Chapter Twenty: The Sacred Relic of the Eminent Monk

At this moment, Ning Zhiheng was in a state of extreme excitement; the beaded bracelet in his hand felt like a key that could unlock the doors of a mysterious world. The Bodhi tree was his core secret, and he sensed vaguely that it was even more important than his own life.

With the Bodhi tree, he was fundamentally different from all other living beings. This was the very first step he had taken into the realm of the unknown.

He gripped the beaded bracelet tightly, took a deep breath to steady his emotions, and then turned to leave the side hall where the Medicine Buddha was worshipped, entering the main temple.

The guest monk saw Ning Zhiheng come in and smiled, saying, “Benefactor, the Lotus Sutra Zen Temple has suffered years of neglect. Please pardon its dilapidation.”

This monk was not a greedy man, but because incense offerings were scarce, the monks barely managed to get by, forced by hardship to hope that devotees would give more generously.

He had intended to ask Ning Zhiheng for a larger offering, but after seeing his initial generosity, and then noticing Ning seemed unimpressed with the temple’s shabbiness, he felt embarrassed and helpless.

Ning Zhiheng raised the beaded bracelet in his hand and asked gently, “May I ask whose artifact this bracelet is? Would it be possible for me to meet its owner in person?”

The bracelet was clearly no ordinary item, so its owner must also be extraordinary. Ning was determined not to let even the faintest possibility slip away.

Perhaps he could obtain more information from the owner, maybe even discover other similar magical artifacts.

“This… this bracelet…” The guest monk looked at the beads in Ning Zhiheng’s hand, somewhat confused. “It seems to belong to Master Hongyuan, but Master Hongyuan passed away two years ago.”

Hongyuan had been a very ordinary old monk in the Lotus Sutra Zen Temple, practicing quietly until he grew old and ill, and eventually died—nothing remarkable about him at all.

Monks possessed almost nothing, and even after death, left no valuable inheritance. Their belongings amounted to only a few items. This beaded bracelet was among them, and usually no one paid it any mind. Unexpectedly, Ning Zhiheng now asked about it, catching the monk off guard.

“He passed away? What a shame!” Ning Zhiheng was deeply disappointed. “Did he leave any relics behind? I greatly admire Master Hongyuan and would like to acquire several of his possessions for veneration.”

The guest monk had to suppress a smile, thinking to himself, “You only just heard Master Hongyuan’s name from me, where does this admiration come from?”

Besides, asking for Hongyuan’s relics outright—he was a poor monk, what relics could he have left?

“Monks live austere lives and possess very little. However, Master Hongyuan did leave a few items. Please wait a moment.” The guest monk resolved not to let Ning Zhiheng leave empty-handed.

He gestured for Ning to wait, then soon returned with a tray holding a monk’s robe and a wooden fish.

In truth, when Ning Zhiheng asked about relics, he knew there was little hope. An old monk who had passed away two years ago would hardly have anything preserved deliberately.

Just as the bracelet had been left lying unnoticed, gathering dust, unless he specifically mentioned it, it would have been forgotten by everyone. Where could the guest monk even find it?

The guest monk quickly brought out the relics: the robe was freshly laundered, and the wooden fish still shone on its surface.

Ning Zhiheng judged that these were likely everyday items, with little chance of being true relics of Hongyuan. He did not point this out, still holding a sliver of hope as he reached for them. As expected, there was no reaction from either item.

With a hint of displeasure, he said, “It seems we are not fated to meet; let’s not trouble you further.”

The guest monk, accustomed to dealing with devotees, could read people well. Seeing Ning Zhiheng’s displeasure, his heart sank. Truthfully, there was no real relic of Hongyuan—he had just grabbed something to fill in. They were all daily items; who could tell the difference?

Yet this benefactor had clearly noticed, his attitude changing markedly.

Ning Zhiheng said no more; he had already gained something today and was satisfied. He took out a stack of bills and placed them in the merit box, naturally as an offering for the beaded bracelet.

The guest monk, still feeling awkward and unsure how to respond, was immediately delighted when he saw the generous donation. All embarrassment was swept away.

“Amitabha, benefactor, your sincere heart and great merit will surely be blessed by the Buddha, obstacles removed, and all things prosperous!” He pressed his palms together and bowed deeply.

Ning Zhiheng returned the gesture, then turned and left the temple.

The guest monk watched Ning Zhiheng’s retreating figure with a hint of puzzlement. Though young, this devotee’s calm demeanor and manner of speech gave him an inexplicable sense of pressure.

Moreover, the beaded bracelet was clearly not a valuable item, yet Ning Zhiheng gave away a considerable sum without hesitation.

“He doesn’t seem like a relic dealer,” he muttered to himself.

Just then, the elderly monk meditating before the Buddha statue opened his eyes and spoke slowly, “This is a lay practitioner with cultivation—a man of great wisdom.”

The guest monk was taken aback, hearing his usually taciturn master suddenly utter such words.

Ning Zhiheng wasted not a moment, stepped outside, hailed a rickshaw, and hurried home.

Once inside, he locked the door, took out the beaded bracelet, and examined it closely.

He needed to identify exactly which part of the bracelet had triggered the unusual change in his Bodhi tree.

He dismantled the bracelet, testing each bead one by one. As he suspected, they were all made of hardwood, completely ordinary.

Only the clasp remained—plain, about three centimeters long, yellowish in color, no different from any other bead accessory.

But when he held this clasp in his hand, he once again felt that familiar sensation.

His thoughts were involuntarily drawn into the consciousness platform within his mind; the chanting of sutras grew louder, the Bodhi tree radiated an ever-brighter emerald glow.

His consciousness projection sat cross-legged as always; with each recitation, the Bodhi tree gently swayed, and a tiny leaf slowly formed and grew on one of its branches.

After a long while, Ning Zhiheng ceased chanting. He opened his eyes and looked at the Bodhi tree, seeing precisely the scene he had hoped for.

Another leaf had appeared on the branch—seven leaves now in total. This new leaf was much smaller than the previous six, but it continued to grow and would soon match the others.

However, he noticed that without chanting, the leaf’s growth was extremely slow, almost imperceptible.

But if he chanted Buddhist scriptures, its growth accelerated significantly; just now, after reciting a passage, the leaf had grown stronger.

It seemed that the Bodhi tree’s growth was closely tied to Ning Zhiheng himself. After all, this was his inner world, his domain.

The Bodhi tree depended on his spiritual realm, guided by his will.

Just then, a luminous orb appeared beneath the Bodhi tree, floating gently before Ning Zhiheng.

What was this? It was identical to the spiritual orb that had appeared yesterday for Yukida Kōju. Could this also be a memory orb?

Ning Zhiheng, as before, touched the orb with his finger. Instantly, it burst apart, dissolving into countless scenes that flashed before him like slides.

It was a segment of a monk’s life from ancient times, but unlike Yukida Kōju’s brief snapshots, these images were far more detailed.

An orphan born at the end of the Tang dynasty, taken in by a wandering monk; wandering across the land, enduring hardship.

Eventually, he settled in Luoyang’s Jialan Temple, spreading Buddhist teachings. His fame grew, and he became a renowned monk of his era.

Master Kuwei lived to the age of eighty-eight, an extraordinary lifespan for his time.

After his passing, fourteen relic bones were recovered during cremation. The clasp in Ning Zhiheng’s hand was one of these fourteen relics.

Originally, all fourteen were venerated and stored at Jialan Temple, but when the temple was destroyed in war, they were scattered and lost.

This relic was taken away by a monk at the time and finally affixed to the beaded bracelet, which eventually found its way to Hongyuan at the Lotus Sutra Zen Temple.

Now, it had come to Ning Zhiheng. The scenes clearly revealed the relic’s history.

The images then transformed into countless luminous points, flying into the Bodhi tree and instantly merging with it.

The Bodhi tree shivered joyfully, its branches swaying without wind. The seventh leaf fully formed.

Yet it did not end there; a new leaf bud began to emerge, clearly showing that the relic had greatly benefited the Bodhi tree’s growth.

Ning Zhiheng could distinctly sense that the relic contained vast energy, which would take time to absorb fully.

Why did the relic’s memory far surpass that of Yukida Kōju? Ning Zhiheng surmised it was because Yukida Kōju’s spiritual energy was weak and forcibly absorbed by the Bodhi tree, so only a scant amount of memory was transmitted.

But the relic was different; Ning Zhiheng could sense the immense spiritual energy within it. It was the condensed essence of a great monk’s lifelong spiritual cultivation, incomparable to ordinary people.

The accompanying spiritual imprint, transformed into countless luminous points, eagerly fused with the Bodhi tree, like a child finally returning to its mother’s embrace and finding its true home—completely voluntary and willing.

The difference between the two was vast.

Returning from his inner world to reality, Ning Zhiheng examined the relic in his hand; its former dull yellow hue had noticeably changed, now becoming milky white and lustrous.

Even an ordinary person could now see that it was not a mundane object, like Cinderella shedding her disguise to become a radiant beauty.

He found a strong cord, threaded the relic, and hung it around his neck, beneath his clothing, close to his skin, so he could absorb its energy at any time.

This harvest was tremendous; the Bodhi tree’s growth now had a clear direction. He only needed to continue searching for treasures imbued with the spiritual energy of eminent Buddhist monks.

Ning Zhiheng believed that one day the Bodhi tree would reach a point of qualitative transformation, bringing him an astonishing surprise.