when.
There was a muffled sound, and a dull pain came from the forehead.
The young man tried hard to suppress the irritability and annoyance in his heart, and tried his best to appear as calm and indifferent as ever.
In front of him, on a mat so tattered that the cotton was exposed, sat an old man with a naturally smiling face and a messy beard.
The old man was holding a copper bowl in his hand, and the muffled sound just now was the sound made by the close contact between the copper bowl and the boy's head.
"Awei, do you like tea or water?"
It was this simple question again, but I couldn't count how many times he asked me that question today.
The boy clenched his fists calmly and answered as calmly as possible.
"Clear water."
when.
Another unceremonious blow.
The boy finally couldn't bear it anymore, and the emotions that had been suppressed for so long overflowed like a wild beast released from the cage.
"It's wrong to choose what you don't like, and it's wrong to choose what you like. What do you want from me?!"
The old man was neither anxious nor annoyed, and his expression remained the same. He stretched out his left hand and pointed three fingers upwards.
At the end of the darkness spreading upwards, there is a small window, and outside the window is the chaotic day and night.
"Awei, do you prefer day or night?"
Of course it’s night.
The night was so quiet, secretive, tolerant and silent that he could hide all his unbearableness and evil thoughts without much effort.
Hearing that he remained silent, the old man retracted his index finger and circled it in the shape of a lotus.
The border that is faintly visible in the darkness is made up of countless ancient stone bricks, and inside the stone bricks are the lonely self and the unsympathetic master.
"Awei, do you prefer being alone or with your mother?"
With my mother, of course.
His mother is the only light he can see in the long night. As long as that light is there, he can use the shadow to separate himself from the all-consuming darkness.
He remained silent. The old man withdrew his left hand, picked up the two clay pots beside him, and refilled the water and tea on the stone table.
"Whether it's tea or water, day or night, alone or in a group, it's all the same. When you understand this, you'll be able to leave this tower."
Reason? What kind of reason was this? What he didn't understand even more was why this was the reason?
For years, countless days and nights, he had stood alone in the darkness against the world. He was so versed in the scriptures and knew the essence of Buddhism by heart, so how could he not find the answer to such a simple question?
Perhaps there are no answers to these questions.
Perhaps his master never thought of letting him leave the tower.
Perhaps, all the supreme Dharma and wisdom and enlightenment are just excuses to set up this tiny prison, a curse that will imprison him for life.
He suddenly swept towards the stone platform, and the water and tea on the platform were instantly overturned and splashed all over the floor.
"How can tea be water? How can day be night? How can loneliness be the same as company?"
His master was always kind and tolerant to the world, but he was extremely harsh to him. It seemed that he was not his disciple, but a demon that he had to spend his whole life to deal with.
But he considered himself adept at endurance. Unlike physical torture, exploring the void in this narrow, dark, sunlightless nothingness was far more devastating than the cruelest torture in the world.
But he's been doing great. Until now.
This was the first time he lost his composure in front of his master, and he certainly knew what it meant.
Years of self-sufficiency and hard work were undone in a single night. Would he never escape this cage, this prison built just for him, never pass his master's test? Even so, he demanded an answer. If that answer was nothingness, he would abandon all his cultivation, rip through the void that trapped him, and unleash the beast within him once and for all.
The water spread around the stone platform, dripping onto the old monk's tattered robe.
The old man looked at the young man.
The boy's cold, hardened demeanor already held the charm of the man back then, except for his eyes and brows, which bore the resemblance to his mother's. Regardless of his expression, he retained a touch of purity and gentleness. Yet, beneath this surface, there was often a dangerous turmoil, and the depths of those dark eyes seemed to conceal a terrifying storm.
The old man half-closed his eyes, still smiling, but his fingers stroking the copper bowl moved faster and faster.
"Tea and water both come from heaven and earth, and will return to heaven and earth. Day will eventually turn to night, and night will eventually usher in day. You came from nothingness alone, and will eventually return to nothingness alone. You have always been alone, so how can you say you are lonely?"
The boy was speechless.
When it comes to debating scriptures and discussing the Dharma, he has never been a match for his teacher.
But since his teacher was so knowledgeable and spent so much effort to pass on his skills to him, why did he refuse to tell him the answer to this question?
"If one wishes to understand all the Buddhas of the past, present, and future, one should contemplate the nature of the Dharmadhatu, which is created by the mind alone."
Was his heart not strong enough? Or had his mindset reached its limit? He thought there was a world beyond nothingness, but in reality, his world would end at the end of his life in this withered tower.
"When the mind arises, all kinds of dharmas arise; when the mind ceases, all kinds of dharmas cease."
No.
That's not the case.
It shouldn't be like this.
The overturned teacup was still tilted there, and the clear water that spilled on half the table slowly merged and mixed with the tea, as if they could no longer be distinguished from each other.
He stared at the water stains that were flowing slowly, and the reflection deep in his pupils suddenly stopped.
"It's never this tower that's trapped you, but the choice in your heart." The old man's voice seemed real and illusory, sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes old, sometimes young. "Since you love water, choosing tea will make you resentful; since you love the night, the day will make you anxious all day long; since you love your loved ones, the pain of losing them will make you obsessed. But unfortunately, you are born with more love, hate, and obsession than ordinary people. Ordinary people mourn for three days, but you will mourn for three years. Ordinary people only grieve for a few years, but for you, it will be like the collapse of the sky and the end of the world. If you never made a choice, then the resentment, confusion, and obsession would no longer exist, and your inner peace would last forever."
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