SWDnovel Chapter 83 Snatching Food, Change
Chapter 83 Snatching Food, Change
The next morning.
The birds were chattering.
After Song Quyou finished his meditation, he left the house early, cooked some noodles, chopped some vegetables, and brought two bowls, one large and one small, to the stone table.
Big Yellow wagged its tail rapidly, licked its nose and followed closely behind, watching the bowl that had appeared in Song Quyou's hand.
It seemed to know that Song Quyou's bowl was for him.
Song Quyou lifted his robe and sat down, placing the small bowl on the other side of the stone table.
Big Yellow was already so anxious it was pacing around in circles, but when it saw that it wasn't given any, it suddenly stopped making a fuss, sat upright on the ground, and looked at Song Quyou with longing eyes.
Song Quyou picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of noodles, and then looked up at Dahuang.
"Let it cool down a bit, then you'll scald it and scream in pain if you eat it hot."
Big Yellow understood, but unfortunately it couldn't speak. After all, it could bite the fire toad that could melt gold and stone during a fight and its own mouth was fine, so how could it get burned by a bowl of noodles?
Big Yellow let out a pitiful whimper, but still sat obediently, only wagging its tail on the ground.
Song Quyou ignored it and slowly ate his noodles. Steam rose from the small bowl on the stone table, and the aroma of noodles mixed with the smell of scallions wafted into Da Huang's nose.
Just then, an uninvited guest arrived at the door. He pushed the door open without any ceremony, brought his own bowl and chopsticks, sniffed them, and said with a faint smile, "It's better to arrive at the right time than to arrive early. The food at the temple is too bland, so I came here to mooch a meal from the young Taoist priest."
Song Quyou looked up at the man, who was none other than Mr. Wu, with whom he had been drinking the night before.
He was very outgoing. When he saw the bowl of noodles on the table, before Song Quyou could even swallow the noodles in his mouth to stop him, he picked up the bowl and took a sip.
Big Yellow was "dumbfounded".
I watched helplessly as Mr. Wu picked up his own bowl, put it to his lips, and slurped down the noodles and soup together.
The sound was exceptionally clear and jarring in the courtyard in the early morning.
Da Huang paced back and forth impatiently, tugged at Song Quyou's clothes, barked angrily at Mr. Wu, and finally could only helplessly paw at the ground to vent his anger.
Song Quyou's chopsticks stopped in mid-air, his lips twitched, and he momentarily forgot to swallow the noodles in his mouth.
Mr. Wu was completely unaware. He put down his bowl, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and glanced at the half-eaten bowl of noodles left in Song Quyou's bowl with lingering satisfaction.
"Master, these noodles are cooked perfectly, chewy and delicious, and the side dishes are fragrant too, but..."
Mr. Wu looked at the aggrieved yellow dog on the ground: "What's wrong with this little thing? Why is it looking at me like that today?"
Song Quyou silently moved his half-bowl of noodles closer to him, pointed with his chopsticks at the empty bowl, and said in a flat tone, "That bowl of noodles was for it."
Mr. Wu looked down at the chopsticks and met Da Huang's gaze.
Big Yellow squatted on the ground, its big black eyes wide open.
Mr. Wu opened his mouth, looked at the empty bowl, then at Dahuang, then at Song Quyou, and his face turned red, burning from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.
"This...this is dog food?"
"Um."
"Did you serve it noodles?"
"Yes, let it cool down before feeding it."
Mr. Wu covered his face with his hands, letting out a wail through his fingers: "Wu Chengfeng, Wu Chengfeng, you've lived most of your life, and today you're fighting with a dog for food..."
Song Quyou got up expressionlessly, went to the kitchen and filled two bowls with noodles. He pushed one bowl to Mr. Wu and left the other bowl to cool on the stone table.
When Dahuang saw its own people return, it happily shook its head and swayed its body, like a lion dancer during a festival.
"Don't worry, sir, this bowl is new; it hasn't been used yet."
"cough……"
……
After breakfast, Song Quyou cleared away the dishes.
Mr. Wu, however, stayed at home and wandered back and forth in the courtyard, looking left and right. He strolled from the east side of the courtyard to the west side, and from the kitchen door to the old well in the backyard.
He walked around the ancient well twice, bent down, placed his hand on the fuzzy moss on the well's edge, and then glanced at the emerald green water in the well.
He turned and shouted towards the kitchen, "Little Taoist priest, your well is quite interesting."
Song Quyou wiped his hands as he came out of the kitchen and saw him lying on the ground, looking at the four walls of the ancient well: "Just an old well."
"No, no, that's not right."
Mr. Wu stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, and pointed to the well opening, saying:
"I have seen all kinds of wells through painting. In ordinary wells, moisture gathers at the mouth and moss grows in shady places. But the moss in your well grows evenly, on all four sides, and its color is much greener than ordinary moss."
He paused, leaned closer and took a breath, "There's also a very faint... indescribable, like the fresh air of a mountain forest after rain."
Song Quyou crossed his arms and smiled faintly, "In your opinion, sir, what makes this well so special?"
Mr. Wu pondered for a moment: "The reason why the well is strange is either because there is a spirit in the water. It is either eerie and haunted by evil spirits, or it is moist and blessed by deities."
The well in the Taoist priest's house is not filled with evil; it should be a spirit that nourishes all things.
Song Quyou remained noncommittal, but walked to the well and looked down at the clear pool of water with Mr. Wu.
……
Just then, a sound came from the front yard.
"Mr. Wu, the materials for the temple have been prepared and we would like to invite you to take a look."
Upon hearing this, Mr. Wu quickly walked towards the front yard, and Song Quyou followed.
Upon arriving at the door, I saw a young novice monk, about ten years old, with a bald head and clean, tidy robes.
"Mingxin, you're certainly making an early trip." Mr. Wu patted the young novice's bald head.
The young monk Mingxin put his hands together in a respectful gesture of respect and said in a clear voice:
"The abbot said that the wood and paint have been moved into the backyard. He asked Mr. Wu to go and see if they are suitable. If there are any problems, he can send someone to replace them while the daylight is still good."
Mr. Wu nodded, then turned and winked at Song Quyou:
"Young Taoist priest, would you like to come along and take a look?"
Song Quyou pondered for a moment and nodded in agreement. Since he had nothing else to do today, a stroll through the temple might be a good idea.
Once outside, the three of them walked up the stone steps. Mingxin jogged ahead to lead the way, while Mr. Wu strolled with his hands behind his back, humming an off-key tune. The yellow dog walked and stopped, sniffing the little yellow flowers scattered along the roadside in early spring.
After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, at the end of the stone steps, the mountain gate of Lingfo Temple stood amidst the budding and withered branches.
The vermilion paint on the mountain gate is faded and the marks of being bumped and smashed have not yet been repaired. However, the plaque above the gate is brand new, lacking the magnificence of the brick and stone inlay it had last time.
After entering the mountain gate, we arrived at the backyard.
The courtyard was spacious, with stacks of timber piled up in the center, including pine and camphor wood, all neatly sawn and stacked against the wall. Several earthenware jars were filled with various mineral pigments, the red of cinnabar, the blue of azurite, and the gold of orpiment, which gleamed heavily in the morning light.
A burly monk in grey robes was squatting beside a ceramic jar, stirring paint with a bamboo stick. Seeing Mr. Wu arrive, he stood up, clasped his hands together, and said, "Benefactor Wu, the wood and paint are ready. Please take a look."
Mr. Wu nodded, walked to the timber stack, bent down and tapped a camphor tree, listened to the sound, broke off a small piece of sawdust, smelled it, and nodded in satisfaction.
He strolled over to the earthenware jar, dipped a finger into the cinnabar, rubbed his fingertip together, examined the color against the light, and then turned to the abbot with a smile:
"The wood is dried to perfection, and the pigments are mixed to the highest standard. Your temple must have put in a lot of effort to prepare these things."
The abbot smiled憨厚ly: "I dare not be negligent. The reconstruction of this mountain gate is a major event for the entire temple. The new abbot said that since Mr. Wu was invited to paint, we cannot skimp on the materials."
"Then let's get started." Mr. Wu rolled up his sleeves, revealing two thick forearms, a stark contrast to his drunken appearance last night.
Mingxin jogged and led Mr. Wu to a corridor, where a wooden ladder was set up.
Mr. Wu climbed up, stood on the wooden frame, took out a charcoal pencil from his pocket, squinted at the blank wall above the lintel, and began to sketch.
The charcoal pencil moved across the wall with bold, sweeping strokes, quickly sketching hundreds of strange and unusual outlines.
"Back then, when the patriarch was in a temple in Chang'an, in order to guide people to do good, he painted the 'Hell Transformation Picture,' which was said to be 'powerful and fierce in brushstrokes, with grotesque and sinister forms that made people's hair stand on end when they saw it.' After people saw it, they began to reflect on the sins they had committed, and even butchers stopped killing fish and cattle."
Today, I too follow the example of my patriarch and paint this picture in the corridor of Lingfo Temple in Qiantang, but I don't know how much I can match his skill."
Song Quyou leaned against the wall on the other side of the corridor, watching Mr. Wu, whose demeanor had suddenly changed, on the wooden shelf. He then took out a brush, stretched his left hand behind him, and the dye next to him instantly rose from the vat, turning into a snake that pierced through the air and wrapped around the brush.
Mr. Wu wields his brush with the speed of the wind, sometimes with the sharpness of a knife and axe, depicting ferocious ghosts and boiling cauldrons; at other times, with the softness of spring rain, he outlines the thin limbs and sunken eye sockets of hungry ghosts.
He began by drawing from the upper right corner, depicting various aspects of hell: tongue-pulling, scissors, iron trees, and a mirror of retribution, along with all sorts of cruel punishments and tragic scenes. His brushstrokes were chilling, sending shivers down the spine of anyone who saw them.
In the middle of the painting, the brushstrokes suddenly changed. The paint gradually faded, and more white space was left. On the faces of the tortured demons, expressions of fear, regret, resentment, and grief appeared.
Each ghost face has a different expression: some look up to the sky and wail, some bow their heads and weep, some stare with wide eyes, and some close their eyes in despair.
Each ghost has a unique face, and none of them are alike.
Mr. Wu wiped his sweat and turned to look at Song Quyou, who was sitting on the ground, hugging his dog and leaning against the wall.
"How is Mr. Wu's painting?"
Song Quyou leaned against the wall, gently scratching the fluffy fur on the back of the big yellow dog with his fingertips. His gaze fell on the mural across the corridor, and he said softly:
"It looks scary, but I still want to eat meat."
Upon hearing this, Mr. Wu paused in mid-air with his brush, looked at Song Quyou with a furrowed brow, and after a long pause, finally said:
"...Young Taoist priest, are you praising me or insulting me?"
Song Quyou smiled and waved his hand: "Sir, don't take it to heart. Hell is terrifying, but it's too ethereal for me. Even if I've seen the ghost realm, I can't remember those cruel punishments since they didn't happen to me. I was shocked when I saw it, but once I left the temple, I went back to doing what I was supposed to do."
"Indeed, the painting by the patriarch did make those butchers change their profession, but only for three months. After three months, they went back to their old ways."
He sighed, turned to look at the mural he had only half-finished, his eyes gleaming: "This time, I'm not just painting hell."
Song Quyou followed his gaze.
The right half of the mural depicts a transformation of hell, with mountains of knives, seas of fire, and ferocious demons. The left half, however, is still blank, with only a few light ink outlines.
Mr. Wu pointed to the blank space and drew a circle in the air with a charcoal pencil:
"Here, I plan to paint the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. Seven-jeweled ponds, waters of eight virtues, and lotus blossoms. On one side is hell, on the other is the Pure Land, separated only by a line."
"People fear hell and do not know how to do good, and yearn for the Pure Land but are unwilling to turn back. What I want to paint is not a painting to frighten people, but a painting that makes people stand in the corridor, look left and right, and then think for themselves which way to go."
He finished making his boastful statement.
Mr. Wu jumped off the wooden frame, rinsed his brush in the clear water, glanced at the blazing sun in the sky, walked up to Song Quyou and said, "Come on, let's go eat. We can finish this painting on a rest day."
……
The dining hall of Lingfo Temple is located on the east side of the backyard. It is an open room with bare walls, containing only a few long tables and benches.
It was lunchtime, and the monks filed in, each sitting upright like a pine tree, with a rough earthenware bowl, two cornbread buns, and a pinch of pickled vegetables in front of them.
Mr. Wu looked distressed as soon as he entered the dining hall. He said to Song Quyou, who was standing to the side, "I heard from the monks that Lingfo Temple used to be divided into different levels. The vegetarian meals served by the steward were comparable to banquets. But since the new abbot was appointed, all the monks eat in the dining hall and are not allowed to have any special treatment."
Every meal was the same: vegetable porridge, cornbread, and pickled vegetables—completely devoid of oil or fat.
The two got their food and sat down together at the long table.
Mr. Wu held the rough earthenware bowl and poked the cornbread with his chopsticks. The cornbread was hard as a rock, and the chopsticks only left a shallow white mark when they poked it.
He sighed, broke off a small piece, put it in his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, picked up the bowl of vegetable paste, took a sip, and barely swallowed it.
Song Quyou ate slowly, taking small bites, and then picked up a piece of pickled vegetables with his chopsticks, enjoying the meal. Da Huang, meanwhile, lay at his feet, eating the cornbread he had broken off, tearing it into small pieces.
"I'd like to try what the abbot's vegetarian meals taste like."
Sitting opposite him, the young monk Mingxin held his cornbread in both hands, eating it earnestly. Hearing this, he looked up and said:
"Benefactor Wu, the abbot said that simple meals are good for one's health."
The previous abbot ate more than a dozen dishes every day, his desires were insatiable, and it was not easy for him to cultivate himself. Now, the new abbot eats with us every day and leads us in cultivation, so no one in the monastery feels bitter.
"I am not a monk, unlike you practitioners."
Mr. Wu argued vehemently: "I am an ordinary person. Painting relies on spirit, which comes from the five grains. If the five grains are insufficient, the spirit will dissipate. If you ask a hungry person to paint the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss, the lotus flowers they paint will taste like cornbread."
The young monk Mingxin put down his earthenware bowl and said earnestly, "Benefactor Wu, the abbot said that if you have a pure land in your heart, even coarse tea and simple food are delicacies."
Mr. Wu was speechless for a long time after being choked by his words. He pointed at Mingxin with his chopsticks, then turned to Song Quyou and said:
"Look, I can't argue with him. The monks in this temple, from the abbot to the young novices, are all incredibly reasonable."
Song Quyou looked at the young novice monk before him, a smile playing on his lips, unable to hide his grin: "Little Master Mingxin, how did you become the new abbot of your temple?"
"Our abbot was originally the elder of Jingye Temple, appointed by the imperial court. After he came to Lingfo Temple, he debated the scriptures and competed with others, and no one in the temple could match him. Thus, he became our new abbot."