Chapter 686

Chapter 686

Why do you seek the Dao?

Delivered as more of a statement than a question, I can tell the Abbot isnt asking me directly, but remembering a time when someone asked him. My Mentor asked me this question often, and I never did understand why. I believed it was because my answers were wrong, and he wanted to guide me to the Right View without influencing my perception, but as I lay here and wait for death, I wonder what the deeper meaning to his daily query might be. Why do I seek the Dao? A good question to ask, one which I can no longer answer with confidence.

The Abbot falls silent as he loses himself in his thoughts, his melancholic sorrow so heavy its almost contagious. Much as I would like to leave him to stew in solitary peace, I know better than most how addictive self-pity can be, a soothing balm for ones woes that sets the stage for a future self-immolation of misery and despair. The only way forward I can see is getting him to open up and talk, because sometimes, thats all it takes, having someone who will listen, even if they have nothing to add. The important thing is to air your grievances and get them off your chest, so after waiting an appropriate amount of time, I give him a little verbal nudge and ask, What answers did you give?

Still adrift in his memories, the Abbot smiles ever so slightly, his youthful features softening until he glows with childish mirth as the world comes alive around us. No longer are we sat across from one another in the monastery courtyard, but instead standing side by side outside the gates, except not the gates I know and recognize. Though they appear the same, this particular monastery sits on a grassy plain, one bordering the same shoreline I saw in the Abbots pleasant dream. Hundreds of peasants kneel in front of the monastery with their hands pressed together in prayer, their faces blurred and indistinct, but their clothing stands out more than anything else. Dull, ragged tunics, cut in a style I dont really recognize, though calling it a style is a bit generous. They might as well have cut holes in sacs and called it a day, with a few having the added benefit of a twine belt to keep their ill-fitted robes from slipping off their emaciated frames, the obvious abject poverty standing in stark contrast of the bustling docks and prosperous harbour-front property sitting only a few hundred metres away from the monastery

Two faces stand out in the crowd, the first being the former Abbot, looking every bit as wise and elderly as he did in the current Abbots Kukku-induced dream. The second person is the only other distinct face in the crowd, that of a young boy standing by the monastery gates, not quite pressed up against the wall, but edging closer as if afraid to move too far. As the former Abbot turns away from his kneeling audience, he catches a glimpse of the young boy and stops in place before gesturing for the boy to follow. I was eight or nine here, the Abbot says, and there is not doubt in my mind that the young boy is him. Mentor had just finished giving a sermon and reassuring the city folk when he saw me there by the monastery gates, waiting for the free lunch they provided each day. The monks didnt have an endless supply of food, so they tried to serve those in greatest need first, but it was difficult to determine whose needs were greatest.

Following the former Abbot into the monastery, young Abbot is brought into the dining hall where hes given a small bowl of fried rice with scant vegetables scattered within, as well as a cup of weak tea. Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo, the former Abbot intones, and I can feel the sorrow and heartache in his voice. Apologies boy. This monk knows you missed yesterdays meal, but this meagre fare is all we can provide for now. Worry not, for this monk has an audience with the Magistrate later tonight, so with a little luck, there will be more food in days to come.

There wasnt. The Abbot chimes in, not the child but the aged one standing beside me. A war was being waged between nobles who possessed more material wealth than they could spend yet still demanded more. And why not? It all came at the expense of those who had nothing, for the wealthy would never have to bear the true cost.

Picking up on contextual cues and the Abbots smouldering anger, I ask, Your parents?

Victims of the nobles war, alongside the rest of my village, the Abbot replies, and though his tone remains calm and neutral, his shoulders tense and fists clench. One fought not on the battlefield, but in city streets and village farms, spilling blood in the name of economic prospects. Instead of targeting shipments protected by Martial Warriors, the local Magistrates foes found it easier to slaughter peasant workers to create a shortage of labour, so that fewer fields could be sowed and a smaller harvest reaped. The Magistrate saw the lives of his people as numbers on a page, and thus believed the losses well within acceptable margins, because he could make up for lost profits by taxing the survivors even more. Thus, my Mentors attempt to dissuade him from this course of action was doomed to fail, and life continued in this fashion for many months more.

A spark of anger ignites within the defeated Abbot, one I keep in mind for later perusal. Say what you will about anger, but sometimes, it can be enough to keep you going when things are rough, and thats all I can do for the Abbot. Keep him going until he can find his own way forward again instead of just calling it a wrap and riding off into the sunset before his time. I cant say Ive got any better ideas yet, so I continue to watch and listen as the Abbots tale unfolds.

While young Abbot eats, the former Abbot brings out a block of wood and sets to carving, his hands moving with the deft surety of an expert at his craft. The young Abbot watches with rapt attention, unable to tear his eyes away for even a second as a fish all but emerges from within the wooden block, one that was trapped and is quickly being freed from its confines by the former Abbots seemingly magical touch. Even now, the Abbot says, smiling as he watches his Mentor alongside his younger self, I am unable to match Mentors skill with carving, like seeing poetry in motion as he gave life to his works. Im hard pressed to disagree, recognizing the work now as a wooden fish drum, one similar to the one the Abbot himself uses, or the one the former Abbot used in the rooster-induced dream. Nor can I match him in kindness or empathy, having noticed a single boy missing out of a crowd of hundreds only to personally ensure he was fed when he returned. I was not the first to benefit from his kindness, nor was I the last, and while few persevered long enough to take their vows, Mentor never minded those who left.

Charity is to give without expectation of profit, the former Abbot says, breaking the fourth wall of this dream sequence to address us without looking up. If you give expecting something in return, then it becomes a transaction, and therefore is not in accordance with the Right Effort.

...No, no, that doesnt apply to me. Sure, Im here because I need the Abbots help, but Id try to save his life even if I didnt. I mean, I owe the Brotherhood that much, right? Hang on, is reciprocity also not in accordance with the Right Effort? Whatever. Im not a monk, so who cares?

Although the Abbot has gotten a little off topic and directed my thoughts astray, at least hes talking instead of getting all stuck up inside his head. I can feel the tremendous amounts of love and respect he has for his Mentor, the former Abbot of the Brotherhood, who doesnt really look all that remarkable for a Mentor to two Divinities. That being said, nostalgia is a powerful drug, one that can be detrimental if indulged in too much, but considering the Abbot just told me hes dying because he believes he has no reason to live anymore, a bit of reminiscing about the good old days might be just what the doctor ordered. Maybe I should have him conjure up a reclining couch to lie down on and a chair for me to sit in, so we can do word associations and ask him about his relationship with his mother.

Then again, as far as psychiatric help goes, Im probably more of the pop up cardboard shop type of doctor, one not worth the five cent price tag, but I dont see anyone else around to help.

Still engrossed in his memories, I stand with the Abbot and watch as his younger self devours his meagre meal. When the boy finishes, he looks at the monk with rapt attention, finally noticing the aged ascetic carving out a fish drum with what appears to be record speed. I wont to ben a monk, the boy declares, with the bold brashness of youth, his rustic accent thick and heavy.

Oh? Without looking up from his work, the monk asks, And why do you seek the Dao, young man?

I kin do chores, the boy says, faltering a little because he clearly doesnt understand what the monk is asking. Sweepn leaves, runn messages, washn floors, whatever ye needs. All Im askin is fer a meal like this every day... Every two days even.

The former abbot says nothing as he puts the finishing touches on his fish drum, carving the scales with almost careless ease and making the fish come to life before my eyes. His work finished, he pulls out a rag and sets to polishing the piece while finally directing his gaze to the young boy. Your parents?

Deadn. Killt by the bandits three... four months back? Me brothers and sisters too. Meeting the monks gaze with fierce determination, the boy straightens up and says, I killt one of em. Plunged Das pitchfork right through the bandits chest I did. Put im down screamin, and got em a few moren times fer sure.

And how did it make you feel? Be honest now, for your answer determines my own.

Everyone ses I ought be proud fer avengin me Da. Deflating in quiet resignation, the boy whispers, But his face... the bandit, he looked so sad. So scared. Whyd he attack us then? We didnt have much of nothin, the fields barely sown much less harvested, but they still came like they said they would, and the Magistrate, he done nothin about it. Why?

Your village was warned of the attack beforehand? The boy nods and the monk frowns, his expression one of pensive thought. And your village stayed to fight? Again, the boy nods, and the monk sighs. Such pride, such sin. Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.

They thought the Magistrate would protect us, the boy protests, stubbornly sticking up for his villages decision. We sent Old Li to the city, and he toldn twelve different guards about the bandits, guards he knew from sellin his ale. They all said theyd see to it that their superiors would hear of it, swore wed be looked after, but no one ever came.

Hmm... most distressing. Still pondering the matter, the monk pauses to inspect his handiwork before passing it to the boy. It must be Heavens will that we met then. Come boy, let us find you some robes then and start on your lessons. Pure though your intentions are not, your journey along the Dao begins today.

Though scared, hope wins out as the boy follows the monk away, the scene fading away before my eyes only to be replaced by another. There young Mahakala sits, at a desk across from his Junior brother, the young boy now a young teen in loose-fitting robes. His bald head lowered in concentration, the teens brush moves with deft confidence as it moves across the stone slate, writing in neat, orderly characters, ones I cannot read for they are the same characters I see carved into the four pillars of the courtyard. Not so for Mahakala though, who looks even younger than he did in his Natal Palace, maybe somewhere in his early twenties as opposed to mid thirties. Incorrect, he says, pointing at the offending character the teen Abbot just wrote, though I suppose he isnt Abbot just yet. It is Vah Sei Kai, not Vah Suh Kur as you have written here.

And why did you come here?

Where else could we go? Wherever the Abbot opened a monastery, disaster would soon follow, the Imperial Clans insidious work no doubt. Honouring the letter of their agreement, to leave the Brotherhood in peace so long as they kept to themselves, but this agreement did not apply to the denizens of the outer provinces, who were always more than happy to win favour with the Imperial Clan.

The world is large and much of it uninhabited, Mahakala begins, before gesturing at the Arid Wastes outside. Yet you came to this place of danger, where even I dare not traverse freely. How many of our Brothers were lost along the way?

Too many. Four-hundred and seventy-seven, which left them with less than three-hundred total survivors, a far cry from the days of the Abbots youth when they had monasteries in every major city. Most left when Mentor died and the Imperial Clan made their displeasure known, and there were precious few initiates foolish enough to board a sinking ship. But here, we are free to study in peace, and with you as the Abbot, surely we can bring new initiates in whenever needed.

I will not be Abbot. Finally deigning to kneel by the Abbots bedside, Mahakala moves to help him sit upright, and despite the pain and fatigue, the Abbot cannot remember the last time hed been so happy, for his Senior Brother is here with him again, even if only for a little while longer. You will continue to serve as Abbot, because you will not die, as you are far more talented than I. Removing a pouch from his belt, Mahakala opens it up to reveal dried jerky, and the Abbot is shocked by the reveal, but he is appalled when Mahakala urges him to eat. Do it. It will give you the strength needed to survive and ascend, he says, and the Abbot almost obeys by reflex, until Mahakalas patience wears thin. Eat, or die knowing you have failed. These are the choices before you.

And so the Abbot eats, weeping as he does, not just for his sins, but for the sins of his Senior Brother who must be suffering so. The thought turns his stomach even as the Abbot feels his body breaking down the meal and processing Energy of the Heavens contained within the flesh of this dead Divinity, no doubt an Imperial slain by his Senior Brother, for who else would dare strike at the Imperial Clan?

...I knew there was something magical about cannibalism, though I suppose it doesnt have to be another human. Would I get super strong if I ate Pong Pong or Ping Ping? Hypothetically of course, since I have no intention of eating them, but still... itd be nice to know. For science.

Though his weakness abhors him, the Abbot is ecstatic to not only survive for a few years longer, but also to have his Senior Brother back. A fatter, gruffer, harsher Senior Brother, but his Senior Brother nonetheless. With Mahakalas guidance and help from the forbidden meal, the Abbot eventually ascends to Divinity, but not as quickly as he could have, because he knew that the day he succeeded would be the day his Senior Brother left again. He was right. They soon part on bad terms, arguing about the direction the Brotherhood should proceed, for Mahakala believes they should be more active in the outer world, but the Abbot sticks to his guns and the Brotherhood remains hidden in the Arid Wastes. To repent for his sins, the Abbot takes up self-mutilation, intending to repay the pounds of literal flesh he himself ate and return it to nature. The monks see this and follow suit, for they idolize their Abbot like he idolized his Mentor, and despite his arguments against it, he sees that this meaningful suffering has a beneficial effect, and studies it in depth.

And thus the Penitent Brotherhood is born, when they were once merely nameless monks serving in obscurity.

Time passes, and the Abbot transforms the sparse oasis mountain into the thriving forest I recognize, an effort that is decades in the labouring. Sometime during all this, a promising young monk proposes an idea that catches the Abbots interest, that of studying the Animal Path to better understand their own. Together, they set about raising chickens, goats, and other such beasts suitable for living in the Arid Wastes. A brilliant young man much like himself, the monk becomes the second Divinity of the Brotherhood and ascends to the rank of Wisdom, at which point the Abbot bestows him with a new name, Vyakhya, named for Clarity of Thought. Though they were not quite brothers, they were still the best of friends, and the Abbot was happy to have a like-minded individual to exchange ideas with.

Until Vyakhya shows just how unlike their minds truly are, by raising the man-eating tiger Rakshasa in secret. How many deaths went to fuel his experiment? The Abbot should have put an end to Vyakhya then, but how could he condemn another man for a lesser sin than that which he himself had committed? Vyakhya never partook in human flesh himself, nor did he kill a Divinity, and while he was arguably responsible for the lives lost to Rakshasas fangs and claws, the tiger would kill to eat regardless of any outside interference. Even Mahakala did not agree with removing Vyakhya, for he believed that while Vyakhya might have set out with the Wrong Effort, his intentions were good and the knowledge gained invaluable towards their understanding of the Dao.

And so you now know the breadth of my failures, the Abbot says, once again standing by my side as we watch more recent events unfold. I compromised my morals and strayed from my Path, after building the foundation of my Dao on impermanent relations. And what do I have to show for it, after so many centuries of life? My Mentor is dead and gone, and it gladdens me to know he did not see all this pass. My Senior Brother has passed as well, before we could ever reconcile. Everything they strove to build has come apart under my direction, hastened by the actions of a man I once called friend. Sighing as he shakes his head, he cuts short his reminiscence before I can see his battle against Vyakhya and Poppa Piggy, much to my dismay. Instead, he shows me a scene Ive never seen, but one I experienced first-hand, me arguing with Han BoLao in the midst of the Purge.

Whats this now? I ask, as I watch myself hurl my sword into a dying mans chest, cutting short his suffering by mere minutes at best. A futile gesture, but one I think I would repeat if given a second chance. You were here?

That I was. Patting my shoulder in a reassuring manner, we watch as I incite the soldiers of the Empire to violence against the suffering peasants, hurling our weapons into the suffering masses and feeling no better for it. After learning of Vyakhyas illicit actions, I took up the habit of wandering the outer provinces every few decades, and I happened to come across you in Sanshu. I myself yearned to stop the Purge and free those suffering souls, but to do so would go against the Noble Eight-Fold Path, not to mention go against the Brotherhoods agreement of non-interfence with the Imperial Clan and their agents. Gesturing at my tear-soaked expression, the Abbot explains, This was when I decided to accept you into the Brotherhood, for you reminded me of my younger self, if only I had the courage and resolve to stand up for what I thought was right. I named you SanDukkha for Perpetual Suffering, because I could see that though you had good intentions, your path would be more arduous than most, for the righteous man suffers when the innocent are harmed, and our world is one that preys upon the weak. Yet your resolve to do right was admirable, even if your approach was flawed from the start, but I thought that if I could teach you and change your ways, then it would validate my own beliefs.

With a wave of his hand, we appear in the courtyard, this time with the Abbot sitting where I first saw his Mentor, on the raised dais at the front of the courtyard, and me sitting before him dressed in monks robes, though I can still feel the hair on my head and the contents of my pants, so theres that. A selfish reason for inducting you into the Brotherhood, the Abbot says, flashing a sheepish grin, But an action guided by the Heavens themselves. Come, Junior Brother. Ask your questions, and I will answer them to the best of my ability, so long as I still draw breath.

Mahakala had the same courtyard for a Natal Palace, so Im guessing their Mentor taught both his students in a similar manner. I have no idea what benefit there is to be gained from using a standard template Natal Palace, but it raises interesting questions to be sure. Im fairly certain the dais is the Natal Throne, but why was Mahakala so large he could barely even fit? Because his Soul was too big for his Natal Palace? Why couldnt he just scale everything up?

You spent months pestering me with questions, the Abbot says, raising an eyebrow in amused question, Yet now, with free rein to ask and limited time for answers, you waste precious seconds in idle thought?

What? Oh, sorry. Snapping back to reality, I push myself to my feet and stretch, feeling like I havent moved in ages. Er, dont worry about the limited time thing. Im pretty sure I can fix you. Raising an eyebrow of my own, I ask, Unless you dont want to be fixed?

Ah, the bold confidence of youth. How refreshing it is to see. Chuckling as he shakes his head, the Abbot explains, My issue is not so easily solved, and I will not sin so heavily again. Before, I feared death and failure, but now it is clear I am not fated to succeed, so Ive no longer anything to fear. Such is life, of which death is an inevitable part of, so I can only hope that I am reunited with my Senior Brother once more, in at least one of our next lives.

Sin? Oh, the cannibalism. No, thats not it. Not that I have a dead Divinity lying around, though it explains why so many Divinities spend their lives in hiding and why a bunch of them dropped by to see Guan Suo die. They werent paying respects, they were waiting for the dinner bell to ring. Then again, maybe some of them were there to stop the others from eating him in secret, though I doubt it. If its a reason for living, I cant help you there. I can list a whole host of reasons I think you should live, but its pointless because you clearly dont agree. If its Heavenly Energy you need however, I have lots, which I assume is what you need to Heal yourself. Removing a gourd from my belt, I double check to make sure its the right variety and present it to the Abbot, who is both intrigued and confused by the gift. I have more, but for some strange reason, I couldnt carry too much with me. We can just pop on over to my Natal Palace and Ill have you fixed right up in no time.

...Do you know what you are asking me, child?

To risk the destruction of your eternal soul, yea. Shrugging, I say, Youre the one who said were short on time, but if you want an explanation, its easier to show than tell. Dont worry though, I think we can go straight back to my Natal Palace without a pit-stop in the Void, but even if we do have to make a layover, Im pretty sure Ive Devoured every stray Spectre hanging about.

If only it were so simple. Still holding the gourd without caring to use it, the Abbots attention focuses inward as he reflects on his sorrows and regrets. I have lived a long life, longer than you can even imagine, and I am just so tired of my trials and tribulations. Even with Heavenly Energy to Heal me, my injuries are so great the Healing itself might be enough to kill me, for my will is simply too weak to wield it in the way you envision. Too much or not enough, the end result is the same, so no matter how many gourds you might have, I fear they will be wasted on one such as myself.

Seeing the Abbot still hesitating, I give him a little time to wrestle with the decision, but Ive little patience for self-pity when its not my own. You think you have failed, that youve lost everything and have come to the end of your Path. Your Senior Brother felt the same way, but I always thought differently. Youve both made mistakes, but who hasnt? No one is perfect, but the only way to really fail is to quit before you succeed. So long as you keep trying, then you havent failed yet, which is something I wish I couldve told your Senior Brother. The memory returns to me, and I repeat Mahakalas words verbatim. He said that no matter what trials or tribulations I may face, the Mother always leaves a path to salvation, that I should not allow pride and arrogance to bring me low, and to trust in the Abbot and the people around me. Extending my hand to the Abbot, I add, Those were his final words to me, before passing out, words he believed would be his final testament. To know that there was always a path forward, and to trust you. I failed to save him, but I believe I have the means to save you, except I need your help to do it. Shrugging, I add, Besides, you dont even have to send your whole soul, just make a Natal Soul and send it to test the waters. Probably would be easier anyways. Again, the Abbot fixes me with a befuddled stare, and I remember just how unorthodox my Path has been, so I suppose its only fair that he would like to know what hes getting into before risking his eternal soul. Okay fine, I say, settling back down in front of him. You win. Well do it your way, so I might as well start from the top.

And hopefully, we have enough time to get through the entire story, because thatd just be my luck. To finally have someone willing to entertain my questions only to have them die before I get any answers.

...I should probably give him the short version, just to be safe.

Chapter Meme