The chanting continued on the high platform. The old monk's deep voice, as if imbued with magic, enveloped the entire oppressive square: "The land is barren for thousands of miles, the rivers have dried up... This is not a natural disaster, but a man-made calamity! It is divine punishment caused by the collective karma of all living beings!"

He suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze sharp as lightning, sweeping over the prostrate crowd below the stage. "Greed, anger, ignorance, pride, and doubt—the five poisons are rampant! Some steal their neighbors' food for their own selfish gain! Some disregard human ethics for a full meal! And some utter evil words and harbor evil thoughts for a little money!"

Each sentence elicited a slight commotion from the audience.

Many of the disaster victims lowered their heads even further, their bodies trembling slightly.

Images of people fighting, cursing, or even worse fighting over food on the street involuntarily surfaced in my mind.

The people of Liushutun also changed their expressions.

The bloodshed of the previous night and the current rhetoric of "divine punishment" intertwined, like heavy shackles around their necks.

They killed people! Their hands are stained with blood! The karma they've inflicted is immense!

"The retribution for good and evil follows like a shadow!" The old monk's voice suddenly rose, carrying the power of thunder. "To avert disaster and resolve difficulties, one must cultivate reverence, perform good deeds, and repent for one's sins!"

His gaze softened, filled with compassion: "The Buddhist path is vast and compassionate. Voluntarily donating money and goods to make offerings to the Three Jewels is the highest form of repentance and the most direct form of atonement! A sincere heart creates a field of merit! It is not forced, it is entirely voluntary! Dear benefactors, the opportunity is right before your eyes, do not miss it!"

The old monk's sermon did not stop. He changed the subject, saying, "Gold and silver treasures cannot be eaten when hungry or drunk when thirsty! They are nothing but dust that blinds the mind! To hold onto them is to hold onto the first of the three poisons: greed, anger, and ignorance! This is the source of all evil, the shackles of hell!"

"Think about how much negative karma you've created by protecting this little bit of 'dust'? How much evil karma you've accumulated? Arguments, fights, even..." He paused meaningfully, "It's stained with injustice and bloodshed! It's already a heavy karmic burden! Putting it in the donation box before the Buddha is washing away the filth! It's true liberation! Only merit is the eternal resource to cross the sea of ​​suffering! Giving up useless dust in exchange for immeasurable merit, this is great wisdom!"

Jiang Chan coldly watched the rosy face on the stage and listened to the distorted and unfounded remarks.

To devalue life-saving food and property as worthless "dust"—what a brilliant rhetoric!

However, the villagers of Liushutun next door were completely shocked by these "shackles" and "bloody" claims!

The scene of the battle in Wengjia Village appeared incredibly clear, as if the grain sacks were truly stained with blood that could not be washed away!

The scenes of being engulfed in flames and fried in oil in the mural came to life!

Fear gripped my heart instantly!

"Sin...it's all sin..." Old Wang's lips trembled as he looked at the bag of millet from Wengjia Village in his arms, his face ashen. "This grain...this grain is burning hot..."

Looking at the terrified and desperate eyes of the villagers around him, and then at the compassionate old monk on the high platform, the village chief felt a chill run from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

He knew the grain was obtained dishonestly, but... he opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

The word "bloody" weighs a ton!

"Everyone!" The old monk's voice rang out again, filled with all-knowing compassion. "The sea of ​​sin is vast, but turning back is the shore! Put down that blood-stained filth, throw yourself into the field of blessings, wash away your sins, and uproot the roots of suffering! Only then can you be liberated! Otherwise, you will be consumed by the fires of karma, fall into hell forever, and suffer for countless eons!" The last sentence was like a declaration from hell.

Old Wang trembled as he untied the grain bag from his arms and held it in his hands as if he were holding a piece of burning coal.

He moved step by step to the donation box, not daring to look at the scarlet opening, and practically threw it in!

"Amitabha! Mountain God, please forgive me! Bodhisattva, please forgive me! This old man... this old man knows he was wrong!"

Li Laosan rushed over and poured the grain he had received from Wengjia Village into the donation box, crying out, "Bodhisattva, have mercy! Forgive me!"

With red eyes, Liu Dazhuang steeled his heart and poured in his share of "sin"!

Driven by fear and guilt, more and more men from Liushutun walked to the huge donation box and poured in the meager amount of grain they had been allocated!

Stiff movements.

Jiang Chan stood still, like a silent iceberg.

She watched as this group of people, who had been excited about receiving such a small amount of food not long ago, now seemed to have had their spines removed, rushing to sacrifice their hope of survival in exchange for a vague promise of "atonement".

Absurd, yet tinged with sadness.

In the square, more disaster victims were inspired and flocked to the donation box.

The clattering of dumping grain, the muffled thuds of kowtowing, mixed with low repentance and sobs, converged into a strange and oppressive torrent.

Jiang Chan watched all this coldly, pushing the cart with Xiao Tao, who was pale and clutching her clothes tightly, silently moving against the flow of people towards the shadows at the edge of the square.

In her eyes, this place of "compassion and salvation" had transformed into a gaping maw that devoured people's hearts.

Next to the heavy donation box piled high with "offerings," a long table had been placed there at some point.

A monk dressed in a neat gray robe, with a solemn expression, sat upright at the table.

A thick, dark red booklet—the Book of Merits—was laid out before him.

Holding a calligraphy brush, his voice, though soft, clearly pierced through the sobs and repentance in the square: "Those who have donated money and prayed for the merit, please come here to register your names and what you wish for! Only when your name is recorded before the Buddha can your merit be proven!"

These words are like water droplets thrown into a pot of boiling oil!

Those disaster victims who had donated grain and kowtowed seemed to have found a more tangible anchor and flocked to the long table!

“Master! Me! I’ll register first!” An old woman with gray hair squeezed to the front, her withered hands pressing on the table, and said urgently, “Old woman Wang Caishi donated half a bowl of millet! I beg you to dedicate the merit to my old man Wang Youtian who starved to death on the way! I beg the Bodhisattva to let him ascend to the Pure Land soon! May he be reborn into a good family in his next life and not go hungry!” Her cloudy eyes were filled with tears.

The monk, expressionless, picked up his brush, dipped it in ink, and neatly wrote: "Wang Caishi donated half a bowl of millet. May it be dedicated to her deceased husband, Wang Youtian, and may he ascend to the Pure Land soon."

After writing it, he recited aloud: "Wang Cai donated half a bowl of millet, may the merit be dedicated to her deceased husband Wang Youtian! May the departed soul of Wang Youtian, through this merit, be freed from the sea of ​​suffering and ascend to—that—bliss—of the Pure Land—"

The voice was loud and clear, echoing throughout the square.

"ah!"

Wang Cai let out a satisfied sob, clasped her hands together, and bowed repeatedly to the monk, saying, "Thank you, Master! Thank you, Bodhisattva!"

The power of role models is boundless!

“Master! It’s my turn!” A tall, thin man rushed forward. “My name is Li Shuanzhu! I donated a handful of coarse rice! I dedicate the merit to my mother, Zhang! She died of illness two years ago! I pray that she may ascend to the Pure Land soon!”

The monk picked up his pen and wrote: "Li Shuanzhu, donate a handful of coarse rice. Dedicate the merit to my deceased mother, Zhang, and pray that she may ascend to the Pure Land soon."

The chanting went: "Li Shuanzhu donates a handful of coarse rice, the merit dedicated to his deceased mother, Zhang! May the departed soul of Zhang, through this merit, soon escape the sea of ​​suffering and ascend to—that—bliss—of the Pure Land—."

"Master! I'm here for you!"

"I! I dedicate this merit to my child who starved to death!"

The crowd surged forward!

"Zhang Xiaomei donated a tattered coat, dedicating the merit to her deceased husband Li Ergou, praying that he may ascend to the Pure Land soon!"

"Zhao Tieniu donated three copper coins, dedicating the merit to his deceased son Zhao Gou Dan, praying that he may ascend to the Pure Land soon!"

...