RNP Page 2
Page 2
Qiao Tian looked at his family, his heart filled with unspeakable sorrow. Unable to explain, he could only force himself to remain calm, even managing to squeeze out a hint of longing: "Father, Mother, Xiaofeng, don't worry. I genuinely want to go to the temple to listen to the Buddhist teachings and calm my mind. The master has agreed to take care of the family and is willing to teach Feng'er skills; this is a good thing."
He squatted down, looked Qiao Feng straight in the eye, and earnestly instructed him: "Brother Feng, from now on you must learn skills from Master Xuanku, and also be filial to our parents for your brother, understand?"
Qiao Feng nodded as if he understood, his eyes reddening even more: "Then... Brother, will you come back? Will you still play with me?"
"I will," Qiao Tian promised in a hoarse voice. "I'll come back to see you whenever I have the chance. Be good at home."
That night, the light in the Qiao family's small house stayed on for a long time, and whispers and sobs could be heard intermittently. Qiao Tian packed up his few belongings, listened to his mother's careful instructions, heard his father's heavy sighs, and felt his younger brother turning over. He didn't sleep a wink all night.
At dawn the next day, as the sky began to lighten, Qiao Tian changed into his neatest coarse cloth clothes, slung a small bag over his shoulder, and stepped out of the room. Qiao Sanhuai and his wife, along with Qiao Feng, were already waiting outside. Qiao's mother, her eyes red and swollen, handed him two warm steamed buns. Qiao Sanhuai hesitated for a long time, finally only saying, "...Take care." Qiao Feng rushed over and placed a long-treasured, smoothest pebble into Qiao Tian's palm: "Brother, this is for you! Look at it when you miss me!"
Qiao Tian gripped the stone tightly, its icy touch seeming to burn into his heart. He took a deep breath, suppressing the stinging sensation rising in his nose, nodded emphatically, and then resolutely turned and walked towards the magnificent temple on Shaoshi Mountain.
He didn't turn around, afraid that if he did, he would see his mother wiping away tears, his father's slightly hunched back, and his younger brother's tearful face.
The mountain gate stands majestically, and the morning bell tolls loudly.
As Qiao Tian stepped over the high threshold, explained his purpose to the monk in charge, and was led into the temple, he realized that he had entered a completely different world. There was no longer the warmth of home here, only strict rules, arduous labor, and vast scriptures.
He was assigned to sweep the courtyard as a handyman and received a dusty monk's robe.
Looking at the rough clothes in his hands, and then gazing in the direction of his home outside the temple, Qiao Tian's gaze remained firm.
He knew that from this moment on, he was just an ordinary servant monk in the Shaolin Temple.
Chapter 4 teaching opportunities
With the morning bell and evening drum, the days flowed by like still water amidst strict rules and monotonous labor.
Life at Shaolin Temple was completely different from that at home. There was a clear hierarchy and strict rules. As the lowest-ranking servant disciple, Qiao Tian was responsible for sweeping the courtyard, carrying water, and chopping wood every day. His work was arduous, and his diet was simple. However, for someone as determined and resolute as him, the physical exhaustion actually helped suppress the growing anxiety in his heart.
He worked silently and efficiently, never slacking off, which earned him a slight nod from the supervising monk, who thought that although the new handyman was a bit dull, he was a very honest person.
That day, Qiao Tian was sweeping the wide stone platform outside the main hall. The broom swept across the bluestone slabs, making a soft, rhythmic sound. Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him—not just one person, but a group of them.
Qiao Tian didn't turn around immediately, but only glanced at her out of the corner of his eye while bending down to pick up the fallen leaves.
Several monks dressed in yellow robes, their demeanor serene and composed, walked slowly by. The one in the lead was tall and imposing, with a solemn face and a kind yet dignified gaze that inspired awe in all who saw him. Qiao Tian's heart skipped a beat—though he had never seen him before, his bearing and the way he was subtly surrounded by the other monks made him instantly recognize the man.
Abbot Xuanci of Shaolin Temple.
The ringleader of the Yanmen Pass massacre.
Qiao Tian quickly lowered his head, focusing intently on wielding the broom, seemingly overwhelmed by the aura of the high monk and unable to look him in the eye. Yet, his heart was churning with turmoil. This was the man who stood at the pinnacle of the martial world, the leader of the most powerful sect under heaven.
Abbot Xuanci and his entourage did not linger and drove straight away. Qiao Tianzhi stood up, watching their retreating figures with a deep gaze.
A few days later, Qiao Tian was sent to deliver firewood near the Bodhidharma Academy. He happened to find the disciples practicing martial arts inside. He put down the bundle of firewood but didn't leave immediately. He simply stood quietly to the side, as if waiting for instructions, his gaze already drawn to the scene in the academy.
The disciples of the Bodhidharma Academy truly lived up to their reputation as Shaolin elites. Their punches were like whistling winds, their kicks like whips, and all they practiced were authentic Shaolin arts. Some were fierce and domineering, while others were light and swift. As they sparred with each other, shouts rang out incessantly, and the gusts of wind stirred up dust.
Qiao Tian watched intently. Compared to the profound internal energy circulation and power generation techniques of martial arts in this world, modern combat techniques seemed far too straightforward. He saw a young disciple demonstrate the Prajna Palm, and with a flick of his wrist, he actually cracked a thick blue brick from a distance!
Beyond the shock, there was an even deeper sense of powerlessness.
His self-planned path to "break the deadlock" was fraught with difficulty, starting with the very first step—acquiring power. Stealing knowledge? The risk was extremely high; exposure would mean utter ruin. Becoming an apprentice? He was merely a menial servant; what high-ranking monk would pay attention to a menial servant?
His mind raced through images of the top masters and divine skills from the original novel: the Sweeping Monk? He probably wouldn't even consider him worthy of such a title. The Yi Jin Jing was likely unattainable. The Seventy-Two Arts? Only taught to direct descendants…
With each path blocked, Qiao Tian's heart sank. Was he truly trapped in this menial job with no other options? Was he simply destined to watch time slip away and the storm approach?
No, there must be a way out. There absolutely must be!
He forced himself to calm down, his thoughts racing. What were his advantages? His young age, only eleven, making him easy to let his guard down. His lowly status, merely a menial servant, inconspicuous. And his knowledge of the future, his understanding of the trajectory of certain people and events.
Just as Qiao Tian was lost in thought, a young novice monk came running over.
"Junior Brother Qiao Tian, Grandmaster Uncle Xuan Ku summons you."
Qiao Tian composed himself and respectfully replied, "Yes."
Following the young novice monk to the Zen temple where Xuanku was practicing asceticism, Qiao Tian straightened his gray robes, took a deep breath, and then stepped inside.
Master Xuanku was meditating on a futon when he saw him enter. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze as peaceful and profound as ever.
"Master." Qiao Tian clasped his hands in a gesture of respect.
"Hmm." Xuanku nodded slightly, looking at him. "How have you been settling into life at the temple lately?"
"Yes, Master. It's a habit. Labor is also a form of spiritual practice," Qiao Tian replied calmly.
A faint hint of approval flashed across Xuan Ku's eyes, and he said, "You are still young. Although you have entered the temple as a servant, you must not neglect your studies in literacy and understanding. Starting tomorrow, after you finish your duties each day, you can come to the meditation room next to mine to study with several newly initiated novice monks. The main subjects are literacy and chanting scriptures."
Qiao Tian replied, "Thank you for your guidance, Master."
Xuan Ku continued, “The temple rules dictate that cultivation must proceed gradually. Each month, you may choose a Buddhist scripture, write down its title, and submit it. The monks in charge of the scripture library will check it. If it is confirmed that it only pertains to Buddhist doctrines and has nothing to do with martial arts cultivation, then you may borrow it to read and contemplate. Can you… abide by this?”
The last sentence carries a hint of inquiry, as if the gaze can see into people's hearts.
Qiao Tianqiang suppressed the surging joy and excitement in his chest. He knew that the opportunity he had been waiting for had finally arrived!
He raised his head, his gaze clear and resolute, as if he truly yearned only for the Dharma, and said firmly:
"This disciple will humbly follow the Master's teachings, seeking only to comprehend the Buddha's teachings, understand the mind and see one's true nature, and has no other thoughts!"
His tone was steady, but deep within his lowered eyes, a burning flame had quietly ignited.
One scripture a month, focusing solely on Buddhism… that's enough! His goal was extremely clear—the Nine Yang Manual, nestled within the gaps of the Lankavatara Sutra. He had plenty of time, and even more so, patience and direction.
His Shaolin career truly began at this point.
Chapter 5 Nine Yang Magic Skill
The echoes of the morning bell still lingered in the mountains as Qiao Tian finished his morning sweeping. He brushed the dust off his monk's robes and walked steadily toward the small hut used as a study next to Master Xuanku's Zen temple.
This place had become his daily study area. Inside, three or four young novices of similar age sat upright, reciting the Thousand Character Classic along with a middle-aged lecturer. Their innocent voices blended with the sandalwood incense, creating a solemn and peaceful atmosphere.
Qiao Tian silently walked to his seat, spread out a sheet of rough paper, and picked up a pen. His gaze swept over the characters on the paper, yet his heart remained calm. For someone with a modern soul, recognizing characters was not difficult in itself; the difficulty lay in "learning" in a way that suited this era and this identity. He deliberately slowed his pace, behaving like a bright but newly enlightened child, occasionally asking a few insightful yet respectful questions, which earned a slight nod from the lecturer.
Day after day, he immersed himself in this basic study, as if he truly only sought to become literate and understand Buddhist principles.
After a month, one can apply to borrow scriptures. Qiao Tian respectfully handed over the book list—the Diamond Sutra.
Choosing the Diamond Sutra was the result of deep thought. This sutra is a core Buddhist scripture, widely circulated, with numerous Chinese translations, and it does not involve any specific cultivation methods, making it the most reliable choice, which aligns with his outward appearance of "being new to Buddhism and yearning for wisdom." He first needed to establish a reliable image of being devoutly devoted to Buddhism and diligently seeking knowledge.
Once he got his hands on the scriptures, he read them with great "diligence." He not only recited them during his studies, but he was also often seen holding the scriptures and meditating during breaks from work. Sometimes, he would ask Master Xuanku about the profound meaning of phrases such as "All phenomena are illusory" and "One should abide nowhere and yet give rise to the mind." His questions were appropriate, showing signs of thoughtful consideration without overstepping any boundaries.
Master Xuanku greatly appreciated his diligence in learning and became increasingly patient in answering his questions.
The following month, Qiao Tian presented a new book list—the Lotus Sutra.
The Lotus Sutra, with its profound doctrines and important Mahayana scriptures, is also unrelated to martial arts. He maintained his image as a diligent student. However, during a consultation with Xuanku about a parable in the sutra, he seemed to casually remark:
“Master, your disciple is dull-witted. Although I can understand the general meaning of these Chinese translations of classics, I often think, what kind of realm would it be if I could recognize the original Sanskrit texts and hear the Buddha’s words in person? Many subtle and profound meanings may have lost their true nature in the process of translation and circulation.”
He paused slightly, his tone carrying just the right amount of longing and a hint of timid inquiry: "In the temple... I wonder if there are any senior brothers or teachers who are well-versed in Sanskrit? Is it possible for me... to have the opportunity to learn a little bit, so as to get closer to the true meaning of Buddhism?"
Upon hearing this, Master Xuanku's clear gaze lingered on the young man for a moment. The boy's eyes were earnest, filled with the purest thirst for knowledge, quite different from his usual calm demeanor.
“Amitabha.” Xuanku nodded slowly, his eyes revealing genuine joy. “Excellent, it is truly rare for you to have such a heart. The transmission of Buddhism to the East originated in India. Being fluent in Sanskrit is the right way to trace back to the source. The temple has always had specialists who study and translate scriptures and collate texts. This is a great merit.”
After a moment's thought, he said, "In that case, I will introduce you to a senior brother. He is quite knowledgeable in Sanskrit. You can go to the side hall of the Sutra Repository after your afternoon classes and ask him for half an hour. However, you must remember that the Sanskrit alphabet is complex and the grammar is difficult. It is not something that can be mastered in a day. The key is to persevere and not to slack off."
"Thank you for your kindness, Master! This disciple will certainly study diligently without ceasing!" Qiao Tianqiang suppressed his excitement and bowed deeply. The plan was progressing step by step along the path he had set.
Learning Sanskrit was far more arduous than imagined. The intricate letters and complex grammar required immense patience and memory. But patience and focus were exactly what Qiao Tian possessed. He absorbed everything he knew with an insatiable thirst. His fellow student, who taught him, was astonished by his rapid progress, attributing it to the influence of Buddhism and praising the boy's innate wisdom.
The time has finally come.
In the third month, Qiao Tian received the slip of paper again requesting the scriptures. He picked up his pen and, without hesitation, wrote down the name he had longed for—"Lankavatara Sutra," and specially noted in small print beside it, "I wish to study it in both Sanskrit and Chinese."
The reason was perfectly valid: he was studying Sanskrit and hoped to gain a deeper understanding by comparing the Chinese translations with the original Sanskrit texts (or at least scriptures written in Sanskrit alphabet). In the eyes of any eminent monk, this was an excellent reason to advance in Buddhist studies.
The application was submitted, and for the first time, Qiao Tian's heart was truly in suspense. On the surface, he remained calm, sweeping, chopping wood, attending classes, and studying Sanskrit, but only he knew how he tossed and turned every night.
The days spent waiting for approval felt longer than the previous three months.
Finally, the monk in charge called him over and handed him a heavy scroll. The scroll was old and had a faint scent of ink and the unique aroma of aged paper.
"The Lankavatara Sutra is available in both Sanskrit and Chinese. Master Xuanku specifically instructed us to study it carefully and not to damage it," the supervising monk instructed as usual.
"Yes, thank you, Senior Brother, thank you, Master." Qiao Tian's hand was as steady as a rock as he took the scripture, with only a very slight tremor revealing the turmoil in his heart.
He returned to the cramped servant's quarters and carefully placed the scriptures on the couch. Outside the window, the setting sun shone through the lattice, falling precisely on the dark-colored sealed box.
He took a deep breath and slowly unrolled the scroll. His fingertips brushed over the neat lines of Chinese annotations and the more ancient and mysterious Sanskrit text beside them.
His gaze did not linger on the profound Buddhist doctrines; instead, he swiftly scanned the text, searching for any possible...
He knew that what he sought must be found there.
Nine Yang Divine Skill!
Outside the window, the sound of the evening drum rises, deep and resonant.
Night deepened, and the lamplight flickered dimly. Yet, Qiao Tian's mind was clearer and more fervent than ever before. He searched between the lines for the superior cultivation technique he needed.
Chapter 6 Bodhidharma Temple
As the evening drum fell silent, Shaolin Temple gradually sank into the stillness of night. In the servants' quarters, an oil lamp cast Qiao Tian's focused shadow onto the mottled wall, flickering gently.
He held his breath, his fingertips lightly tracing the yellowed pages of the Lankavatara Sutra. The Chinese translation was solemn and dignified, each word exquisite, but all his attention was focused on the Sanskrit commentaries written in even finer strokes between the lines.
Just like the legends in my memory, lines of tiny characters were embedded beside the sutras like secret codes. They were not paragraphs of Sanskrit, but more like scattered phrases, the rhythm of breathing, and the guidance of the flow of inner energy... profound and obscure, yet they subtly revealed a rigorous and powerful system.
This is the Nine Yang Manual!
A surge of ecstasy rushed into Qiao Tian's chest, but he immediately took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the throbbing in his heart. His gaze was intense, fixed on the characters that seemed to come alive. A moment later, an unprecedented sense of urgency gripped him.
He only has one month. He can only borrow this scripture for one month, after which he must return it. It is impossible for him to completely decipher or even master it in such a short time; even getting to the basics is extremely difficult. The vocabulary used in these Sanskrit commentaries is far from the everyday Sanskrit or Buddhist terms he is currently learning; it is more like terminology specifically describing the mysteries of the human body and the key points of internal cultivation.
"It must be written down, it must be copied!" Qiao Tian made a decision in an instant. Research can be slow, but everything must be completely copied once the scriptures are available.
The following nights, the oil lamp in Qiao Tianfang's room always stayed out very late. He was extremely patient, not in a hurry to solve the problem, but like a meticulous machine, he copied all the Sanskrit annotations—including their positions, their correspondence with the Chinese verses, and even the shades of ink—exactly onto the rough paper he had bound himself. He used very light ink and very small characters, both to save paper and ink and to make it easier to conceal. The process was extremely tedious, but he could not tolerate the slightest mistake, his mind taut as a string, striving to miss not a single word.
Only then did he feel slightly relieved. The original text was respectfully set aside, and he devoted all his attention to the handwritten copy. He attempted to decipher it, but once again confirmed that the path was difficult. He possessed a treasure trove, but lacked the key.
He opened his eyes, his gaze now clear, revealing only a steadfast determination and the focused concentration of a researcher. He wrapped the original scripture in oilcloth and tucked it under his pillow, while keeping the handwritten copy close to his body.
The path has been found and replicated. The next step is to overcome each obstacle step by step. The biggest obstacles are language and an absolutely quiet, unobtrusive environment.
Opportunity always favors the prepared mind.
A few days later, the head monk of the temple summoned all the servants and announced the following:
"The shrine where Bodhidharma once practiced meditation on the back mountain needs a caretaker. The daily duties include sweeping the courtyard, wiping away dust, adding lamp oil, and ensuring the incense burns continuously. This place is serene and requires a person with a tranquil mind. Is there anyone willing to volunteer?"
The monks, mostly doing odd jobs, looked at each other and lowered their heads. The ancestral hall on the back mountain, though renowned, was actually remote and isolated, far from the core of the temple, tantamount to exile. Going there would mean losing access to the temple's martial arts and the daily sermons; it would be pure drudgery.
In the silence, a clear and steady voice rang out:
“Disciple Qiao Tian is willing to go.”
All eyes instantly turned to Qiao Tian, filled with surprise and confusion. The steward monk also glanced at him, recognizing the silent and hardworking young man, and frowned slightly, saying, "Qiao Tian, have you thought this through? That place is only a place of quietude and ancient Buddhist practices, extremely austere, and requires a long stay, not a short-term mission."
"Disciple has thought it through." Qiao Tian clasped his hands in a gesture of respect, his tone unwavering. "Disciple entered the temple to cultivate Buddhism in peace. The tranquility of the back mountain suits disciple's heart perfectly. I beg Senior Brother to grant my request."
Seeing that he was determined, the monk in charge said no more and nodded, "In that case, you may go. You can move there today."
"Thank you, senior brother."
Qiao Tian carried very little luggage, only a few monk's robes, the scroll of the Lankavatara Sutra that he was about to return, and a handwritten copy that he cherished as his life. He bid farewell to his roommate—who looked at him with a hint of pity, thinking he had chosen a "dead end"—and set off alone into the depths of Shaoshi Mountain.
The further you go, the fewer people you see. The forest is deep and secluded, the birds sing melodiously, and the stone steps are covered with moss, as if you were in another world.
About half an hour later, an old, even slightly dilapidated, stone ancestral hall came into view. It was built against the mountain and was not large in scale. There was a stone platform in front of the door and an old pine tree in the courtyard, exuding the vicissitudes of time and boundless silence.
Qiao Tian pushed open the creaking wooden door, and a scent mixed with dust and sandalwood wafted out. The shrine was dimly lit, with only the statue of Bodhidharma enshrined in the center, its face hidden in shadow, its pair of stone-carved eyes gazing ahead as if unchanging through the ages.
He put down his luggage, looked around, and a slight doubt crossed his mind. "Strange... I heard in my previous life that Bodhidharma meditated facing the wall for nine years in a cave. Why is it an artificial shrine? Am I remembering wrong, or is this 'shrine' not the same as that 'cave'?" The thought flashed through his mind, but now was not the time to delve into it.
Although the place is old, it is still quite clean, which shows that it has been regularly maintained before.
Without hesitation, Qiao Tian picked up a broom from the corner and began his duties. He swept the courtyard, wiped the offering table, and added incense oil to the eternal lamp. His movements were meticulous and his expression focused, as if this was not drudgery but a solemn task.
With everything finished, the sun was already setting in the west. Golden rays slanted down the door frame, casting long shadows on the bluestone ground.
Qiao Tian respectfully handed the original copy of the Lankavatara Sutra to the monk who came to collect it, his heart unmoved—for all his hopes had long been pinned on that personal handwritten copy.
At this moment, it seemed as if only he, the scroll in his arms, and this silent ancestral hall remained in the world.
There is no safer or quieter place than this.