Chapter 1527
Now it’s my turn. (2)
The room was dimly lit.
In the spacious room, which several oil lamps could not fully illuminate, a person was seated right in the center.
With a cleanly shaved head and a face still retaining its youth, the maroon and yellow robes draped over his body suggested he was a novice monk.
However, the expression of the child, softly reciting scriptures in barely audible tones, was indeed solemn. It was a striking contrast to his youthful face.
“…Svaha*.”
The novice monk’s lips, which had been continuously reciting, slowly closed.
As his firmly shut eyes opened gradually, his eyes were revealed.
They were endlessly deep and black, to an extent unbelievable for a child to have.
Those eyes turned towards the wall in front of him. More precisely, to the strange pattern drawn on that wall.
The Dharma Wheel. The symbol of the Buddhist teachings, shaped like a carriage wheel.
The novice monk, as if to conclude his recitation, quietly chanted the six-syllable mantra, exhaled deeply, and then opened his small mouth.
“You don’t need to wait any longer.”
At this, from behind him, an old monk who had been standing still nearly holding his breath, careful not to disturb the practice, cautiously stepped into the room.
The old monk took a seat slightly off from directly in front of the boy, as if he dared not sit face-to-face.
“Master.”
The seated old monk reverently placed his palms together and bowed to the novice monk, then spoke with a worried face.
“Is there something troubling you?”
“…”
“It is late. No matter that you are the Master, your body is still that of a child. I worry that you might harm yourself by overexerting in your cultivation.”
“…”
“Do not forget, Master. You are the light.”
The novice monk, who had been silently listening, nodded.
“I have caused you worry.”
“No, it is just that…”
“Even if the light flickers, the Dharma remains steadfast. My cultivation is still shallow, causing me to waver like that light.”
The old monk fell silent.
Shallow cultivation. It seemed a fitting statement. How much time could a child, not even in his prime, have had to cultivate?
But at the same time, it was completely wrong. There was no other monk [비구(比丘)] in the world with a deeper cultivation than this boy.
The reason was simple. The child before him was none other than the great living Buddha, the Palace Lord of the Potala Palace [포달랍궁(布達拉宮)], the Dalai Lama.
The old monk spoke.
“We are merely reclaiming what was lost. Do not be impatient. As it was before, and even before that, you will attain enlightenment once again.”
At those words, the great living Buddha, the Dalai Lama, gave a faint smile. It was neither an affirmation nor a denial.
“But…”
The old monk, Panchen Lama [반선라마가**], quietly observed the Dalai Lama’s expression.
Upon reflection, the words spoken by the master seemed curious. Even if not yet complete, the depth of Dalai Lama’s cultivation was something he could not fathom.
What exactly could he mean by disturbing such a great living Buddha?
Reading the mood from Panchen Lama’s expression, Dalai Lama spoke.
“I was thinking of a brief encounter.”
“Encounter…”
“Yes.”
Panchen Lama also read the meaning in Dalai Lama’s vague words.
“Are you referring to the Taoists of the Central Plains?”
Once again, Dalai Lama neither affirmed nor denied it.
“…No. You are referring to one of them.”
Finally, Dalai Lama nodded slightly. Panchen Lama furrowed his brow slightly.
‘Chung Myung, was it?’
He recalled the vague images of the Taoist monks he had once encountered on the grasslands. Among them, a young Taoist who had particularly stood out had referred to himself as Chung Myung.
Certainly, he was no ordinary person. His understanding, cultivated throughout his life in pursuit of duty, spoke volumes.
Though different from Dalai Lama in essence, he clearly differed from ordinary people in some profound way.
Thus, perhaps the old monk also remembered their figures vividly.
“But…”
This too, however, was Panchen Lama’s judgment alone.
Their lives were different from each other’s. Dalai Lama was both a person and a Bodhisattva, and being a Bodhisattva made him a person. Therefore, the world seen by Dalai Lama would differ greatly from that seen by others.
However, even to Dalai Lama, does his existence remain special?
“Master…”
“…Is it?”
“Yes?”
As the old monk responded to the sudden question, Dalai Lama silently nodded.
“You simply mentioned it’s about reclaiming lost things, isn’t it? Indeed, is that correct?”
It was a heavy voice. Panchen Lama dared not even open his mouth to answer.
“I am who I am, but I am not me. And I am who I am and I am also not who I am.”
“Master…”
“I have experienced it once, and just because I gained something from it doesn’t mean regaining it will be easy. The more one delves into it, the farther and deeper the Dharma seems, isn’t that so?”
“…I have been short sighted.”
“People say that if you can avoid repeating the same foolishness once committed, you can become a Buddha.”
“…”
“However, Lama, that statement implies that my path cannot be entirely obscured by regret for past mistakes and the endless cycle of suffering that followed them. It seems to me at every moment of choice. The many mistakes I have made and the suffering that followed them….”
Panchen Lama briefly recited a mantra while listening to words which depth was difficult to fathom.
Dalai Lama spoke.
“Yet, the reason I remain unwavering is because of my belief that ultimately everything leads to enlightenment.”
“That is why you are the Master.”
“But what about those who cannot achieve that?”
“Master…”
“Om mani padme hum.”
These six syllables flowed from the young Dalai Lama’s lips. They held regret, bitterness, sorrow, and hope within them.
He slowly closed his eyes.
‘Why…’
There is no way back.
Life is repentance, and fate is sorrow, because in the tangled threads of existence, right and wrong are indistinguishable.
“Sometimes righteousness tightens around one’s throat, and sometimes wrongdoing offers salvation. How difficult it is to find a path of light in such a muddy existence.”
“Do not worry too much, Master.”
“…”
“You have said it yourself, Master. He is like the candle that consumes itself to illuminate its surroundings.”
Dalai Lama nodded. He had not yet found better words to describe the person.
“So he too will endure well. Though walking different paths, he too seeks enlightenment. Isn’t he someone with the courage to burn himself?”
“Om mani padme hum.”
Dalai Lama uttered his mantra quietly, as if whispering. Soon, the murmuring sounds began to flow continuously from his newly parted lips.
As Dalai Lama began his chanting, Panchen Lama cautiously rose and quietly left the room. His determination not to disturb the meditation was evident.
Alone now, Dalai Lama’s mind, engaged in constant recitation, was not focused on profound enlightenment but rather on distant Central Plains.
‘If burning oneself is an act of one’s own will, it is a noble sacrifice.’
Though the path was agonizing and arduous, it was thus the renowned self-sacrifice, recognized as supreme virtue.
‘But if one does not ignite that fire themselves… it becomes mere punishment.’
A single tear streamed down from his closed eyes.
‘Ah, child.’
He could only hope and pray.
May he not realize the meaning of the word ‘fate’ too late.
May that fate not become a painful thorn in his side.
❀ ❀ ❀
A strong scent of incense permeated the old temple hall.
Chung Myung, quietly observing the thick white incense smoke curling upward, slowly scanned his surroundings.
It had been a long time since he had visited ancestors’ temple. The sight of the ancestral tablets of the previous Hwasan’s Sect Laders caught his eye.
“…I haven’t visited often.”
Chung Myung seemed to struggle to continue his words with seriousness, scratching his head awkwardly.
“But please don’t say anything. I’m not here for leisure. You know how busy I’ve been lately, and my Sahyeongs too.”
In truth, there was no need for him to come all the way here just to see the ancestral tablets.
Sect Leader Sahyeong was with him, after all. Chung Mun would have preferred to stay where Chung Mhung was, rather than at the place where the tablets were housed.
Even if he were present in the realm of the immortals, Chung Mun’s gaze would have been directed not towards the empty hall of Hwasan but towards his disciples and the sect.
Despite knowing this, Chung Myung might not have realized why he had come here, perhaps not just for the ancestral tablets but for himself.
“Well, there’s nothing particularly surprising. It’s not like I haven’t done risky things before.”
Chung Myung chuckled softly and approached the tablets of the Sect Leaders of Hwasan.
Though he had been nearby for a while, he hadn’t visited in a long time. Chung Mun’s memorial tablet was covered in a light layer of dust.
Chung Myung carefully wiped the dust off the tablet and gently placed it back in its place.
“If Sahyeong was alive, he would have surely scolded me.”
Naturally, the memorial tablet remained silent.
“However, this time, don’t scold me, Sahyeong. I did as Sahyeong said, but I tried it once. Looking back now, Sahyeong wasn’t always right.”
Chung Myung chuckled softly.
Maybe if Chung Mun was alive to hear this, he would have come running with a flushed face, bursting with anger. To others, he was endlessly compassionate, but got angry whenever he saw Chung Myung.
“So, how about you stop nagging and start trusting people a bit? I’m not that young anymore. Only Sahyeong sees me as a nuisance.”
Chung Myung briefly clicked his tongue and stared intently at the faint patterns swirling in the smoke. He seemed almost like someone expecting the smoke to provide some sort of response.
But in the end, his words continued on alone, without an answer.
“Khaaaak! I know, too! It would have been better if I had done well from the beginning. If only I had done this much before, things wouldn’t have turned out like this. So now, I’m living by running around like my feet are on fire. I’ve experienced it once, so this guy…”
Chung Myung’s face contorted in frustration as he directed his clenched fist towards Chung Mun’s memorial tablet.
As he vented, Chung Myung’s initially twisted expression gradually softened. A bitter look settled upon his face.
He knew.
He couldn’t mend what had been broken. There was no other way besides yearning for what was lost.
The saddest reason for regret is that no matter how much you regret it, nothing changes.
“I’ll be back again, so until then… tolerate a bit of dust. The ancestors, these nobles, should suffer alongside the children who work hard. Where’s the decency in enjoying life while others suffer in storms?”
Chung Myung chuckled and turned without a hint of regret. But before taking a step, he spoke again.
“Don’t worry.”
Now, at the edge of his vision lay the pavilion’s of Hwasan, the mountain beyond, and countless people who had found their place underneath.
Everything he had connected was here.
The result of his efforts to avoid repeating past failures was evident here. Things he once had in the past, but had to lose completely.
His determination set firmly in his expression.
“This time… I won’t lose.”
Chung Myung swiftly dashed out of the temple in one breath.
Only the strong scent of incense lingered long after he left.
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