However, Chu Huaixu did not notice his strange behavior and said to Chen, "Thank you, Master, but Huaixu is not afraid."
Master Liaochen sighed softly, turned and left, muttering to himself, "Foolish child, oh foolish child..."
Chu Huaixu wrapped his arms around Song Ting's waist from behind, feeling the body beneath his palms tense, and immediately laughed:
"Don't be nervous, I won't become a monk..."
He seemed to find it amusing and tapped Song Ting's nose:
“If I become a monk, what will you do? With that on my mind, I definitely won’t be able to concentrate on copying scriptures and chanting Buddhist prayers.”
Song Ting didn't turn around, and said sullenly, "Hmm."
Chu Huaixu: "Anyway, you promised me that no matter what happens, you would stay by my side, protect me, and love me, right?"
He rested his chin on Song Ting's shoulder, his voice laced with laughter, clearly not taking the master's advice to heart at all.
Song Ting's arms hung down at his sides, clenched into fists:
"Yes, your servant will protect you. As long as I have a breath left, I will never let anyone hurt you."
Chu Huaixu gently kissed his ear and chuckled, "Alright, I'll remember that. With you protecting me, I won't trouble Buddha..."
The memories are still vivid, and the promises made back then still echo in my ears, but everything has changed.
Chu Huaixu also fell from the high clouds, covered in dust and mud.
Master Liaochen's words turned out to be prophetic.
Only Song Ting broke her promise.
“I should have followed the master and become a monk in the first place,” Chu Huaixu said.
Song Ting held him tightly, her arms tightening around him, her dark eyes flashing with a fierce despair born of unrequited love.
"No, if you become a monk, I will raze all the temples to the ground and force all monks to return to secular life, so that they can never be ordained again."
In the Great Yan Dynasty, everyone from the royal family to ordinary people worships Buddha. If Song Tingruo dares to target monks, he will become the target of public criticism and a sinner of the Great Yan Dynasty.
But Chu Huaixu didn't believe his oath. This man's promise was like the clouds in the sky—intangible, ungraspable, and changing in an instant.
He bit down on Song Ting's prominent Adam's apple and smiled slightly: "I dare not trust your words anymore, sir."
He only let go when he saw a little blood, and licked the teeth marks he had made.
His face clearly held a smile, but his words were the complete opposite—cold and indifferent: "Didn't you say you were busy? Why aren't you leaving?"
Song Ting released his hand, and Chu Huaixu stood up.
The doors and windows in the room were tightly closed all night, with only a brief gust of wind letting in when Song Ting came over, making the suffocating feeling even stronger.
Chu Huaixu walked to the window and gently pushed it open. Outside the window were several ginkgo trees.
Although it was far less robust than the tree used for prayer, several pieces of red silk were tied to its branches.
Chu Huaixu was slightly taken aback.
A monk was sweeping outside, his broom rustling as he swept the fallen leaves under the tree, where they had already piled up into a considerable heap.
Another monk followed behind, carrying a copper basin. Wherever the broom swept, he would sprinkle water there.
Seeing someone under the window, the two monks walked over and bowed to Chu Huaixu in a Buddhist salute: "Amitabha."
Chu Huaixu clasped his hands together and bowed in return, saying, "Amitabha."
The two had barely started discussing whether or not to become monks when a monk came to provoke him, and Song Ting's face darkened to a depths of black.
He strode over quickly and slammed the window shut again.
Chu Huaixu laughed so hard he couldn't stand up straight, his finger poking Song Ting's heart:
"Your Excellency is so lawless, aren't you afraid of Buddha's wrath?"
“I’m not afraid,” Song said. “You are my god, and you are my Buddha. As long as you don’t blame me, I’m not afraid of anything.”
“But I hate you.” Chu Huaixu looked at him. “I wish you would die right now.”
With the sacrificial ceremony just around the corner, Song Ting was indeed as busy as he had said, keeping himself extremely busy.
After he left in the morning, Chu Huaixu had a simple breakfast and then went back to bed, sleeping until noon. After lunch, he continued to sleep.
He slept until dark.
Chu Huaixu was a light sleeper, always restless at night and unable to catch up on sleep during the day. But this time, he slept soundly for days on end.
Perhaps it is the tranquility of the Buddhist temple that makes people sleep well.
It rained during the day, but the night was sunny. Chu Huaixu had been cooped up in the house all day and finally got tired of it, so he put on his outer robe and went out for a walk to clear his head.
This scattering eventually reached the Buddhist hall.
This Buddhist hall is not for worshippers to offer incense, but rather for the placement of ever-burning lamps.
If worshippers wish, they can donate some money for incense to light an ever-burning lamp for their relatives and friends, so that they can receive incense offerings day and night.
The Buddhist hall is not very large. A Buddha statue stands in the center, and there is an incense table and a prayer cushion in front of the Buddha.
An elderly monk was kneeling in front of a Buddha statue, striking a wooden fish drum repeatedly.
On both sides of the Buddhist hall, there were several rows of iron frames, densely packed with lit lamps. Those were the ever-burning lamps.
The White Horse Temple is so popular that it has more ever-burning lamps than other temples.
With a knocking sound, Chu Huaixu took off his mask, stepped over, and stood in front of the shelf.
Some of the lamps in front of him had names on them, while others did not. Chu Huaixu looked at them one by one, and after identifying the last lamp, he asked the chanting monk:
"Excuse me, Master, I would like to donate some everlasting lamps."
The monk then stopped what he was doing, opened his eyes, and met Chu Huaixu's gaze.
"You look familiar, may I ask if your surname is Chu?"
Chu Huaixu clenched his fists tightly at his sides, his fingertips trembling slightly: "You recognize me?"
"I just felt he looked familiar," the monk said.
Chu Huaixu did not recognize him. He used to come to Baima Temple every year and had seen many monks there.
Aside from the abbot at the time and later Master Liaochen, he didn't pay much attention to anyone else.
But he himself was strikingly handsome, so it wouldn't be surprising if any of the monks from back then remembered what he looked like.
"For whom does the benefactor wish to donate an everlasting lamp?"
"For my parents, brothers, and... other innocent people who have suffered."
"If that's the case, then there's no need."
Chu Huaixu looked at him somewhat blankly: "What do you mean by this, Master?"
"Because someone has already lit a lamp for you," the monk said.
Chu Huaixu's fingertips trembled even more violently, and his face turned deathly pale.
"But I didn't..."
Their names were not found among those ever-burning lamps.
For so many years, they have been burdened with false accusations and have nowhere to go but to appear in Chu Huaixu's dreams every night, reminding him not to forget the deep-seated hatred.
“Please come with me, benefactor.”
The monk took a candle and led Chu Huaixu behind the Buddha statue.
It was only at this point that the latter discovered the hidden secret behind the Buddha statue—there was a secret door at the base of the Buddha statue.
The monk placed his palm on it and pressed gently, and the door slowly opened.
Chu Huaixu peered inside, but it was pitch black and he couldn't see anything.
The monk had already gone inside with a lantern, so Chu Huaixu had no choice but to follow.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com