Huainan Road, Yangzhou.
A river in the north of the city leads to Pingshantang. Because there was a severe drought in Yangzhou in the old days, this water was the only one left that always gurgled to help the people nearby, so it was named Baoan Lake, which means to protect the lives of the people here. Later, when the country was peaceful and the people were prosperous, Wang Wenxiu, a famous scholar from Qiantang, visited here to study and never wanted to return. He deeply felt that the bustling scene here and the beautiful scenery everywhere were comparable to the West Lake in his hometown. He said, "It is also a pot of gold, so it should be Called "Slender West Lake", the status of this place has been greatly improved, attracting many talented and talented businessmen to come here to either visit or settle down, which created a great prosperity for a while.
There is a 200-foot long embankment in Slender West Hunan. Peach trees and willows are planted along one side of the lake. Every spring in March, the spring flowers are in full bloom, and the willow silks dance gracefully, flying like smoke, and the willow colors set off a field of purple and red, as bright as clouds.
There is a garden at the end of the long embankment, a small Suzhou garden-style building. The earth is covered as a platform, the stone is a mountain, and the water is a pool. There are pavilions, pavilions, pavilions, pavilions and corridors. Here, there is a drizzle of willows and spring willows as green as shepherds. The embankment is also really suitable for the occasion.
The only thing that is not suitable for the scene is that there is a broken thatched shed next to the garden.
The thatched hut was built extremely crudely, with a few pieces of wood supporting a pile of thatch, one piece in the east and one piece in the west. Considering the state of disrepair, let alone a heavy rain, it would probably leak from all sides. I'm afraid that by next month, this will be a greener place in the south of the Yangtze River. The strong spring breeze on the shore can blow away half of it. There were several tables and chairs covered in oil stains in the hut. They were no longer so messy that they could be wiped clean with a rag.
But even in such an informal environment, and the sun was about to rise, there were no less than ten people crowded here. Those standing or squatting outside were obviously waiting in line.
The thatched hut is next to the wall of the garden called Xu Garden. The freehand Huizhou architecture with white walls and gray tiles has also been dyed greasy and dark. The most annoying thing is that there is an extra one on the wall for no reason. Not only is the hole dug by force hard to disgrace the scenery, it also really makes people worry about whether the owner of Xu Garden, who is said to be the crown prince and tutor who has become an official, will jump and scold his mother.
Naturally, the men, women, and children in the Xu Garden family don't know how to scold their mothers. On the outside, they look like "the Great Wall is still there today, so why not let them be three feet tall"? To put it bluntly, they can't offend this Lin. The proprietress who built a shed in the garden, cut walls and built a stove.
After all, it has to be on a first-come, first-served basis, right?
When the Xu family fell in love with this courtyard, they had been working here for who knows how many years. Could it be that the Xu family, who came from a scholarly family, could talk about benevolence, justice and morality and secretly and unreasonably drive them away?
Secondly, now that the Holy Emperor has personally painted the land and given it to others, no matter how courageous the Xu family is, they will not dare to resist the decree. Even if this charming widow, who is one of the most famous in Yangzhou, monopolizes the place in the courtyard that can attract the oriole fingers to make a fuss on a spring day, and the Xu family will not dare to do so. Word.
The landlady who doesn't like to dress up by nature is still pretty even if she doesn't put on makeup or yellow. The long-haired monk who occupies a table all day long and cooks wine and dishes with egg fried rice always jokes that the smoky grease is more delicate than the gouache. too much.
The proprietress was dressed in a loose green shirt with looped arms and a floral apron around her waist. Her black hair was casually tied with a buckle on her shoulders. She was leaning on the dilapidated courtyard wall and counting heads.
"I'll make ten portions in the morning, no more." The proprietress, who seemed to outsiders to be incompetent in business, yelled and walked into the courtyard with an intoxicating waist.
The few diners at the end of the queue in the straw hut still didn't leave. They had ten portions in the morning. They couldn't eat in the morning, but they were in the front row in the afternoon.
"Guan Zizai! Come in and wash the rice for me!" The proprietress's roar of the Hedong lion came from the courtyard wall again.
The diners, who had long been accustomed to the temperament of the landlady, didn't take it seriously. They turned to look at the monk with long hair who usually ran over when he heard the sound, but today he didn't move at all.
The monk who practices Tutuo just looks at the 200-foot spring willow embankment outside the hut. At this time, the willows on the bank are also sprouting, and the peach trees are also green, and they are lingering. In the blurry end, there are An old monk wearing a black cassock walked slowly with a stick.
No one came in, so the landlady urged the girl with haircut who was blowing the bellows to light the fire: "Daughter, why are you going to see the monk? He's drunk again?"
The girl agreed, and then came back after taking a few breaths. Not only did she not take back the hair-wearing monk, but she also sent back a message, "Mom, the monk said he had a friend here and asked you to make eleven portions."
The boss lady, who usually has a hot temper and swears at the slightest carelessness, glared and walked out in a few steps. However, she came back after not taking a few breaths. She picked up the kitchen knife and cut the basket of cucumbers without saying anything, just using her hands. The bottom is tight again.
The diners who originally wanted to watch the excitement didn't see the boss's wife being furious as they expected, but instead they saw the monk with long hair who could sit there all day with nothing to do, got up and straightened the clothes that were still there even though he washes them every day. The shabby-looking khaki cassock was worn, and the monk's hat, which in their eyes had never been worn right all year round, was clasped on his unkempt hair. He put the wine gourd on the table, which was as high as half a person, under the table and stepped out. The hayloft.
"Amitabha, are you Master Daoji?" The long-haired monk stood with his hands clasped together and bowed in worship.
The old monk, who was leaning on a staff, had a face like withered tree bark, and his eyebrows were slanted back like flying arrows, but his eyes were filled with unstoppable kindness. He put his hands together in return and said, "Master Zi Zi, you are polite."
"Master Daoji has traveled thousands of miles here, but what are your orders?" The long-haired monk changed his usual sloppy and carefree look and became quite polite.
"Turn it into a bowl of rice."
The words of the old monk who traveled thousands of miles with his staff seemed irrelevant. The long-haired monk seemed to want this answer. He reached out sideways and let the old monk enter the hut.
The old monk sat down, causing the diners to look at each other and sigh, saying that the land occupied by the landlady was really a geomantic treasure that could attract the monk's patronage.
The landlady has already prepared a bowl of shiny and colorful egg-fried rice and brought it to the table. She said "Master, please use it slowly" which is also polite and polite.
The old monk hurriedly stood up and clasped his hands in return. He waited until the proprietress turned into the courtyard wall before sitting down again.
The long-haired monk, who had never sat upright before, sat upright now and said, "Master Daoji is here. The egg fried rice is the most delicious, especially the overnight rotten rice. I don't know if this bowl of rice is rancid or not, but it is definitely overnight." "
The long-haired monk spoke nonsense in a serious manner. It was supposed to be the truth, but when it came out of his mouth, it felt a little out of tune.
The most famous old monk in the Zhou Dynasty, who has been practicing for hundreds of years, nodded repeatedly, but shook his head helplessly and said: "It's a pity that you can see it but not eat it."
"When you have time, go to Xibo Saint Temple and become Master Daoji."
"No time."
The two of them talked to each other as if they were having a normal conversation, except that the old monk said the last sentence in a calm way, and the monk with long hair heard it in an unusual way.
"The poor monk came here to ask Zen Master Zizi to help me continue the great Zhou Dynasty." The old monk said another sentence that was neither salty nor indifferent, enough to cause a thousand waves.
The monk with long hair, but his expression remained unchanged, seemed to be expectedly calm.
"Two years ago, a poor monk shaved his head and practiced cultivation. At that time, the abbot of the temple passed down a sixteen-character prophecy to the poor monk. If he meets the king, he will be prosperous, if he meets the double, he will multiply, if he meets the night, he will be closed, and if he meets Zen, he will be full. More than a hundred years ago, the poor monk met by chance. Wang Tianwen, the founding emperor of the dynasty, fell into his service by chance. He never imagined that he could help him unify the world and become the so-called Holy Master in the unpredictable national war with just his passion. This is also true. It can be said that meeting the king brings prosperity, and the merits and blessings accumulated by the poor monk in previous lives are prosperous. However, at the beginning of the founding of the dynasty, I, the Buddha, were marginalized. Even with me, a black-clad prime minister who was born as a monk, it was difficult to determine the overall situation and let the native Taoism and Confucianism go all the way. Suppress.”
The old monk seemed to be telling the story of his youth, but the tone of his voice without any cadence really failed to attract the listeners. However, the only listener listened with gusto. At this time, the old monk paused for a moment and then spoke. : "Master Daoji also knew the secrets of the past. The master showed the Buddha to others, and everyone in the world regarded him as the Buddha. The master planned the strategy for Emperor Tianwen to unify the world. Tens of millions of people were displaced and homeless, and hundreds of thousands of young people worked hard and shed blood. He died on the battlefield in a foreign country. Although the master’s blood was not stained on his mysterious clothes, he was still involved. How could heavenly beings ignore it? He has really ruined the merits of my Buddha’s compassion for hundreds of generations.”
"What Zen Master Zizai teaches is that the poor monk only thought about me, the Buddha, and sacrificed his life to feed the eagles because he said, "If I don't go to hell, whoever goes to hell will go to hell." He only wanted to save millions of people from dire straits and to use his own efforts to quell the disaster as soon as possible and stop the war. . To stop killing by killing, but let my Buddha be implicated innocently, Amitabha, that’s good, that’s good.”
The long-haired monk took the egg-fried rice that was originally placed between the two of them. He stopped talking, lowered his head and started to eat the rice in his mouth.
"Then the poor monk walked for seven years, nine steps, knocked eighty-one steps and worshipped, and traveled a thousand miles to the west to obtain the ninety-nine and eighty-one pieces of Mahayana Buddhism from the hands of the monks in Jali Mountain in the Western Regions, and spread the teachings of our Buddha in the Central Plains of the Great Zhou Dynasty , just to let the world know the compassion of my Buddha, to fulfill my Buddha's good deeds, and to move the heavens and humans with the meager efforts of a poor monk. This move is exactly what should be done, and it can overcome the poor monk's ten years of evil."
"From now on, I don't know whether it was because of the pity of gods and humans or because I, the Buddha, gave alms to the poor monk. I just don't know what the last two prophecies of the abbot in the temple meant. It wasn't until the death of the prince of the night more than forty years ago that the poor monk understood it. One or two. It was just that I was in a trance later, and I almost took in the adopted daughter who was born with relics and was ordained as a Buddhist monk. It was also this trance that made the little monk who loved to play tricks take in the little monk from White Horse Temple. It is in vain that our Buddha is so good. When Jiazi came to this world, the poor monk had just fully realized the Buddha's appearance, but it was just a skin that he could not bring with him. He accepted the closed disciple and the only female monk in Dazhou. Master Zizai, you Are you talking about shutting down at night?"
It seems a bit boring for a person to talk to himself, so the old monk asked the monk with long hair opposite him for the first time.
The hair-haired monk, who seemed disrespectful to others, did not even raise his head and said vaguely: "The poor monk is eating."
"Can the poor monk ask me a Zen question?"
"Can you finish your meal?"
"a bowl of rice?"
The long-haired monk put the last bite of yellow egg-fried rice into his mouth, touched the wine gourd and took a sip of wine. He raised his sleeves and wiped his mouth, "Finish your meal."
"Can the poor monk ask me a Zen question?" This time it was asked by a monk with long hair who had finished a bowl of rice.
The old monk smiled and said nothing.
"I have a Zen. I don't care about the compassion of the Buddha, the fire of Rakshasa karma, the majesty of the Bodhisattva, or the fear of Yaksha. I have a Zen. I don't care whether King Kong has glared, whether Shura has lowered his eyebrows, or whether Bhikkhu has been crazy. Angry, I don’t care whether the novice monk has ever lied. I have a Zen. I don’t cultivate the three lives, I don’t cultivate the six roots, I don’t cultivate Bodhi, I don’t cultivate cause and effect. I dare to ask Master Ji, how can a poor monk participate in Zen?"
"In ancient times, there were 3,600 swindlers who scolded Sakyamuni and the World-Honored One for returning to secular life."
The monk with long hair looked down and saw a grain of rice on the table beside the bowl, "Rice is rice, rice is rice, a poor monk is a young monk, and a young monk is called a poor monk."
The long-haired monk picked up the rice grains and put them in his mouth.
The old monk stood up and said "Amitabha".
"The poor monk has devoted himself to preaching for decades. He does not know whether he has offset his sins, nor does he try to offset the sins committed by the poor monk. He only hopes to prove my Buddha through the Great Perfection. If a relic can be found, the poor monk is willing to exchange the relic for me. The Buddha will rise again for another five hundred years."
"Thank you, Zen Master Zizai, for making it possible."
"One flower and one world, one grass and one Sumeru, one leaf and one Tathagata, one branch and one bliss, one life and one pure land, one moment and one mortal connection."
The old monk walked towards the west with his staff, and the sound of tapping on the bluestone was crisp and sweet.
Zi Zi Seng Guan Zi Zi stretched himself greatly.
"Then...let's wait for the young monk to stretch his legs."
