Volume One: The Novice Monk Returns to the Secular World Chapter Sixty-Eight: Deadlock (Part Three)

Disaster relief camp, evening. The sunset cast a fiery glow over the makeshift shelters, as if everything had been scorched by flames.

“Xiao Yan! Elder Huiren says there’s no food tonight! We’re out of grain! All the food is being sent for rescue!” Little Yue’er poked her small head in, rubbing her belly as she spoke.

“Damn that elder! I’ll go talk to him! No matter how hard things get, we can’t let the children suffer…” Xiao Yan shook his head. He meant to stand up, but his vision went black, and he nearly fainted.

He hadn’t eaten for three days, and the last meal had been nothing but rice husks.

“Xiao Yan, Xiao Yan, don’t worry… I still have some biscuits my mother left behind… Let’s share them! Yue’er understands—everyone has nothing to eat… so…” Sensible as ever, Yue’er tugged at Xiao Yan’s sleeve and handed him a biscuit.

“I’m not hungry. You eat it. Children need to eat more so they can grow.” Xiao Yan smiled and shook his head, then sat back down to practice his calligraphy.

“Are you sure you don’t want any? Alright… but Yue’er really is hungry…” She lowered her head, studying the crooked characters on the paper, and took a small bite from the biscuit. “Xiao Yan, what are you writing?”

“Ha… Well… Yue’er, be good… Let me teach you a poem.” Xiao Yan gathered her into his lap, pointing at the characters on the white paper. “Repeat after me: In spring… one… sows… a single… grain… of millet…”

“In spring… one… what comes next?”

“A single grain of millet…”

“Oh… a single tree…”

“Millet!”

“Tree!”

“…”

—

Under the dim oil lamp, a gentle breeze drifted through.

The boy would sometimes bend down and mutter nonsense, while the little girl stared up with wide, curious eyes, always asking why.

—

As August drew on, even the cicadas’ summer song grew faint.

Autumn was nearly here…

“Xiao Yan… Actually, I used to have a brother… but he had more hair than you…” Yue’er looked up at Xiao Yan’s chin.

“…” Xiao Yan.

“My brother loved me very much… When I did something wrong and Father scolded me, Brother would always stand up for me…”

“Mm…” Xiao Yan nodded in silence.

“Father said my brother was the most talented in the land, passing the scholar’s exam at a young age…” Yue’er’s voice grew quiet and hoarse, each word slower than the last. “But last year, there was famine too… So many died… Back then, Brother also liked to hold me like you do… teaching me poetry… but…”

Xiao Yan said nothing, only gently stroked her head.

“Back then, my father was wealthy, but grain kept getting more expensive. Luckily, he sold land so we could eat… But my brother wouldn’t accept it… You know? He said the more capable one is, the greater the responsibility… So he confronted those selling grain…” Yue’er’s voice trembled. “And then… he never came home. The next day, Father and Mother both cried… They said Brother went to a better place… a place where no one goes hungry… How wonderful… Xiao Yan, would you want to go somewhere like that?”

“Enough, no more… Why are little brats so chatty… just like old ladies…” Xiao Yan reached out and wiped her tears.

“But, Xiao Yan, I know… my brother died… That night, I couldn’t sleep, because Brother didn’t tell me a bedtime story. I saw with my own eyes as Father and Mother carried him home… He was covered in blood… They dug a hole and buried him…”

Yue’er wiped her tears and continued, “But I miss my brother so much… and Father and Mother… I guess they went to that better place too, right?”

Xiao Yan ruffled her hair, lips pressed tight as if holding back tears, and simply answered, “Mm.”

“Xiao Yan, you’re a lot like my brother…”

“Alright, I’ll tell you stories from now on…”

“Mm.”

“Come on, want to recite poetry?”

“Yes!”

“Autumn… brings… a thousand… seeds…”

“…”

—

The sound of recitation echoed again.

A while later…

“Xiao Yan, I’ve learned it! Let me recite it for you!” Yue’er stood proudly on the table, holding the sheet of paper Xiao Yan had written.

“In spring, one sows a single grain of millet; In autumn, ten thousand seeds are harvested. Across the land, not a field lies fallow; Yet farmers still die of hunger.”

She cocked her head and asked, “How about it? Aren’t I clever? Xiao Yan, did you write this poem?”

“I copied it!” Xiao Yan replied without thinking.

“What does it mean?”

“In spring, one sows a single grain of millet; in autumn, ten thousand seeds are harvested. It means you plant one seed in spring, and by autumn, you reap a bountiful harvest,” Xiao Yan explained.

“Wow… Is that about Father? He used to farm so much land… And when the harvest came, I would help too…”

“Mm. ‘Across the land, not a field lies fallow; yet farmers still die of hunger.’ These lines mean there’s not a patch of land left untilled, yet the farmers still starve… So, diligent farmers live in peace and contentment…”

—

“Haha… Wonderful… Xiao Yan wrote a fine poem.”

“Yes! It truly fits the moment…” Xiao Yan sighed.

“Xiao Yan, are you unhappy?”

“No… Enough now, Yue’er… Time for you to sleep…” Xiao Yan scooped her up.

“But my tummy aches. Maybe I ate too many biscuits… I don’t want to sleep yet! Tell me a story, Xiao Yan…”

“Alright…” Xiao Yan nodded.

“Yay! What story will you tell? Yan Zi? Or the White Snake?” Yue’er clapped her hands excitedly.

“Mm… I don’t know those… Let me think…” After a moment, Xiao Yan said, “I’ll tell you the story of Snow White.”

“What’s that? I’ve never heard it… Wonderful…”

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess…”

Night deepened, the breeze grew cooler.

As the little girl’s breathing slowed with sleep, the young monk’s voice faded. Once she was asleep, he sighed, went to the table, and began writing.

Grasses around the camp swayed gently. From inside and outside the city, the sound of weeping would occasionally drift in.

Perhaps another farmer had starved to death…

—

The next morning, dawn’s pale light shone through the window onto the young monk’s shaved head.

He had fallen asleep at the table, exhausted from writing late into the night.

Chen Shuwan arrived early, reaching out to wake Xiao Yan, but halfway there, she withdrew her hand.

She just couldn’t bring herself to disturb him…

“Huh…”

Just then, her gaze fell on a densely written sheet of paper on the table, and she exclaimed in surprise.

What was written here?

She approached, picked it up, and frowned.

The handwriting was atrocious… barely legible…

“Hmm… ‘In spring, one sows a single grain of millet’? Is this a poem?” Chen Shuwan frowned, glancing at Xiao Yan.

But that fellow was drooling in his sleep.

“In spring, one sows a single grain of millet; In autumn, ten thousand seeds are harvested. Across the land, not a field lies fallow; Yet farmers still die of hunger.”

She read it through and couldn’t help but frown, turning to look at Xiao Yan, muttering, “Hmph, little scoundrel… has some talent after all… But… this poem… sigh… ‘Across the land, not a field lies fallow; yet farmers still die of hunger…’ Truly…”

She gently set the paper down, walked over to Xiao Yan, and gazed at his profile, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “So handsome…”

She shook her head and called into the room, “Yue’er! The sun’s already up! Don’t oversleep, alright?”

—

The young monk yawned, rolled over, and continued to sleep.

“Ah…”

A shriek rang out in the camp—Chen Shuwan’s voice.

“Little scoundrel! Little scoundrel! Wake up!”

Chen Shuwan’s face was pale, tears streaming down relentlessly as she shook Xiao Yan with both hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hurry! Go inside and see…” She pointed inside, shouting.

“What is it…” Xiao Yan reluctantly wiped the drool from his mouth and went in.

Chen Shuwan pushed him inside.

“…”

—

At that moment, the sky suddenly darkened, and heavy rain began to fall.

The sound of the rain drowned out the sound of weeping…

The farmers’ cries…

Xiao Yan’s cries…

And… the pounding rain…

—

The morning light filtered through the gauze curtains, falling across the carpet in the side room. Qin Xuanxuan was already dressed, ready to begin another day of distributing porridge.

But she remembered something Xiao Yan had said last time.

“In times like these, you can’t treat them as people.”

How tragic a sentiment…

The granary was nearly empty; in another day, it would be bare.

Perhaps Xiao Yan was right.

But… they were people, after all. Day after day of eating nothing but rice husks—they couldn’t last much longer.

There had to be another way out.

The refugees crowded in front of the porridge shed, desperate for a bowl of thin, watery gruel.

At the rice husk stall nearby, Xiao Yan wore a blank expression as he handed out husks to the refugees. The lively little girl was nowhere to be seen; only Chen Buqun and Chen Shuwan were helping.

The food ran out quickly, even the foul-smelling rice husks.

“Is there really nothing but rice husks?” Qin Xuanxuan called out to Xiao Yan, who was about to wheel away the cart.

“There is…” Xiao Yan’s voice was devoid of its usual color, sounding dull and gray.

“Really?” A flicker of hope; she hurried to catch up.

“Having rice husks to eat is already a blessing…” Xiao Yan finally finished his sentence.

“Xiao Yan! They… they shouldn’t be treated like this… They’ll die…”

Qin Xuanxuan rushed forward, grabbing his arm.

“Can’t you stop meddling?! It’s none of your business! I’ll give out rice husks if I want, and they’re willing to eat!”

Xiao Yan suddenly turned, glaring at her fiercely.

“But… those are lives!”

Qin Xuanxuan refused to back down, though she sensed something different about the young monk.

Looking more closely, aside from his paler complexion, he seemed unchanged.

“I am saving their lives! If you can, keep serving your porridge! But in two days, you’ll have no grain left, will you?” Xiao Yan pointed around at the refugees, enunciating each word: “What about them? They’ll all die too!”

“You…” Qin Xuanxuan was speechless.

“This is their fate! If they won’t save themselves, no one can save them!”

Xiao Yan took a deep breath, pointing at the refugees scrambling for rice husks.

Many of them glanced at him, then turned back to queue up.

“Heh… look at them…” A bitter laugh escaped Xiao Yan’s lips, but suddenly tears spilled down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong with you?” Qin Xuanxuan was at a loss.

Why was he crying, this grown man?

Xiao Yan didn’t answer, just shook his head and strode away.

Qin Xuanxuan watched his retreating figure, utterly bewildered.

Only Chen Buqun and Chen Shuwan remained, tidying up what was left.

“What’s with him?” she asked the Chen siblings.

Only now did she notice they too seemed as drained as Xiao Yan.

“Do you know who Little Yue’er is?” Chen Buqun scraped the pot, then turned to her.

“I—I do! Where is that sweet little girl? She didn’t come today?” Qin Xuanxuan looked around.

“Stop looking.” Chen Buqun shook his head.

“Where did she go?”

“She’s dead.”

Chen Shuwan’s tone was calm, but no one noticed her trembling hands.

“What did you say?” Qin Xuanxuan stared wide-eyed.

“Have you ever heard of Avalokitesvara Soil?” Chen Shuwan set down her ladle, fetched another tub of rice husks, and called the refugees to queue.

“What’s that?” Qin Xuanxuan asked.

“Here, look at this biscuit.” Chen Shuwan pulled an ugly biscuit from her pocket.

“Hmm, it looks bad, but it should at least stave off hunger?” Qin Xuanxuan took a bite—her expression changed. “It’s dirt…”

“It’s a fine, soft clay—during every famine, some refugees use it to make biscuits to eat. Avalokitesvara Soil, meaning the grain bestowed by the bodhisattva.” Shuwan shook her head. “All the grain had to go to the refugees. Little Yue’er had nothing but this biscuit to eat.”

“This…”

“But the bodhisattva showed no mercy… Eat Avalokitesvara Soil, and your belly swells until… until you die… Do you understand?”

—

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