Chapter 46 Magpie on a Branch (Part 6) Can't I sleep here tonight...?
In an instant, the world spun around.
The wind in the forest, the sound of the pines, the voices of people in the temple at the foot of the mountain... all sounds seemed to be suddenly erased in that instant.
The world fell silent, except for her words, her radiant smile, vivid and lively, piercing through the clarity that Wen Kong was trying so hard to maintain.
"Please, Heaven, grant me a kiss for my master..."
Each word was pierced into his ears.
There was no echo in the mountains, but it kept reverberating in Wen Kong's mind. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. What kind of indestructible body, cast in bronze and iron and immune to all poisons, did the Buddha want him to become worthy of undergoing this trial that was enough to make the mountains and rivers pale in comparison?
For him, it was an absolute catastrophe.
"What kind of body..."
Before he could even utter the last word "unify," his foot suddenly slipped. His mind reeled, and his steps became unsteady. His knees buckled, and he uncontrollably collapsed onto the cold stone steps.
He himself was truly unruly; he could barely speak properly and could barely stand.
"Master!"
Ye Mu exclaimed in surprise and rushed over to help without thinking.
In her haste, she lost her balance and twisted her ankle hard on the edge of the stone steps. With a cry of pain, she tumbled down the steep steps.
Wen Kong's mind went blank for a moment. He propped himself up and hurried down the stone steps. The stone steps were rough, and her thin body rolled uncontrollably downwards, her clothes scraping against the stone surface with a heart-wrenching sound.
In just a few rolls, he caught up, reached out with his long arm, grabbed her arm firmly, and pulled her up abruptly. Due to the momentum, they both staggered, and he barely managed to steady her.
With the sunlight filtering through the mountain crevices, he could see her clearly: her hair was disheveled, and a few strands of her black hair were stuck to her pale forehead with cold sweat.
The most shocking sight was his left leg, where a long gash had been cut open by a sharp stone, exposing the flesh inside and causing blood to gush out, staining the surrounding fabric red. His palms also had multiple abrasions, with mud and blood mixed in, creating a scene of utter chaos.
Fortunately, Ye Mu was wearing a padded jacket on her upper body. Apart from the back of the jacket being torn with several slits of varying lengths and the cotton wadding flying everywhere, her back was unharmed, so she was lucky to escape unscathed.
Wen Kong's breathing quickened slightly. Without any hesitation, he quickly took off his monk's robe and wrapped it tightly around her from head to shoulder. Then he tore off her skirt and used it to stop the bleeding and bandage her wound.
"Can you stand up?"
Ye Mu's lips turned white with pain, and cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She bit her lower lip, leaned on his arm, and tried to shift her weight onto her uninjured right leg. Her left foot had just tentatively touched the ground when a piercing pain shot straight to her head, her leg went weak, and she slid down again.
Wen Kong helped her steady, saying, "You've probably hurt yourself. Don't push yourself."
He said it, but then realized he had spoken too harshly. He pursed his lips and said no more. He turned his back to her, squatted down slightly in front of her, and showed her his broad back.
"Come up."
Ye Mu looked at the figure in only a white undergarment, hesitated for only a moment, then clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Master, are you not injured?"
"No." Wen Kong steadily supported her knees, avoiding the injured area, and with a little effort, he carried her on his back.
His steps were steady, each step on the stone steps was much faster than when he came.
Ye Mu rested on his shoulder. The initial shock had subsided, but pain and lingering fear lingered. If her master hadn't pulled her back in time, there was a bottomless abyss to the south, and she might have rolled down the cliff.
Her left leg was burning, and her palms were stinging. The thought of almost losing her life today, coupled with the karma brought on by her bold words, made her nose sting with tears.
"It's all my fault..." Her muffled voice sounded in his ear, "I shouldn't have joked about monks, Buddha is punishing me..."
As she spoke, tears inexplicably rolled down her cheeks.
Perhaps they were too close, too close, because the tears avoided the collar and dripped onto the skin on Wen Kong's neck, making him feel hot as well.
Wen Kong smiled bitterly, saying that her collar was so tight that the snowflakes were much smaller than her teardrops.
But then I thought, the snowflakes wouldn't deliberately stick to his neck.
And her scent.
It was more tangled than tears, like an unbreakable thread that hooked his thoughts, leaving him nowhere to hide. Though seemingly gentle and tender, it possessed an overwhelming force, threatening to crush his desperately suppressed desires and tranquil mind.
"The Buddha is compassionate and sees through all the ways of the world. He has seen everything, and he will not take offense at these unintentional words."
It's hard to tell who he's trying to comfort—her or his own words—it's probably a combination of both.
However, upon hearing his words, Ye Mu stopped crying. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder and neck, the lines of her shoulder blades rising and falling slightly with his steady and powerful steps.
Having shed the cover of his wide monk's robe, he wore only a pale white undergarment slightly soaked with sweat, revealing the outline of his well-proportioned back muscles—a physique forged through years of solitary meditation and labor, broad and sturdy.
It seems to be naturally suited for people to lean on and lie down on.
Ye Mu suddenly felt a little dazed. She thought that Buddha was really effective. Weren't those absurd and secret thoughts at the Dharma assembly being realized in such a messy and close way?
He took off his monk's robe, wearing only a thin undergarment, and spoke to her, but instead of him holding her, she was holding him tightly.
Ye Mu deliberately sank her body down further, pressing herself more closely against his broad, sweaty back. Her injured leg was pulled, causing a sharp pain that made her hiss softly. Her breath, however, became increasingly warm and moist, brushing against the back of his ear.
"Don't move." Wen Kong's voice suddenly rang out, cold and hard. "Be careful not to fall."
But this cold rebuke was completely contrary to his physical reaction.
His body was very hot, radiating an astonishing heat that was transmitted to her without reservation through the thin undergarment that was almost soaked with sweat.
Ye Mu's cheek was pressed against his neck, and he could clearly see that the skin of his earlobes and even the back of his neck was stained with a layer of ochre-like deep red, which could not be hidden in the slanted afternoon light.
She couldn't help but think that the red color had probably already spread to his equally taut back.
So when he was saying such cold and sarcastic things, his body was like this: like a fully drawn bow, hot and taut, every inch of his body brimming with power.
I wasn't angry with her at all.
Ye Mu sensed his leniency and became even less afraid of him, her courage growing a bit wilder. She tightened her grip on his shoulder, her cheek pressed tightly against his warm back through her inner robe, her voice mingling with his voice, "Master, if Buddha doesn't blame you, will you?"
She really wanted to go to the front and see if his eyes were still so calm, but she also longed for the warmth on his back, so she could only imagine what he looked like. Would his cold, deep eyes be stirred by her unrestrained words?
She enjoyed seeing him panic.
The sunlight slanted further, casting their shadows long and thin, overlapping and imprinting them on the stone steps.
After waiting for a long time without receiving a response, Ye Mu felt as if she were melting against his broad and sturdy back, her bones softening and becoming pliable. Perhaps it was this closeness that gave her the illusion that no matter how rebellious her words were, they could be embraced by this silent spine.
Then that restless spirit peeked out again, "Master, are you blaming me for not speaking?"
It is truly a spirit born from the mountain mists and fog, specifically designed to disturb his Zen mind.
Warm, moist breath, seeping through the thin fabric, pressed against the skin of his back. Even though he had willingly bent down to carry her, he now found it difficult to move her. Her body was very light, her frame slender, and she seemed weightless on his back, like a wisp of smoke that he couldn't grasp.
Her words weighed heavily on his heart.
However, Wen Kong did not perceive it as licentious.
She always seemed to be like this in front of him: straightforward in speech, clear-headed, and sometimes like a child who did not yet fully understand the ways of the world, with a naive and innocent charm.
How can we take a child's jokes seriously?
Thinking about it this way, the invisible pressure on my back seemed to dissipate a little.
Besides, how could he possibly "blame" her? Wen Kong was perfectly clear-headed; whatever she said or did, how could he have ever truly been willing to criticize her in the slightest?
We have already stepped through the corner gate of the temple's back wall.
The familiar sandalwood incense wafted up from the temple, mingling with the faint sounds of chanting and the lingering echoes of bells and chimes, like an invisible hand that abruptly pulled Wen Kong back from the almost dreamlike state on the mountain path to this small, disciplined place.
The solemn atmosphere of the Buddhist temple was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, making him suddenly feel a chill.
He then asked slowly, "Did you really make such a wish?"
Just now in the back mountain, in the twilight and amidst the hazy light and shadows, he almost fell under the spell, even suspecting that her wish was related to another man.
Now, back beside this ancient Buddha and green lamp, his reason returned. Based on his understanding of her, he knew that the lotus lamp mostly contained prayers for his mother. Her earlier statement about "wanting to kiss her master" was probably just a joke and shouldn't be taken seriously.
Ye Mu laughed from behind him, but didn't say anything explicitly, "What do you think?"
Truth and falsehood, reality and illusion, are like drifting clouds chasing the moon.
Just a few steps inside the side gate is Wen Kong's secluded cottage, a quiet place rarely visited.
He pushed open the simple wooden door, put her down from his back, and lifted her onto the couch. The couch was hard, covered only with a thin old mat, which felt cool.
Ye Mu sat down abruptly, shivering from the bone-chilling cold. He thought to himself that only someone with a fiery physique like his master could lie on such a cold bed without feeling the chill.
Wen Kong went around behind her and opened the door of the low cabinet next to the tatami.
He was tall and imposing. As he bent down to retrieve the item, his arms inadvertently enveloped her between her and the cabinet, forming a semi-circle.
"I think you're lying to me."
Wen Kong's voice hung above her head.
He didn't use "this humble monk" or "Fourth Sister," but instead used "you" and "me," which made Ye Mu feel that they were no longer a monk and a believer, but a man and a woman in the mortal world, talking about "you" and "me" on the bed, which was a different kind of intimacy.
Ye Mu couldn't help but laugh.
Wen Kong took out the clean bedding he had stored away and carefully laid it on the couch. Afraid that she would find it too hard and get cold, he turned around and took another slightly thicker mattress on top of it.
Seeing her smile, her hands didn't stop. "You're still so happy even after falling?"
He himself was frugal all year round, and one mattress and one quilt were enough for him. He only prepared extra bedding because he didn't know when she would come suddenly again like last time.
Ye Mu sat on the thick, soft bedding, shook his head, and said with a profound expression, "You don't understand."
Wen Kong glanced at her, got up, and walked towards the small clay stove in the corner of the room.
He crouched down, first using fire tongs to brush away the surface ash, revealing a few unburnt charred embers underneath. Then, he took out a few pieces of dried pine firewood from a bamboo basket beside him, picked up a pinch of soft tinder, and carefully placed them on the embers.
The iron kettle on the stove soon emitted a faint sound, and wisps of steam escaped from between the spout and the lid, spreading into a small cloud of warm white mist in the dimly lit meditation room, making the room a little warmer.
After Wen Kong washed his hands, he took off his collar and discovered that the words "Wen Kong" were embroidered on the inner velvet fabric.
He brought over a wooden basin with the water temperature adjusted, and took her hand, which was stained with dust and blood. "Did you make the collar yourself?"
Ye Mu hadn't reacted yet; she was staring at him in a daze.
Watching him squat in front of the stove to light the fire, adjust the water, wash his hands and loosen his collar... he did these trivial household chores in a calm and unhurried manner, with a kind of steady and proper demeanor as if he were rooted to the ground. He was able to make this quiet and cold meditation room feel peaceful and down-to-earth.
She enjoyed watching it; as she watched, a corner of her heart would slowly warm up and soften, just like the fire in the fireplace.
Ye Mu even daydreamed that he could chop wood and carry water, and wondered if he could cook. If he lived with him, he would surely be able to manage the daily necessities of life from dawn till dusk, which would be so worry-free and reassuring.
She was letting her thoughts drift away in the warm mist and firelight, a blush of longing unconsciously rising on her face, until a warm and strong hand grabbed her wrist. Before the blush could fade, it went straight into his probing eyes.
"You know how to do needlework?" Wen Kong soaked a clean, plain white cotton cloth in warm water and gently wrapped it around her right hand. "I thought you didn't like it because you didn't know how."
A warm, moist sensation instantly enveloped her, and the calluses on his fingertips brushed against the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist, bringing an indescribable tingling or numb feeling.
Ye Mu's heart pounded even harder in her chest, and she could only lower her head and ask, "How can you be so sure that I did it and not A-Jing?"
She had already said even more inappropriate things on the mountain, and now that he held her heart in his hands, a wave of shyness belatedly surged up, almost overwhelming her, making her feel embarrassed instead.
She felt as if he wasn't grabbing her hand, but rather her heart, which was beating wildly and losing its composure.
“Zijing is illiterate.” Wen Kong was carefully wiping the sand from the edge of her palm, completely unaware of her daughterly thoughts, and answered bluntly.
The reason was too simplistic, and Ye Mu was unwilling to give up. "How come it's not that I taught her those two words?"
Wen Kong then straightened up, very certain, "It was you who sewed it for me, don't lie to me anymore."
The way he said it didn't sound like the dignified and proper master he usually was; instead, it revealed a stubbornness that seemed unreasonable.
Ye Mu's heart melted at his rare childlike behavior, and she couldn't help but smile, letting out a soft "hee" as a tacit agreement.
This collar was indeed something she secretly sewed stitch by stitch, without telling Zijing or her mother.
In the dead of night, when they were already asleep, she would use the dim candlelight to meticulously embroider her unspeakable thoughts into the velvet fabric close to her body.
He secretly gave her a hairpin, and she reciprocated by secretly giving him one in return. This kind of "keeping things from each other" was, in her heart, a tacit understanding that belonged only to the two of them.
Occasionally, when her mother got up at night, she would see that the candlelight in her room was still burning and ask her through the door why she wasn't asleep yet. She would then guiltily hide her apron under the covers and loudly lie, saying that she was looking at the shop's accounts. She managed to fool her time and time again.
Ye Mu's eyes followed his back as he went into the cabinet, where he saw him take out a small celadon jar, unscrew it, and a slightly bitter and cool herbal scent wafted out.
Wen Kong used a bamboo strip to pick out some of the ointment, then lifted her injured leg. His fingertips had thin calluses, and his movements were very gentle as he applied the cool ointment evenly to the abrasions, relieving the burning pain.
Ye Mu Ning looked at Wen Kong's lowered eyes and felt no pain. She then continued her previous words, "But it's okay to lie to you. Like master, like disciple. Since you are a liar master, I am naturally a liar disciple."
A hint of smugness and mischievousness flickered in her eyes, revealing a woman's charming brightness, which shattered the vague stagnation that had been weighing on Wen Kong's heart for days.
He was startled, not in a frightening way, but in a kind of awe-inspiring tremor that was almost like enlightenment. The inexplicable blockage that had been lingering in his chest suddenly found its source.
So that's the crux of the problem.
In her heart, he was always a trustworthy master, so her coquettishness, tantrums, jokes, and crying were all based on this unwavering master-disciple relationship.
He would notice her slender figure beneath her clothes, remember her warm fragrance, and without realizing it, he was beginning to feel her with the eyes of a man looking at a woman.
The word "woman" rolled silently through his mind, bringing a sense of unfamiliar bewilderment.
Wen Kong glanced at her indifferently, "Do you act so presumptuously in front of others?"
"Others? Who?"
A hint of flirtatiousness lingered at the corners of her lips, as if she were asking a question she already knew the answer to, yet her gaze was utterly frank. "And how have I been presumptuous?"
Wen Kong wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose, but she always teased him.
But Kong found it hard to speak. Looking down at her right hand, he felt a little annoyed. It was in this hand that she was holding the candied hawthorn. She had very naturally given the empty bamboo stick to the man. If they were not familiar with each other, how could she have done it so easily?
He wanted to punish her.
Wen Kong placed the small celadon jar in her hand, and when he raised his head, he revealed a fierce look. "My arm is also injured. Help me apply it."
Ye Mu stared in surprise as he rolled up his sleeves.
Such a good thing?
She didn't understand why he asked such a seemingly unrelated question, which not only didn't lead to anything further, but also seemed to have annoyed her, suddenly becoming slightly angry that he would let her treat his injuries.
As far as I can remember, Wen Kong rarely rolled up his sleeves.
Even in the sweltering heat of her past life, he was always dressed neatly and completely, which she had assumed was a requirement for asceticism and spiritual practice.
Only on the first day he came to the mansion to teach writing in this life, when he helped move the heavy cloth of the Ye family, he rolled up his sleeves. At that time, Ye Mu caught a glimpse of him and saw several old whip marks crisscrossing his strong forearm, dark in color and shocking to the eye.
At this moment, Wen Kong had turned his back and silently began to roll up the sleeve of his left arm, pushing the cuff of his inner garment up layer by layer until it reached above the elbow.
There was indeed a fresh scratch on the outside of his elbow joint. It wasn't long, but it was oozing blood and stood out quite noticeably against his white skin.
However, Ye Mu's gaze was immediately drawn to the old marks, which had faded considerably but were still clearly visible and winding.
Lines, some long, some short, lighter in color than the surrounding skin, crisscrossed his firm and well-proportioned forearm muscles.
What exactly did he go through? What kind of punishment could have left such marks?
"Do you see the injury?" His voice interrupted her daze.
"Yes, I saw it." Ye Mu quickly replied, regaining his composure.
With ointment still in her right palm, making it difficult to move, she subconsciously tried to use her more convenient left hand to take the ointment from the jar.
“Apply with your right hand,” he suddenly said.
Why does he insist on using a specific hand when it's just applying medicine? Ye Mu couldn't understand why he preferred his right hand over his left.
Although Ye Mu did not understand what he meant, he did as he was told, using his right index finger to pick up a bit of ointment, leaning forward, and looking at his strong forearm.
Her fingertips gently touched the edge of the fresh scratch, and mimicking him, she spread the ointment very slowly and gently.
He understands medical principles; following his advice will never be wrong.
But her movements were too gentle and too slow, as if she wasn't applying medicine, but rather tracing the texture of his skin with her fingertips. The cool ointment was warmed and melted by the temperature of her fingertips. Every touch was filled with a cautious exploration and a tenderness that she herself was unaware of.
This is hardly a punishment for her.
This was clearly an even more torturous punishment for him.
Wen Kong's back was taut like a fully drawn bowstring. The place where her fingertips touched was more burning than the wound itself. The gentle touch was like a feather tickling, stirring up shivers that rushed up her head through her veins.
The twilight outside the window deepened, while the fire inside the room flickered, casting the intertwined shadows of the two people onto the wall, swaying and dimly lit.
His Adam's apple bobbed, and he almost couldn't resist pulling his arm back to end this self-inflicted punishment.
Just then, footsteps came from outside the window, followed by a young, innocent knock on the door. "Senior Brother Wen Kong? Is Senior Brother Wen Kong here? The Abbot requests your immediate presence."
The sound, like a clear bell, suddenly broke the thick, sticky air in the room.
Wen Kong almost immediately pulled his arm away from Ye Mu's hand, quickly lowered his rolled-up sleeves, and the movement was so fast that it created a slight breeze.
"I understand, I'll go right away," he replied loudly, his voice sounding perfectly normal.
He took out two sets of clothes from the cabinet, put on the monk's robe himself, and handed the other set to Ye Mu on the couch, saying, "Change into this set first, rest here for a while, and wait for me to come back."
Ye Mu unfolded the garment and saw that it was a set of clothes commonly worn by ordinary men. Her heart skipped a beat. Why would her master buy this outfit? Was he going to return to secular life?
Before she could ask anything, she watched him hurriedly turn around and leave the house.
Inside the abbot's meditation room, a single lamp flickered dimly.
The old abbot had white hair and beard, a kind face, and clear, wise eyes. He did not immediately explain what was going on, but simply asked Wen Kong to sit on the futon and personally poured a cup of tea and pushed it in front of him.
“Wen Kong,” the abbot said slowly, “Next month on New Year’s Day, His Highness the Crown Prince will accompany the Empress Dowager to this temple to pray for blessings. At that time, the newly appointed top scholar and a group of officials will also be in attendance. The temple has decided that you will preside over all the ceremonies for this Dharma assembly.”
Presiding over a royal Dharma assembly requires someone of high moral character and profound knowledge of Buddhism. Such a heavy responsibility being placed on his shoulders is both a great trust and a severe test.
Wen Kong lowered his head, "This disciple is young and I am afraid I am not up to such a great responsibility."
“Your Buddhist practice is diligent, your conduct is upright, and your actions are composed. All the stewards have seen this.” The abbot’s gaze fell on his face. “You are the most gifted among my disciples. It is not impossible for you to become the abbot of this temple in the future, or even be promoted to the position of National Preceptor.”
Wen Kongxin was startled and put his hands together in prayer. "This disciple only wishes to devote himself to the ancient Buddha and study Buddhism diligently. I dare not have any other thoughts."
The abbot nodded slightly, twirling the prayer beads in his hand, but then seemed to change the subject unintentionally, “Your steadfastness has always pleased me. However, the path of cultivation is long and arduous, and one must constantly cleanse one’s mind, lest it be tainted by dust, and even more so by external demons that may disturb one’s composure.”
He raised his eyes and said, “Wen Kong, you should know that some mistakes that ordinary people may make are things that we, as members of the Buddhist community, cannot afford to make even the slightest mistake. A single wrong thought can lead to an abyss, which is a small matter if it affects one’s own cultivation, but a great matter if it tarnishes the reputation of Buddhism and brings shame to one’s sect. You know this principle.”
These words were spoken with earnestness and seemed to have a hidden meaning.
Wen Kong felt a cold sweat instantly break out on his back. He bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching the ground. "Disciple will follow Master's teachings and will always reflect on himself, strictly abide by the rules, and dare not disobey."
"Go." The abbot closed his eyes and said no more.
Wen Kong left the abbot's meditation room, and a night breeze blew, chilling him to the bone.
He walked quickly back along the silent corridor, his mind in turmoil. The abbot's pointed gaze was sharp and penetrating.
Pushing open the door to my meditation room, I found the fire in the stove had died down, with only a faint red glow lingering in the ashes. The room was dimly lit and quiet.
He looked up at the couch and saw that Ye Mu was already asleep. He remembered that when he left, there were only blankets on the couch, but now there was a pillow under her neck, which she must have found in the closet at some point and settled herself in comfortably.
She had clearly been waiting a long time and was now fast asleep. Her nostrils flared gently with her even breathing, and the flickering firelight shone on her serene face, stripping away all the cunning, boldness, and coquettishness she displayed when awake, leaving only innocence.
The unguarded sleeping face before him was outside his strict rules.
Wen Kong stood by the door, gazing at her silently, without moving.
His heart suddenly calmed down.
All afflictions are enlightenment.
This thought suddenly cleared his mind like a ray of light, piercing through his chaotic thoughts. He shouldn't fight against that unfamiliar emotion, but rather try to see it and accept the real, flesh-and-blood self that was causing him trouble.
Observe the arising and ceasing of all afflictions truthfully, without welcoming or rejecting them, without being defiled or pure.
Wen Kong felt relieved and went into the house.
He leaned down slightly and looked at the rosy marks on her cheeks from the pillow, and a small, still-wet mark on her cheek. Wen Kong's heart sank and softened.
"Ye Mu," he called softly, "Ye Mu, it's getting late, we should go down the mountain."
Ye Mu was still in a daze, vaguely hearing the sound. He subconsciously tilted his head, and his nose was filled with the clean, light sandalwood scent of his room, mixed with a hint of bitter herbs, which was reassuring.
She slept so comfortably that her muscles and bones felt completely relaxed, and even her fingertips were too lazy to move. She mumbled indistinctly, "Let me sleep a little longer."
"The last cart from the temple to the city will depart at 3:45 PM." Wen Kong's voice softened slightly, as if he were coaxing someone, "If you don't get up now, you really won't make it."
Ye Mu struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. He was so tired from walking up the mountain that he couldn't get up once he lay down.
She lingered on the warm embrace beneath her, lying on the pillow, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Master, can't I sleep here tonight?"
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Author's Note: Thank you for reading and for adding this to your favorites! [Sunglasses]
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