The presence of the Buddha’s Disciple followers in Chenliu City surged dramatically in an instant.

People have a herd mentality. Even if they weren’t fanatical followers, upon seeing the enthusiasm of those who were, ordinary citizens couldn’t help but imitate them. Since they didn’t know whether it was true or false, they figured they might as well treat it as true and give it a try—after all, seeking blessings didn’t cost anything.

More and more people gathered. Some were so moved they burst into tears. For someone unaware, it might’ve seemed as if a noble had passed away in the royal residence, and this was a ritual to transcend their soul.

…

Just when the scene was getting out of control, Mijing finally appeared. Still wearing the same monk’s robe, still holding the same two sets of prayer beads—one large, one small—and still with that shining bald head.

Somehow, Xiao Rong found Mijing more handsome than before, more compassionate. Surrounded by weeping, chanting, and calling voices, Xiao Rong felt an overwhelming urge to kneel and kowtow to him.

He blinked rapidly and quietly stepped behind Gao Xunzhi. The power of belief and the atmosphere was terrifying. He figured it was safer to stay back. Though he considered himself an atheist, what if—just what if—being in this Buddhist-charged space flipped a switch in his brain and turned him into a fervent disciple?

It wasn’t impossible. Xiao Rong had read a study once: when non-religious people stayed in churches or temples for a long time, 80% were influenced and began to embrace religious beliefs to some extent.

You could call it the power of faith, or the power of indoctrination. Either way, it was best not to test the strength of one’s resolve.

Thinking of this, Xiao Rong couldn’t help but glance again at Gao Xunzhi in front of him. Only magic could beat magic. Even if Gao Xunzhi stayed here for a whole month, he wouldn’t be affected by any fanaticism.

This was of course because he himself was a fanatic. After receiving compensation from Nanyong, Xiao Rong handed out gifts to everyone. Some spent it on food, drink, or fine goods. Gao Xunzhi did only one thing: he had a golden statue made of the miniature Daoist Lord figure for his room.

Xiao Rong: “…”

He really couldn’t understand these people.

＊

On the first day, Mijing was taken away by other monks. Not all monks could descend the mountain, and many elderly ones with limited mobility also longed to meet the Buddha’s Disciple and speak with him.

Xiao Rong had only read about the Buddha’s Disciple’s status in books. Later, he repeatedly emphasized how important Mijing was. Everyone agreed with him, but that was all—he sometimes even doubted himself, wondering if the books had exaggerated Mijing’s importance.

It was only today that he realized: it wasn’t an exaggeration. It was still an understatement.

This wasn’t just a disciple of Buddha—he was a living Buddha in the hearts of the people.

…

Xiao Rong wasn’t a Buddhist and could never fully grasp the tears of joy devout Buddhists shed. In their eyes, Mijing was someone who would undoubtedly become a Buddha after death. Not a Bodhisattva, not an Arhat, but a fully realized Buddha, the highest rank.

He had saved tens of thousands of civilians and resisted the brutal Xianbei Emperor on his own. What an immense merit that was. If Mijing couldn’t become a Buddha, their entire worldview would collapse.

However, on that point, Xiao Rong wanted to say, Mijing didn’t become a Buddha.

Ahem, not because he lacked merit, but because in official history, he only ever pledged loyalty to young Emperor He Fu. Afterward, he refused all summons, never descending the mountain again. Even though Emperors didn’t trouble him openly, they wouldn’t acknowledge his importance in Central Plains Buddhism.

Without Mijing, other monks still stepped into the spotlight. Preaching continued. Mijing wasn’t irreplaceable.

To become deified, one needed the right time, place, and people. Mijing locked himself away in the monastery and, in doing so, locked himself out of the divine altar. From then on, he was merely the monk Mijing—a rare but far from unique high monk.

…

There was no need to think so far ahead just yet. Xiao Rong was willing to help Mijing gain the recognition he deserved, but he didn’t want Mijing to monopolize Chenliu. People came daily to invite him, and all six temples were desperate to have him as their abbot. They were even willing to pay to renovate their temples in his honor.

That was just within Chenliu. Monks from outside were likely on their way too—summer retreat had just ended, so they needed time to travel.

Xiao Rong stayed silent in the face of these invitations. Technically, whether Mijing accepted or not had nothing to do with him. However, deep down, he thought: Mijing mustn’t go.

Even before seeing Mijing’s overwhelming influence, Xiao Rong had this thought. Now, after witnessing it, he was even more determined not to let Mijing set up his own base. Sure, Mijing was a monk and could never become a warlord—but what if he had a few conversations, and then suddenly decided that the Northern King wasn’t worthy of loyalty anymore? If Mijing could bring them benefits now, he could bring disaster if he turned his back on them.

Worse yet, imagine the title “Northern King Abandoned by the Buddha’s Disciple”. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of damage that would cause.

…

After much deliberation, Xiao Rong brought up the idea of building a new Buddhist temple in their next private meeting.

It wouldn’t be small. He wanted to build it to national standards, like the Daci’en, Dabao’en, and Daxiangguo temples.

A large temple required a lot of maintenance. Since he was building it, it meant the Northern King was building it—and by extension, the Northern Army. In the early stages, if there weren’t enough monks, they could assign some soldiers to help. Later, once things were stable, those soldiers could stay on as guards.

Typically, temples were self-sustaining. They farmed, grew vegetables, and had novices handle cleaning. From food to clothing to daily life, monks shared responsibilities. A temple was like a large noble household, operating independently from the outside world.

Xiao Rong proposed giving land to the abbots and elders. Villagers would farm it for them, willingly making offerings to the Buddha. In turn, monks could devote more time to studying scriptures.

In the short term, this looked beneficial. The land he offered was far more than what temples could farm themselves. However, in the long term, monks would stop working and become dependent on outside donations. Their lives would be controlled by others—an omen for greed and constraint.

With Yu Shaoxie and Qu Yunmie away, only four were left. Zhao Yaozu didn’t count, he only helped the Buddha’s disciple and hadn’t yet joined such meetings.

Song Shuo and Gao Xunzhi stayed silent. They were sharp enough to see what Xiao Rong meant and both turned to look at Mijing.

Mijing listened to Xiao Rong, then chuckled. “Monks shouldn’t be entangled with the mundane world.”

Xiao Rong replied with a smile, “but this temple will be built near the future royal palace—in a bustling area, just outside the door is the world itself. Avoiding entanglement will be difficult.”

Mijing said, “If the doors stay shut, then there’ll be no entanglement.”

Xiao Rong countered, “Even the tightest door wears down. Instead of waiting for it to collapse, better to greet the neighbors first. They say a close neighbor is better than a distant relative—what do you think?”

Gao Xunzhi watched them quietly, saying nothing.

Song Shuo blinked. He suddenly felt a strong urge to join in.

…

He didn’t have the chance, because Mijing sighed and said suddenly, “Very well, let it be as Young Master Xiao says.”

Xiao Rong had prepared countless countermeasures, even ten snappy comeback lines for arguments. Hearing Mijing agree, he was more shocked than anyone. “You agreed?”

Mijing tilted his head at him. “What is there to agree or disagree with? I’m not the decision-maker of the Buddhist order. Besides, building a temple for Buddhism is of great merit. Who am I to approve or reject?”

Xiao Rong said, “This temple is being built for you.”

It couldn’t be more obvious. Was he building it for himself? He ate meat three times a day—he couldn’t live like a monk!

Mijing looked at him and said, “Thank you, but I’ve always considered myself a monk in service of the Northern King. I don’t intend to personally manage a temple.”

Xiao Rong was dumbfounded. “When did you say that?!”

Mijing mused, “Hmm… today?”

Xiao Rong: “…”

No wonder Qu Yunmie doesn’t like you. You’re doing this on purpose!

He’d spent so much time thinking, concluding he had to act first. He was fully prepared to go head-to-head with Mijing—only for Mijing to reveal he never even planned to leave.

Xiao Rong now felt extremely conflicted—happy, annoyed, and a bit embarrassed.

…Embarrassed.

Since joining the Northern Army, he’d lost all face. He was starting to believe that his prideful personality might be cured without medicine.

Xiao Rong treated people differently. With Song Shuo and Qu Yunmie, he spoke his mind freely. Yet with Mijing and Yu Shaoxie, he hesitated, feeling stifled. When the meeting ended, Xiao Rong was the first to leave—and disappeared after a few steps.

Gao Xunzhi of course chased after him immediately, while Mijing and Song Shuo stayed behind.

Mijing held his prayer beads and looked at the unfamiliar Young Master Song.

Song Shuo squinted and said, “You’re really bad.”

Mijing: “…”

Song Shuo said, “You knew Xiao Rong couldn’t deal with you, so you deliberately didn’t tell him. Hmph, I knew you weren’t as good as he says you are. You—”

He pointed at Mijing’s face from a distance and grinned mischievously. “You’re a black-hearted monk.”

Mijing: “…”

He was speechless at Song Shuo’s smug face, but then relaxed and asked gently, “Why add the word ‘monk’ in ‘black-hearted monk’?”

Song Shuo glanced at him, his face saying Do I have to explain everything? “Because if you’re not a monk, you’re not that impressive. I figured you out the moment I met you today.”

Mijing nodded. “Then what are you trying to tell me by saying all this?”

Song Shuo straightened his back and said seriously, “I’m telling you—there’s always someone better out there. I saw through your tricks. Xiao Rong is my friend, and if you bully him again, I’ll expose you! No—I won’t even tell him. I’ll go straight to the King and have you kicked out!”

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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