After they had paid their respects to the Buddha and left the rear hall, Huile escorted the mother and her sons to a small path paved with blue stone.

The path turned to the right, wound past a grove of slender bamboo, and suddenly revealed a quiet little courtyard.

The courtyard gate was not large. Above it hung a dark wooden plaque, on which three elegant characters in small regular script were written:

Muyang Abbey.

Unlike the incense-filled Mahavira Hall in the front courtyard, this place seemed more like a secluded home deep within the forest.

White walls and dark tiles enclosed several quiet rooms of blue brick, built against the mountain. Within the Daoist courtyard stood a small hall dedicated to Master Lü Chunyang.

In the courtyard grew a century-old osmanthus tree, its branches and leaves graceful and upright. Though the flowering season had not yet arrived, a faint hidden fragrance already moved in the air. Several pots of plain orchids stood on either side of the stone steps; when the wind passed, their leaves stirred as though nodding gently.

A vegetable plot was fresh and green. Yardlong beans climbed along bamboo frames, and several white cranes stood leisurely by the pond, now and then lowering their heads to peck at food.

Most moving of all was the sea of bamboo behind the courtyard.

When the wind blew through ten thousand stalks, the bamboo waves rolled like an ocean, yet without the slightest clamor. Instead, they made Heaven and Earth seem all the more quiet and pure.

Before Zhao Youlan had entered the gate, a warm laugh came from within.

“Youlan has come.”

An elderly Daoist nun slowly stepped out.

She was about seventy years old, with kind brows and gentle eyes. She wore a gray Daoist robe and held a string of bodhi beads in her hand. Though her hair was white as frost, her spirit remained vigorous, and her eyes were clear as autumn water.

She was the abbess of Muyang Abbey—Perfected Zitian.

Wrapping Up with Key Insights

Zhao Youlan quickly joined her palms.

“May the Perfected One be well.”

Perfected Zitian smiled and nodded.

“It has been a year. You have grown somewhat thinner.”

Zhao Youlan smiled. “The children at home grow quickly, and I grow old along with them.”

“Not at all.”

Perfected Zitian looked at her and gently shook her head.

“Those who raise children may carry wind and frost upon their faces, but there is light in their eyes.”

At these words, warmth filled Zhao Youlan’s heart.

Just then, a childish voice suddenly rang out.

“Aunt Zhao!”

A little Daoist girl of five or six came running from behind the rooms.

She had a round little face, fair skin, and wore her Daoist cap properly and neatly; yet her eyes were exceedingly lively. In her arms she held a copy of the Nanhua Classic larger than her face.

“Daoyin.” (whose name meant “wondrous melody.”)

Zhao Youlan crouched down with a smile and stroked the child’s little head.

“You have grown taller again.”

Daoyin nodded with great seriousness.

“Master says if I eat more green vegetables, I will grow tall.”

At this innocent remark, the whole courtyard laughed.

Ma Xinde had already run over.

“Can you climb trees?”

Daoyin shook her head.

“Renunciants do not climb trees.”

“Then can you catch crickets?”

Daoyin shook her head again.

“No.”

“Then what can you do?”

The little girl thought seriously for a moment.

“I can sweep the ground.”

Ma Xinde widened his eyes.

“What is fun about sweeping the ground?”

Daoyin smiled and picked up a bamboo broom.

“Master says that sweeping the ground is sweeping the heart.”

Ma Xinde only half understood, yet he still took the broom. One in front and one behind, the two children actually began sweeping the fallen leaves in the courtyard, laughing together from time to time.

Inside the quiet room, bamboo made the window, and the wooden table bore no decoration.

On the wall hung only an ink painting titled Hanshan Asking the Way. Beside it were written eight characters:

With no hindrance in the heart, every step meets a clear wind.

Perfected Zitian personally boiled the water.

Once the spring water entered the kettle, the fragrance of tea slowly rose within moments.

The tea she used was wild tea she had gathered herself in the mountain. It was not precious, yet its clear fragrance lingered long.

The tea soup was pale yellow, like autumn water newly brightened.

They sat around the wooden table.

Perfected Zitian looked toward Ma Rende.

“This is the child?”

Zhao Youlan’s face was full of joy.

“He was admitted to the key high school this year. We came especially to fulfill our vow, and I also ask the Perfected One to take a look at him.”

Perfected Zitian nodded.

She did not speak in haste, but quietly studied the boy.

Ma Rende felt somewhat restrained under her gaze, yet he continued to sit upright and proper.

After a long while, Perfected Zitian said softly:

“Give me your hand.”

The boy did as he was told and extended his right hand.

Perfected Zitian only touched the lines of his palm lightly, then let it go.

Afterward, she asked for the year, month, day, and hour of his birth.

Zhao Youlan answered each in turn.

Perfected Zitian lowered her eyes and silently calculated, the bodhi beads in her hand moving slowly one by one.

For a time, the quiet room was without sound.

Outside the window, bamboo shadows stirred gently.

Only the spring water in the kettle boiled with a soft murmur.

After a long while, Perfected Zitian slowly took out a bamboo cylinder of fortune sticks.

“Go before Supreme Lord Laozi and draw one stick for yourself.”

Ma Rende rose respectfully.

A moment later, he returned with a bamboo stick held in both hands.

Perfected Zitian looked at the inscription, but did not explain it at once.

She merely gazed at the boy and smiled gently.

“Your fate is not poor.”

Zhao Youlan immediately let out a breath of relief.

“Then that is good.”

Yet Perfected Zitian slowly continued:

“Only, those with good fate do not necessarily live a smooth life.”

“And those with bitter fate are not necessarily without blessing.”

“People of the world often take fate to be the road. In truth, the heart is the road.”

Ma Rende listened intently.

Perfected Zitian placed the bamboo stick lightly upon the table.

“In your eight characters, there is much mountain, and there is also much water.”

“When the mountains are heavy, one can bear responsibility.”

“When the waters are deep, one is skilled at hiding the heart.”

“Only…”

She paused for a moment.

“In the future, if you come to the end of mountains and rivers, do not doubt the mountains, and do not resent the waters.”

“For the one who truly carries you across has never been someone else.”

“It is yourself.”

Ma Rende nodded silently.

In truth, he did not fully understand these words.

Many years later, after his life had passed through wind and rain, when he looked back upon that cup of pale tea in Muyang Abbey and that breath of bamboo wind, he would suddenly understand: what the Perfected One had spoken of that year had not been fate at all, and yet every sentence had been about life.

Outside the window, Ma Xinde and Daoyin were tossing high into the air the bamboo leaves they had swept into a pile.

Golden leaves fluttered down everywhere.

The two children chased one another and laughed amid the falling rain of leaves.

Perfected Zitian watched them through the window, and a trace of tenderness rose in her eyes.

She gently lifted her teacup and suddenly spoke a sentence no one had expected:

“Children grow faster than autumn.”

Zhao Youlan was startled, then turned her head to look into the courtyard.

The bamboo wind remained.

The laughter remained.

None of them imagined that the peace of this courtyard, the gathering of this one day, would in the long years to come become the warmest time in each of their hearts—and also the time most impossible to return to.