Faithful to Buddha, Faithful to You

Chapter 20 Becoming a Language Teacher

I settled down, went to work every day after I slept and left the temple, surveyed, painted the floor plan. He has said hello to the doorman in the temple, to the palace, to the library. So in the first temple in the West, the Bird Leaving the Great Temple, the incenser often sees a girl in a turtle suit, but at first glance she's a Han woman, holding a book and drawing on it with a strange pen. Often he also pulls out a tape measure, weirdly weighing that amount. And the temple master, the archmage of the western realm of the earthquake, Hamorosh, ordered all the monks in the temple to cooperate and not obstruct the woman's work.

I often see Rosh when I measure and paint. I first saw how he worked in the temple. He is not talking to his disciples about scripture, he is meeting other western countries that have come to admire him, and even scholarly monks in the Central Plains region. He also frequently travels among the masses to preach his great multiplicity of teachings. His early class was too early for me to wake up and not see it. But I saw it in the evening class between 4: 00 and 5: 00 p.m. When the bell rang, all monks of good character went to the palace to concentrate. Roche will replace them and lead the people to salute the Buddha with incense, then sit down for the first time and start reading the scriptures. Hundreds of monks, all chanted in Sanskrit, discouraged the frustrating voices around the hall for a long time, with crisp copper bowls. “When!” cried the Sanskrit in his ear, his soul washed itself in such a neat reading.

My NORTHFACE backpack is back. One item in the bag is missing, and the Adeles silk is inside. When I think of Rosh giving me this birthday present, that red to the innocence of my neck, I smiled happily and quickly took out the scarf and hung it around my neck. There's only a few things left in there. It's a sketchbook I've never used, and a few pencils and rubber are missing. And the rest of my drawings, they're still there. I don't really care, I think Fursati's toying it off. After 10 years of finding so many things and keeping them intact, I really don't have any more requests.

At night, he still came to my room to wipe my medicine and wine. Seeing me hanging the scarf, I stunned for a moment, and the corner of my mouth floated with an obscure smile. Then, at his request, I became his master of Han again. The first book he told us about was his instructional material, The History. I started a series of "Hundreds of Lectures" about ancient myths and the Three Yellow Five Emperors. I used to love to be a teacher watchmaker, because professions are history, and I sometimes work in museums at Golden Week as a lecturer. When my audience smells good, I get a sense of accomplishment.

Although there is only one audience in front of us, this audience, even if they are of a high level, is equally focused on what God sometimes calls his jaw. I seem to have returned to the stage where I was a teacher a few months ago, but the time has changed for 10 years, even though the person in front of me remains the same. Nowadays, I can't knock on his light head, I can't preach on his face anymore. And I, the teacher, often looked at the students' side faces like Greek sculptures, and talked with a straight eye and a weakened voice. Then suddenly I realized, drinking water with a red face, coughing, looking for fans, going to the bathroom, etc.

He also watched a Guanyin Prayer Society under his auspices in the temple. Guanyin Bodhisattva comes from the Sanskrit translation and should have been translated into ease of view. After it was passed to Nakahara, it became Guan Shiyin due to misreading. During the Tang dynasty, he avoided the taboo of Tang Taizong, Li Shimin, and died, abbreviated as Guanyin. I didn't know this was the future Guanyin law prevalent in China, because the Sanskrit name of Guanyin is so hard to remember. But when I saw the audio-visual of the offering, I understood. At this time, Guanyin is not the image of the woman we are familiar with of the great mercy and compassion, but a man of great power, with a beautiful moustache, like the Murals of Mogau Cave and the Buddhist statues of the North and South dynasties. Until Tang, Guanyin images belonged to male partners, because Guanyin traveling the legal world, often with all kindness and convenience, and able to “send children”, the female image may derive from it.

The Church did seven days of prayer for the general public, open to anyone. The names of their deceased loved ones are reported to specialized law enforcement monks, written on a plank and presented before the incense case. Rosh took the flowers and gave them incense. He knelt three times, raising his hands and throwing his feet in an elegant manner. He sat on the high stage, holding a bronze bell, shook it, crisp and ears, and the entire hall was instantly silent.

Eye waves flowed, wise eyes swept through everyone, the color of mercy appeared on their faces, and the whole person was like an immortal in the mist. He said, his voice seemed to be penetrating, spinning in the hall for a long time: “Self-interest is wisdom, profit is sorrow, Bodhisattva is intelligent body, for mercy, watching the life of the legal world, its random fate, bitterness and joy, freedom, unhindered. ”

The monks knelt together and brushed their mouths to read the Buddha. The people around me also knelt down, and I hurried to learn. Then he read a scripture, and the monks under his throne followed it, singing the Scriptures with devotion.

On this day, the birds left the temple to give free food to all men and women of good faith, personally gifted and blessed by Rosh. The team was lined up outside the Temple Gate, and I moved forward a little bit in the team, hoping. He recited the Buddha as a token of ten salutes, delivering a piece of food already wrapped up, holding a delicate long-handled incense wand gently over the head of the prayer man. Everyone who receives food and receives prayer is delighted. Two hours in line, finally my turn, I'm a little hungry. He saw me, slightly stunned, with a smile coming from the bottom of his eyes, whispering a few words to the disciple around him. He handed me the food, and I smiled and bowed my head to pray. He touched an appliance lightly on his head. He was surrounded by sandalwood and looked up at him. The self-confident and accommodating temperament was truly extraordinary. A few more dances than he had to. He was about to leave, and suddenly he saw his whispering disciple handing him a string of grapes, and he laughed and took it and put it in my hand. Grapes are the most common fruit in Turtles and are not valuable. Sneaking a peek at the other person, he didn't seem dissatisfied with my extra gift, and quickly lowered his head to lead the thing away.

I didn't want to eat that extra grape, pull a piece of paper in the sketchbook and put it in the bag. He was a little tired that night, but bright and confident with wide eyebrows. Though he may not have eaten all day, it took him four hours to send the food alone, some heartache, and quickly took the grapes out of his bag and wondered how to persuade him to eat.

He kept looking at my movements and saw me peel the paper and expose the grapes to him, a little flaky. Without waiting for me to say it, he took it off and put it in his mouth, smiling at me: “It's sweet. ”

I stopped and picked one too. It's really sweet, sweeter than any grape I've ever eaten...

We just sat there eating grapes, and suddenly we thought of the famous grape eater who didn't spit grapes, almost laughed, and taught him. His Chinese still had a Turtles accent, he couldn't get around it, and he laughed me down. In such a laugh, suddenly I love the warmth of the moment, but I hope time stays here forever...

He was tired every day in the law club, but he insisted on coming to me. I paused the lecture and saw him come and tried to get him to rest. Sometimes I really want to give him a massage, but I only dare to YY in my heart. On the last night, the temple was lit, and everyone sent a small oil lamp. Rosh bowed in front of the Buddha and lit the oil lamp in his hand. The most virtuous monk in front of Rosh walked toward Rosh and lit himself in his hand. Then a monk lit up in the hands of the previous one according to his rank. Soon, the entire hall was lit with beating starlight. I also lit a fuel lamp with this little lamp, and the whole mind was lit. In such a sacred atmosphere, Rosh, like a god, a treasure, an extraordinary wisdom, leads thousands of people to pray, and throws into the fire a piece of wood on the table with a living name on it. The mumbling Sanskrit spins around and fills my ears constantly, and this scene touches my tears.

Long after that law ended, I can still recall that solemn atmosphere from time to time. Religious spiritual power was once again recognized. No wonder religion has existed since the birth of man, and I believe it will continue until the end of mankind. Everyone has spiritual demands, especially when experiencing suffering. The Buddhist Church became more widespread and deeply rooted in the Middle Plains during the North and South dynasties, also because it was one of the most tragic periods of history. When I spoke to Rosh about these thoughts, he smiled and agreed. For the specific Buddhist scriptures, I can't carry most of them, just talk to him about religion from a historical and philosophical perspective. Sometimes he doesn't understand what I'm saying, but he can interpret it in his own language after a moment of reflection. Overnight moments often slipped by so quickly that he could not help but hate Einstein's explanation of relativity.

I continued to survey the paintings in the temple. Sometimes when I sat outside the hall measuring, he would walk in and talk to his disciples standing in the courtyard. As I sat in the palace copying the murals, he would bring in a group of monks to speak and prompt me to continue painting, regardless of them. When I lift my foot up next to the tower, a tall, thin figure takes my tape measure and covers it over my head for a day. When I was thirsty, a little Sami would bring me a glass of water in time, and then an attack on the familiar brown monk clothes swung past the door...

I really can't go on like this. Now that I've arrived, I can't see him accelerating his heart beat. If I can't see him, I can't see him. Pillowed on the bed he had pillowed on, covered with the cover he had covered, I could snatch a little deer for a while. I was still painting at the Bird's Leaving Temple, but I couldn't help but follow him until he looked me in the eye and smiled lightly. Of course I know what these reactions mean. I look at his face more, listen to his voice more, I'll sink, I won't want to leave. But, Ai Qing, Ai Qing, you can be passionate about anyone, you can't be alone with him. He's not your cup of tea, he's with you, 1650 years apart. And most importantly, he died a monk, and you, sooner or later, go back to the 21st century.

So, after two months of long drawings, the expedition of the sparrows away from the Great Temple could not stop. I hesitated and decided to tell him what I was going to do after class at night.

He was told the other day about History Volume 61 - The Legend of Bay. Uncle Baiqi, don't eat the poppy, eat the vegetables, starve to death in Suyang Mountain. Under the Tai Shi pen, the great loyalty of this kind of indulgence is highly recognized. Throughout "The Legend of Baiyi", speaking of Uncle Baiyi, it's only a small amount of space, and the big phrase is Tai Shi Gung's own sentiment.

“But is Uncle Bae's loyalty worth emulating? At that time, the world had returned to Zhou. They did not eat the Zhou poppy, but the harvested wild fruit was also Zhou's wild fruit. Suyang Mountain, where they lived, was also on Zhou's border. In the end, even if they starved to death, they were buried by Zhou dynasty people.” I sigh: “Everyone has a hard time, and everyone has to make a choice when it comes to it. Is it humiliating to steal life or like Uncle Bhai Qi would rather starve to death? It's me, I'll choose to live. Because you live, you can complete the volunteering in your heart. And the judgment of future generations, I'm ancient anyway, whatever? ”

I stared at him, thinking about the turning point of his destiny 11 years later. In his heart, it must have been painful, right? “So, Rosh, in the future, if you run into trouble, be sure to think about your ambitions and live strong.” Eleven years later, I can't show up again, and I can only give him a little hint like this.

“Husband" poetry "," book "insignificant, wants to do the same. In Xi Xibo's detention, he performed" Zhou Yi "; Confucius Ur Chen Cai, in" Spring and Autumn "; Huiyuan Banished, in" Seeking Out "; Left Qiu blind, with" Mandarin Language "; Sun Tzu's foot, in contrast to the military law; Unwei Qian Shu, in hereditary" Lu Xuan "; Han Fei Qin, in" Talking Difficulty "," Isolation "; 300 poems, in much the same way as the act of Xiansheng's fury.” He stared me in the eye and answered me in the words of Tasty Stone.

We looked around, silenced down, and an unknown air flowed among us. His face grew red and suddenly slightly skewed away, shifting his eyes. The look on his face, some slight embarrassment, some slight frustration, some slight... regret.

Rosh, you don't actually need me to teach you. The passage that you back out, in the Tai Shi Gong Self Representation, is the last chapter of the History. I'm sure you can do it even if you have to carry the entire History. Then why did you ask me to teach you? My heart was racing out of my chest, and I, I presume, was it because you wanted to see me every day that you pretended you hadn't read History? But... but...

Close your eyes and force yourself to press down that beating heart slowly in a tone I thought was calm: “Tomorrow I won't be leaving the temple without a sparrow, I've finished painting. Do you know where I can find a merchant team to go to Chang 'an? If you don't know, I can find it myself. ”

He silenced for a moment and asked: "Now the Chinese and Hu people are killing each other with animosity. Why do you insist on going to that dangerous place if you're a lonely woman? Turtles, though small, are stable all the time, why not..."

“Rosh...” I interrupted him gently, "you have a great desire to live through the arts and culture. In order to do that, would you like to go to that dangerous Hanzi? ”

“Naturally. ”

“Me, too.” I'm staring at "History", which I've been working on for the rest of my life, "and I have an ideal. Remember what I told you, my aspiration is to write a history book that can live through history and restore historical authenticity. ”

Naturally, Wuhua is the most tragic period in the history of the Han people. After Zhao Shihu's father and son enjoyed killing Han people, Zhao killed hundreds of thousands of Han people in just over 20 years. Wan Min abandoned Zhao to restore his Han surname, and issued "Hu Ling". If he looked like a Hu, he killed more than 200,000 Hu people within a year. In the north of China, for more than two decades, the bones have been scattered and miserable. If this were the case, I wouldn't have the guts to give me nuclear weapons. Fortunately, this was just when Rosh was born. Now in Zhongyuan, the former Qin has basically unified the North and resumed production, except in Liaozhou and Liaodong. And Han Jian was my favorite tragic hero of the sixteen kingdoms, whose personal charm I greatly admired. Go to his former Qin now to see what I have always wanted. Otherwise, 10 years later, the Battle of the Water will be his Waterloo, and the North will fall back into the chaos of the splinter soldiers.

I looked at him, hoping that my eyes were firm. He looked at me and turned his head away. He stared at the slightly beating flame heart of the oil lamp. The tone was waveless: “I'll arrange it for you. ”

I continued my lecture, and he continued his lecture. Just pretend, I don't know what he's thinking. Play dumb, keep playing dumb...

At the end of the day he left calmly, as usual, and I was shouting and the door was pushed open again.

“Remember Kezil Chifford Cave?” He understates: “From what you said about digging a cave temple there, more than a dozen caves have been opened in ten years. ”

“Seven days from now I'm going there to present the Buddha.” He stared at me and looked at me. “Do you want to go? ”

I, I, I want to go. He really knew too much about what would appeal to me. If I go, I will be able to ascertain the exact year and sequence in which the cave was dug, and I will be able to copy the beautiful murals that were destroyed in the next life. These are all of great historical value. I really can't stop this temptation. We'll postpone our departure for a few days. Is that okay? Is my time enough?

Seeing me nod, he smiled, "Seven days later, we leave. ”