Chapter 528: Passing by Stirs the Wind

The ancient temple in the mountains lay beneath a vast sky where the stars slowly revolved. A faint light had begun to creep over the horizon, heralding the coming dawn.

The room Master Xuanhua had arranged for Song You was tucked into the highest, most secluded corner of the mountain temple. It was a small, simple space. Like the others, it had a window but no door, offering a quiet retreat where he would not be easily disturbed.

The wooden bed was covered with only a thin cloth, barely different from sleeping directly on the hard planks.

Water was precious here. Even more so in a mountain temple. There was no indulgence in washing or bathing. The winds were strong, and the air was dry. Washing one’s face carelessly could result in cracked skin from the cold gusts. Thus, Song You used half a cloth, dampened it with a little water, and merely wiped the dust from his face.

As he sat on the bed wiping his face, the calico cat perched on the windowsill, peeking her head out to gaze at the vast expanse beyond.

“It’s so high up here!” she said without turning her head.

“Indeed.”

“It’s so hot during the day, but so cold at night—just like the mountains we traveled through!”

“You should remember this place, Lady Calico.”

“Hmm?” The calico cat abruptly turned her head to look at him.

“This is the character and symbol of this place, a treasure gained by you as you passed through. It will become a part of your life’s experience.” Song You continued wiping his face, his voice calm.

He said, “If you can quiet your heart and carefully perceive how this place differs from others, if you can understand the spiritual resonance behind those differences and appreciate their mysteries, then that too will be part of your cultivation.”

After a brief pause, Song You added, “It is the same for you outside the window as well, Yan An.”

The calico cat perched on the windowsill turned her head and stared at him, her gaze blank and unreadable. No one could tell what thoughts were swirling inside that small feline head. After a long while, she finally let out a soft “

Mhm

,” then withdrew her gaze and leaned closer to the window, trying to catch sight of the swallow perched at the edge of the eaves outside.

Of course, she saw nothing.

The cold wind howled just beyond the window.

Beside the room was a narrow stone corridor. A hole in the outer mountain wall allowed the wind to funnel through, carrying a chilling draft into the room.

This was the kind of place where the monks of this cliffside temple lived and practiced their ascetic cultivation.

It was certainly not an ordinary life.

“Have you seen enough, Lady Calico? If so, you should come back and wash your face.” The Daoist’s voice drifted over. “But water is scarce here, so you’ll have to make do with my used handkerchief.”

Still clinging to the windowsill, the cat didn’t even turn her head. She simply replied, “No need. I will just use my own saliva to wash my face later.”

After a brief pause, she added, “That’s what cats do.”

Then, another pause—before adding yet another remark, “Saves water.”

Her tone was incredibly serious, as if she was genuinely thinking on Song You’s behalf.

Hearing this, Song You couldn’t help but shake his head with amusement.

So this little creature had finally found an excuse.

“Alright, then.”

Song You didn’t press the matter. He simply wrung the water from the cloth, hung it by the bedside, and lay down to sleep.

Though this corner of the temple was at the highest point, and though there was no door, few people ever passed by. Even so, he did not sleep well.

The high-altitude winds were too loud, howling through the cracks, filling the night with relentless noise. The room itself was drafty, and it wasn’t until morning that the wind finally calmed.

But then, without missing a beat, the chanting of Buddhist scriptures began in the temple.

It was unclear how many monks resided in these mountains, but their discordant chanting rose with the scent of incense, drifting upward—perhaps toward the Western Paradise, perhaps simply past Song You’s room—disturbing his already fragile sleep.

And in between all that came the chatter of two little demons.

Lady Calico darted in and out of the room, occasionally leaping onto the wooden bed to peer closely at Song You. It was unclear whether she was checking if he had woken up or if he was

still alive

. Though she moved lightly and made no unnecessary noise, whenever she got too close, her breath tickled the tip of his nose—an unmistakable presence.

By midmorning, when Song You finally woke up, she was nowhere to be seen.

After slipping on his shoes and stepping out to search for her, he followed the swallows’ guidance and discovered her perched outside a cave, standing on her hind legs with her front paws gripping the entrance as she curiously peeked inside—watching the monks engaged in a debate on Buddhist doctrine.

The moment she spotted Song You, she turned around and

meow

ed excitedly, beckoning him over to watch the argument with her.

With a sigh of resignation, Song You walked over and stood beside her to observe.

Debating Buddhist doctrine was much like any other form of philosophical argument.

Buddhist teachings were profound and often cryptic. A single phrase could be interpreted differently by different people, let alone an entire scripture. These differing interpretations formed individual understandings of Buddhist principles.

But whose understanding came closer to the truth? Whose interpretation could convince the most people? Whose doctrine would gain broader recognition among both scholars and laypeople?

That was precisely what debate was for.

The goal was to persuade the opponent or gain the approval of the audience.

Like any debate, there were winners and losers. Some might be swayed by their opponent’s reasoning, while others—though deemed the “loser”—remained steadfast in their beliefs and disregarded their loss.

Regardless of whether they were the victors or the defeated, or merely monks observing the debate, all would often gain significant insight. As a result, in these times, monks were highly enthusiastic about Buddhist debates, even considering their debate records as a measure of their depth in Buddhist teachings. Many renowned monks rose to fame through their skill in such debates.

Sometimes, such debates even included Daoists debating against monks.

The scene inside the cave was quite interesting.

A significant number of monks were present, but the two main debaters stood at the center. The rest, whether standing or sitting, positioned themselves behind one of the debaters.

One debater had more supporters behind him, while the other had fewer.

As the debate progressed, these monks continuously switched sides—indicating their support for the argument that resonated most with them at any given moment.

The constant shuffling of positions made it clear that both debaters were highly eloquent, their skills evenly matched. The real losers of this fierce argument seemed to be the spectators, who were repeatedly convinced and swayed back and forth.

The central question of the debate was: how should Buddhism truly bring salvation to all beings?

Standing at the doorway, Song You listened for a while alongside Lady Calico. Song You realized that this discussion was rooted in the current drought and the immense suffering of the people. Though they spoke of “all beings,” their words clearly referred to the suffering masses of the Northwest.

This wasn’t a sign of narrow-mindedness—on the contrary, it revealed the pragmatic mindset of the monks in this cliffside temple.

Thus, a more fitting title for the debate would be,

How can Buddhism save the people of the Northwest amidst this natural disaster?

Song You had discussed a similar topic with Master Xuanhua and Prefect Wei the previous night.

Inside the cave, the two monks held opposing views at this moment.

One of them made a particularly radical argument.

He bluntly stated that the countless Buddhas and Bodhisattvas of the heavens receive offerings from the people yet provide little aid during the drought. He insisted that Buddhism’s salvation could not rely on mere rhetoric and repeatedly cited examples to support his case.

He even brought up the incident from last night, when Song You summoned a deity, using it as evidence to argue that the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas had little power to combat the drought.

It sounded terrifying, but in reality, it wasn’t so bad.

Everyone had the potential to become a Buddha. Any accomplished monk possessed a Buddha’s heart and followed their own path of Buddhist teachings. If one truly sought to attain Buddhahood, they could not simply accept the existing Buddha without question. Otherwise, they would merely be a follower.

Another person held the completely opposite view, believing that the Buddha had the power to govern the drought and that it was merely a test for the people, a way of conforming to nature. In their perspective, even if the Buddha did nothing, as long as people revered and worshiped him, they could attain emotional ease amidst suffering.

To endure hardship without their hearts suffering as well was, in itself, a form of salvation. This person cited numerous examples of devout believers, referenced past lives and present ones, and supported their argument with Buddhist scriptures.

The debate was fierce, and the monks listened intently. At times, they were so astonished that their eyes widened in shock, exclaiming aloud; at other times, they clapped in admiration, their hearts filled with respect.

Yet, who among them would truly attain Buddhahood in the years to come?

Song You had been standing at the entrance, listening for quite a while before he was finally noticed.

“Could this be Daoist Master Song?”

“When did Daoist Master Song arrive?”

“Daoist Master Song, how long have you been listening? Do you have any insights to share?”

“...”

At that moment, the two debaters remained at a stalemate, each holding firm to their beliefs. While the majority of the monks leaned toward the first argument, it was only a temporary advantage, a fleeting shift in momentum. Now, upon seeing Song You’s arrival, the crowd grew excited and eagerly invited him inside, hoping to hear his thoughts.

But Song You merely shook his head and replied that he was only here to find his cat. With that, he took his feline companion and left.

He knew nothing about how the Buddha of the Western Paradise would offer salvation during a drought. Nor did he know how the monks of Xuanbi Temple would use Buddhist teachings to aid the people. Those matters belonged to others.

He only knew his own way, and that was to summon the Rain God and ask him to fulfill his duty.

However, the monk who had argued that “Buddhism’s salvation could not rely on mere rhetoric” caught Song You’s attention. He seemed to be one of Master Xuanhua’s disciples.

Just yesterday, when Master Xuanhua had gone to capture the Driftling, this monk had followed by his side. Last night, when Song You discussed matters with Master Xuanhua and Prefect Wei by lamplight, the monk had also remained seated beside his master, staying late into the night.

During their conversation, Song You had once mentioned the matter of Yidu’s monks, and this person had continuously nodded in agreement, appearing to be quite approving of his words.

Behind him, the sound of the debate continued, its duration uncertain, the outcome unknown. Regardless of who won or lost, Song You was eventually persuaded to stay for a midday meal with Master Xuanhua before he prepared to depart.

At the base of the Xuanbi Temple, surrounded by the loess mountains, the Daoist carefully placed his travel bag onto the back of his horse. Master Xuanhua brought him a bundle of baked flatbreads and four watermelons as provisions for his journey—dry rations and a source of water.

Meanwhile, Prefect Wei handed him a personally written letter, stating that when he arrived in Shazhou, should he need any assistance, he could present the letter to the local prefect.

“Many thanks for your kindness. I will accept them with gratitude.”

Whether it was the personal letter of a high-ranking official or the simple gift of baked flatbread and melons from a monk, Song You treated them as valuable offerings and solemnly received them before cupping his hands in farewell.

“Then, I take my leave.”

No more words were needed.

He simply moved forward, stepping into the vast, endless sea of golden sand.

Today’s weather was the same as yesterday’s and the same as it had been for most of the past half-month—an endless expanse of clear blue sky without a single cloud. The sun was so bright it hurt the eyes, casting its harsh glare upon the vast yellow earth, making the mountains shine blindingly.

When they first arrived, they had thought it was good weather for traveling. It was just a little too hot. But now, they no longer saw it as mere heat; they understood that this relentless sun was the source of the people's suffering in this land.

The Daoist walked ahead, leaning on his staff as he moved forward at a steady pace. His jujube-red horse followed behind him, while a calico cat stepped gingerly across the sun-scorched yellow mud ground, twisting its body as it walked. Every so often, it would glance back at them.

High in the sky, a swallow flew.

As the wind stirred, lifting the yellow sand into the air, the travelers soon disappeared from sight.

The gathered monks and a few officials finally withdrew their gazes, though they still squinted slightly, lost in deep thought.

Last night had been an extraordinary moment in their lives.

“To hear of someone is nothing compared to meeting them in person...” Prefect Wei stroked his beard and let out a long sigh.

“Oh?” Master Xuanhua, standing beside him, turned his head curiously. “Prefect, you had heard of Daoist Song before?”

“I’ve heard of him for years. Several years ago, his name reached me. And in the years since, I’ve heard bits and pieces again. But I was ignorant. When I first met him, I did not recognize him as the legendary figure from those tales.”

“And he is...?”

“That is a long story.”

Prefect Wei turned around. Standing beneath the Xuanbi Temple, he recounted to Master Xuanhua the legend of Immortal Song.

Master Xuanhua listened in silence, deep in thought.

The monks behind him, however, were astonished, as if they were hearing a mythical tale.

“

Ah

...” Master Xuanhua sighed softly.

“What is it, Master?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Since the drought in Longzhou no longer requires our aid, and since Daoist Song has already summoned the Rain God and persuaded him to adjust the wind and rain here, then you should also take your leave.”

Master Xuanhua pressed his palms together and bowed slightly. “After today, I, too, must leave.”

“Master, you’re leaving? Where will you go?”

“Wherever the people’s suffering takes me.”

“But Master, you are the abbot of Xuanbi Temple.”

“All the more reason for me to go.”

Master Xuanhua turned to face him, his expression calm. “Prefect, you saw what happened last night. We Buddhist monks have preached in the Northwest and have been greatly revered and loved by the people. Yet, when the great drought arrived, neither I nor the Buddha himself could do anything to help. In the end, it was the Rain God who was needed to bring relief to the suffering. The Buddha should feel ashamed, and I, too, feel ashamed.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “Last night, when I heard from Daoist Master Song about Master Yidu of the Central Plains, I was deeply moved. Yet, out of my own complacency, I still hesitated, unwilling to yield.

“But now, after hearing from you that even an immortal like Daoist Master Song still walks among the people, what reason do I, who possess only a meager reputation and shallow cultivation, have to linger here? I believe it is time for me to journey to where suffering exists—to be worthy of the people’s devotion.”

Prefect Wei was stunned.

He had assumed that a high monk of such spiritual attainment would have an unwavering heart, that his mastery of Buddhist teachings had already reached completion. Yet, who would have thought that a single encounter, a night of conversation, could bring about such a transformation in him?