Qingxuan sat quietly before the tomb, his eyes slightly closed, and used his understanding of Buddhist principles of compassion to console the old soldier's obsession. He spoke softly, his voice gentle, like a spring breeze and soothing rain, washing away worldly attachments: "Your loyalty and righteousness lie in your heart, not in rewards or honors; in the common people, not in the court. Worldly honors and disgrace, nobility and baseness, are all external appearances, all illusions. Clinging to courtly approval traps you in worldly ties, preventing liberation. Let go of external desires, uphold your inner loyalty, cast aside your grief and resentment, and your soul will find peace. This is what Buddhism calls 'liberation and freedom.'"

That year, he heard the recluse in the rain speak of the common origin of the three religions (Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism). He learned that Buddhism's teaching of "letting go" did not negate loyalty and righteousness, but rather meant letting go of the attachment to empty fame and rewards, and preserving the purity of one's true self. The old soldier had been loyal and righteous his entire life, his sincerity unblemished, and he had no need for rewards from the court to prove his worth. The court's ingratitude should not have turned into his grief and obsession; only by letting go of this obsession could he find peace.

Su Qingxuan had an epiphany. The Buddhist concept of letting go shouldn't be a hollow denial. If one merely talks about letting go without acknowledging the old soldier's loyalty and righteousness, it's just empty talk of compassion, failing to truly understand his heart. Confucianism values ​​righteousness and needs to affirm his loyalty; Taoism emphasizes detachment and needs to let go of gains and losses; Buddhism's letting go requires releasing him from attachments. All three are indispensable. And this affirmation needs something to bear witness to ensure the old soldier's peace and the enduring nature of his loyalty and righteousness.

With this thought in mind, Su Qingxuan reached into his robes and took out the ancestral bronze seal.

The seal is ancient and simple, its seal script vigorous and powerful. Despite the passage of ten thousand years, it remains warm and lustrous. This seal has accompanied him on his long journeys, calming the turbulent waves of the river and bringing peace to the souls of the dead in plague-stricken lands. But never before has it been used to witness the hearts of men and affirm righteousness as it is today. The young man's fingertips lightly caressed the surface of the seal, and a surge of righteous energy welled up from his dantian, flowing into the seal. The small bronze seal became slightly warm, with a faint spiritual light flowing through it.

He bent down and gently pressed the seal onto the yellow earth in front of the tomb, giving it a slight pressure.

The loess soil is firm, yet beneath the seal, a clear and ancient mark remains. The seal's pattern exudes a righteous and awe-inspiring aura, gentle and peaceful, unlike the power of slaughter, yet it bears witness to the sincerity of a true testament. It is as if heaven and earth bear witness, and one's own heart is the proof, engraving the old soldier's lifelong loyalty and righteousness on this loess soil, leaving it on this northern frontier.

Su Qingxuan stood before the tomb and said softly, "Old man, this seal is proof that you were loyal and righteous in your heart, and that you did not fail the court or the people. You protected the country and its people, and your true heart is clear. May your heart be at peace and your soul find tranquility."

As the words fell, the north wind suddenly softened, no longer biting. The yellow earth imprints in front of the tomb faintly glowed with a barely perceptible light, as if the old soldier's obsession had completely dissipated, and his grief and indignation had turned into peace. Su Qingxuan looked at the tomb again and seemed to see the old soldier's eyes closed, his face serene, finally able to close his eyes and sleep peacefully.

The young man sat quietly before the grave, motionless for a long time. His mind gradually calmed down, and amidst the cruel reality and the shattering of his ideals, he seemed to gain a deeper understanding of the principle of the integration of the three religions.

Confucianism values ​​righteousness, upholds loyalty and integrity, and adheres to the correctness of one's heart. However, it is easily trapped by worldly gains and losses and by obsession with reputation. When faced with the oppression of reality, it will feel grief and indignation and will not be able to get out of it.

Taoism is optimistic and sees through the ups and downs of life, knowing that factional infighting and the glory and disgrace of the court are all worldly illusions. It uses the principles of nature to release worries and anger, not clinging to gains and losses, and not being trapped by circumstances.

Buddhism advocates letting go, relinquishing worldly desires, freeing oneself from attachments, realizing one's true nature, and achieving peace and tranquility. However, this does not negate the value of loyalty and righteousness, but rather returns to the purity of one's original mind.

If these three are separated, each has its shortcomings: clinging to Confucianism leads to predicament, clinging to Taoism leads to emptiness, and clinging to Buddhism leads to nihilism. Only by integrating the three, establishing Confucianism as its foundation and affirming the value of one's original heart, resolving worries through Taoism and letting go of worldly anxieties, and dispelling attachments through Buddhism and freeing oneself from worldly desires, can we resolve the most complex human dilemma in the world and face the disillusionment of ideals and the cruelty of reality.

The small bronze seal in his arms now appeared even more mysterious. It did not belong to any particular sect, neither a Confucian ritual object, nor a Taoist artifact, nor a Buddhist token, yet it possessed the power to ward off evil, soothe the soul, and prove one's faith. Its power of "faith" and "proof" was beginning to manifest—it bore witness not to courtly laws or sectarian rules, but to the true nature of heaven and earth, to human morality, and to the purest goodness and loyalty of all beings. At this moment, Su Qingxuan was unaware that this ancestral seal, in the distant future, would not merely be a relic of the Su family, nor simply a cultivation tool, but a legally binding document transcending the three religions, witnessing the morality of heaven and earth, and becoming the supreme symbol of the unification of the three religions.

Su Qingxuan stood up, placed the broken sword beside the tomb, broke off a piece of wood to make a tombstone, and used his finger as a pen to carve the six characters "Tomb of Garrison Soldier Chen San" on the wooden tablet. The characters were steady and the style was dignified. He took one last look at the yellow earthen mound and the ancient mark, then turned and left.

The north wind still blows, the wild geese still cry, the smoke of war still rises, and the young man's heart for the Dao remains unchanged. He has endured the pain of loyalty and righteousness being buried in the grave, and the path of the integration of the three religions is faintly emerging, with a glimmer of light shining through the road ahead.

After leaving the loess slope, it took another two days to travel south. The mountains gradually rose up, shrouded in clouds and mist. Langya Mountain stood majestically, with a Taoist temple with green tiles and upturned eaves hidden among the clouds and mist. This was the Qingxu Temple where he was seeking enlightenment.

A young man in a blue robe, carrying a bag on his back and with a heart set on seeking the Dao, composed himself and set off singing. The path of seeking the Dao, where mortals and saints walk together, has entered a new realm.

It is:

The cold bones of the border town bury loyal souls, and a seal on the yellow earth bears witness to their true hearts.

Only by embracing righteousness and harmony can one break free from bondage; from this point on, the path of youth becomes ever more profound.