Return of The Mount Hua – Chapter 1527. Now it's my turn (2)
Editor: Hoamz
Co-Translator: Xoxo
The room was dim.
In a spacious room that could not be fully lit even with several oil lamps, one person was seated right at the center.
A cleanly shaven head, a face that had not yet shed its youthfulness, and the purple and yellow kasaya draped over his body suggested he was a young monk.
However, the expression of the child who continued his barely audible quiet recitation was truly solemn. So much so that it felt quite disconnected from his youthful face.
“...Svāhā.”
The two lips of the novice monk who had been continuously reciting slowly closed.
As his tightly shut eyes slowly opened, his pupils were revealed.
They were eyes so endlessly deep and black that it was hard to believe they belonged to a child.
Those eyes turned to the wall in front of him. More precisely, to the strange symbol drawn on that wall.
Dharmachakra (법륜(法輪)). The symbol of Buddhist law, bearing the form of a wheel.
The young novice monk, who quietly recited the Six-Syllable Mantra as if to conclude his sutra recitation, let out a long breath and opened his small mouth.
"You need not wait so long."
At his words, an elderly monk who had been standing motionless behind him, careful not to disturb his meditation, cautiously entered the room.
The elderly monk took a seat in a place slightly off to the side from the front of the child. As if he dared not sit facing him directly.
“Master.”
The seated old monk reverently joined his palms to pay his respects to the young monk, then continued with a worried expression.
“Is there something on your mind?”
“....”
"The hour is late. No matter that you are the Master, that body is nothing more than a young child's, so I fear that striving so hard in cultivation might harm your body unnecessarily."
“....”
"Do not forget, Master. You are the lantern."
The young monk, who had been silently listening, nodded.
“I have caused you concern.”
“It is nothing. I only…”
"The lantern may flicker, the Buddhist law does not, yet it seems my cultivation is still shallow, flickering like that lantern."
The old monk stayed silent.
His cultivation is shallow. At first glance, it was correct. How much time could a child who had not yet reached the age of twenty have had for cultivation?
Yet it was also utterly false. Nowhere in this world was there a monk (비구(比丘)) with deeper cultivation than this small boy.
The reason was simple. The young child before him was none other than the Great Living Buddha, the gungju of this Budala Palace.
The old monk said.
“Master are merely reclaiming what was lost. Please do not be anxious. As it was before, and even before that, Master will attain enlightenment again.”
At those words, the Great Living Buddha, Dalai Lama, smiled faintly. As if he would neither affirm nor deny.
“However....”
The old monk, Banseon Lama, quietly observed Dalai Lama's expression.
Upon reflection, the words that came from his master’s lips were not entirely convincing. Though perhaps not complete, the Great Living Buddha’s cultivation even now must be so deep that Bansol Lama dared not attempt to fathom it.
What on earth could be shaking such a Great Living Buddha?
As if reading Bansol Lama's mind from his expression, Dalai Lama opened his mouth.
"I was recalling a briefly encountered karma."
“Karma....”
"Yes."
Bansol Lama too read the meaning from Dalai Lama's seemingly vague words.
“Are you speaking of the Taoists from Jungwon?”
Dalai Lama once again neither confirmed nor denied it.
“…No. You are speaking of one among them?”
Only then did Dalai Lama nod slightly. Bansol Lama frowned slightly.
'Was it Chung Myung?'
The image of Jungwon Taoists he had once encountered on the grasslands came to mind. Among them, the one that stood out most in memory was a young Taoist who called himself Chung Myung.
He was certainly no ordinary person. His Dharma Eye (법안(法眼)), cultivated through a lifetime of practice to fulfill his duty, had told him so.
Though his nature differed from the Dalai Lama's, he was undeniably set apart from common folk in some fundamental way.
Perhaps that was why the old monk also remembered their appearances so clearly.
'But....'
This too was only Bansol Lama's standard.
The life he had experienced and the life the Dalai Lama had experienced were different. Dalai Lama was a man but also a Buddha, and a Buddha but also a man. Therefore, the world Dalai Lama saw must be quite different from the world he saw.
But even to someone like Dalai Lama, was Chung Myung’s existence truly something special?
“Master....”
“Is that so?”
"Pardon?"
When the old monk asked back at the unexpected question, Dalai Lama quietly shook his head.
"You said I am merely regaining what was lost. Is that truly so?"
His voice was considerably heavy. Bansol Lama did not dare to answer and kept his mouth shut.
“I am myself and also not myself. And I am not myself, yet I am also myself.”
“...Master.”
“Just because it is something I have experienced once and obtained, it will not be easy to obtain again. The more one seeks, the further and deeper the Dharma becomes, would you not agree?”
"My thinking was shallow."
"People say that if one can avoid repeating the foolishness once committed, one can become Buddha."
“....”
“But, Lama. Those words also mean that my path is covered entirely in things that must not be done. At every moment I must choose one, I see them. The countless mistakes I made, the sea of suffering (고해(苦海)) that followed at their end, the regrets of human affairs…”
Bansol Lama briefly chanted mantras while listening to words whose depth he dared not fathom.
Dalai Lama continued.
“The reason I can remain unshaken, despite all that, is because of my belief that everything eventually connects to the path of the Buddha.”
"That is why you are the Master."
“But what of those who cannot be so?”
“Master....”
"Om mani padme hum."
The Six-Syllable Mantra flowed from the young Dalai Lama’s lips. Contained within it were sorrow and bitterness, wistfulness and a wish.
He slowly closed his eyes.
‘Why…’
There was no path of return.
The reason life was suffering and karma was sorrow was because, within that tangled mess of threads, one cannot distinguish right from wrong.
Sometimes righteousness comes to strangle one's throat, and sometimes evil acts come to save oneself. How difficult it was to discover a single path in that muddy life?
"Do not worry too much, Master."
“....”
“Did you not say so yourself, Master? That he is like a candle, one who burns himself to illuminate his surroundings.”
Dalai Lama nodded. He had yet to find a better way to describe that person.
“And so he too will overcome this. Though the paths we walk may differ, he too is one who seeks enlightenment. Is he not one who has the courage to burn himself?"
"Om mani padme hum."
Dalai Lama uttered the mantra without further comment. Soon, a sound like a whisper began to continuously leak from between his lips.
As the Dalai Lama had entered a state of recitation, Bansol Lama also rose cautiously and left the room. His will to absolutely not disturb the cultivation was evident.
Left alone and continuously reciting sutras, Dalai Lama's heart was directed not toward the profound Buddhist law but toward the distant Jungwon.
'If burning oneself is one's own will, then it is offering.'
Though an extremely painful and arduous path, it was therefore called the foremost among almsgiving. The self-immolation offering (소신공양(燒身供養)).
‘But if the one who lights that fire is not oneself… then it is merely a punishment.’
A tear flowed down from his closed eyes.
'Child.'
He could only hope and pray.
That he does not realize the meaning of the two syllables ‘karma’ too late.
That this karma would not become too painful a thorn for him.
❀ ❀ ❀
A thick fragrant scent spread through the old Taoist temple.
Chung Myung, who was silently gazing at the incense burning and releasing white smoke, slowly scanned his surroundings.
This was Jade Spring Hall, which he had visited after a long time while avoiding everyone's eyes. He took in the sight of the ancestral hall where the memorial tablets of Mount Hua's pas sect leaders were enshrined.
"...Haven't visited much lately."
Chung Myung, who was trying to continue speaking with some gravity, scratched the back of his head as if it felt too awkward.
"Still, don't scold me too much. It's not like I've been playing around. Sahyung knows too, how busy I've been lately."
In truth, there was no need for him to come all the way here to see Cheong Mun.
Cheong Mun Sahyung was with him. Cheong Moon too would want to stay not where the memorial tablet was, but where he was.
Even if he were in the immortal realm, his gaze would be directed not toward Mount Hua's empty halls but toward him and Mount Hua's disciples.
Knowing this, the reason Chung Myung had deliberately sought this place… was perhaps not for Cheong Mun, but for himself.
"Well, it's nothing new anyway. It’s not like I’ve done dangerous things just once or twice.”
Chung Myung smiled faintly and approached Cheong Mun's memorial tablet.
Though physically near, it had been too long since his last visit. A layer of white dust had settled on the tablet.
Chung Myung lifted Cheong Mun's memorial tablet, carefully wiped away the dust, and gently placed it back in its position.
“If Sahyung were alive, you would definitely stop me.”
Naturally, the memorial tablet was silent.
“But I won’t listen this time. I did as Sahyung said once and screwed everything up. Looking back now, just because you’re my sahyung didn’t always mean you were right.”
Chung Myung chuckled.
If Cheong Mun were alive to hear this, his face would’ve turned bright red as he came rushing over in a huff. He was someone who was endlessly caring toward others, but would fly into a rage whenever he saw Chung Myung.
"So stop nagging and try trusting people a little. How old am I now? Only Sahyung sees me as a child."
Clicking his tongue briefly, Chung Myung stared fixedly at the smoke drawing blurry patterns in the air. As if hoping even the smoke might offer him some kind of reply.
But his words ultimately continued alone without reply.
"Kaaak! I know too! It would have been nice if I had done well from the start. It wouldn't turned out this way if I had done this much before. That’s why I’m running around like my soles are on fire even now. Because I’ve experienced it once before. Really, this guy…”
Chung Myung’s face contorted completely as he threw a punch at Cheong Mun's memorial tablet.
After fuming for a good while, Chung Myung’s expression gradually softened. A bitter expression spread across it.
He knew.
What’s severed can never be reconnected. That longing was all he had left.
The reason regret was most sorrowful was because no matter how much one regrets, nothing changes.
“I’ll come again… so until then, just bear with it even if you get covered in dust. The kids are suffering so much, so the ancestors should suffer a little too. As if you can just avoid the wind and rain and live in luxury.”
Chung Myung giggled and turned around without lingering attachment.
But before he could even take a single step, he opened his mouth again.
“Don't worry.”
Now at the end of his gaze were Mount Hua's halls beyond Jade Spring Hall, Mount Hua beyond that, and the countless people who had settled below it.
Everything he had inherited was here.
The fruits of his efforts to never repeat past failures were here.
What the past him had also possessed. But what he had to lose without leaving anything behind.
His lips hardened with resolve.
“This time... I won’t lose.”
Chung Myung dashed out of Jade Spring Hall in a single breath.
Only the thick scent of incense lingered faintly for a long time in the place he had left behind.
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