It is 2016.
My dad said that the snow is the dandruff of the gods in the sky. According to him, I am drowning in dandruff now.
My name is Ning Chuan, and I have been walking in this wasteland with dandruff for three days. The wind was blowing hard, and the scarf around my neck trembled violently in the wind. The scarf was tied so tightly that it was almost hanging up, but it still couldn't stop the influx of cold air.
If I didn't freeze to death, I would be strangled here to death by a scarf. It is extremely difficult to see things in the snowy weather, vague and pale, as if I could follow a cataract at a glance.
But I am not a pure cataract anymore. Due to the dim weather, I upgraded to a cataract with sunglasses. Cataracts are advancing hard in the snow. The violent wind drilled into the body along the pores, cramming and dissipating the heat crazily.
I clamped my trekking pole in my arms and wrapped my collar tightly. I felt like I had been licked ten thousand times by a cat, numb and stiff. The light on his forehead flickered, pierced and went out. It is estimated that the old man has been in the water, and he should not be able to hold on, but how long can I hold on
I can survive, after all, I haven't gotten into the water.
The wind wrapped the snow and threw it on my face. The heat from my mouth moistened the scarf, and then it turned into frost again. I could only feel numbness on my body, and my skin was flushed, almost catching up with the pork that had been scalded in boiling water.
The pain caused by the cracked skin on his face seemed to be pulled back and forth by a wool rope. Although there is no mirror, I can still imagine my face with scarlet frostbite.
I really don't know what is the point of going on like this now.
The herdsmen have already driven their cattle, sheep and tents to leave this wind and snow-ravaged wasteland. They will return here only when new grass grows on the grassland in the coming year.
I'll see it then, I'm afraid it's frozen into an ice sculpture...
However, I still have the only hope of survival. It is said that on this wasteland, there is a monk who has lived here for many years. The purpose of my coming here is also to find him and prove the credibility of a piece of information.
However, now that the monk has not been found, I am afraid that I am going to see the Buddha, so I shouldn't have come here so recklessly. I was exhausted, and the only thing that supported me to go on was the last touch of clarity between the chaos of my mind.
I looked up and saw a scene of wind and snow blowing the sky, confused, and unable to see the end. The temperature is extremely low, and the nasal cavity is full of ice. It is estimated that it will be enough to make a bowl of iced mung bean soup, or six yuan a bowl.
The sound of the wind faded away, and a roar took over my brain, like a death knell rang in my body.
Finally, I fell.
Dimly, the wind and snow faded away, and a dark yellow light filled my sight.
It is said that before death, one can see the tunnel of reincarnation, and the soul of the deceased will go through this tunnel to bliss.
It seems that I am really going to die, but why the tunnel of reincarnation is still swaying, are you dancing... While thinking about it, I struggled to adjust my posture when I fell on the ground, lying flat, good for my figure, This is also the best way to welcome death—the corpse spots do not appear on the face, but are deposited on the back. If I die on the ground, my face will not look like a slap when people find my body.
Well, this person slapped others to death. The person who found the body must think so.
The world slowly went away, the roar in the brain was frantically clamoring, and the cranky thoughts couldn't continue. The dark yellow light became brighter and brighter, and a figure slowly emerged from the wind and snow.
A long Buddha horn sounded.
In an instant, the roar in the brain dissipated, and the sound of the wind and snow occupied the world again, and the dull pain of numbness once again filled my body.
How did you say Amitabha? Shakyamuni is still taking over the job of reincarnation now? I struggled to get up, and an elderly monk in black clothes stood not far away. It's not black and white impermanence, it's not the angel brother or Sakyamuni, but the person I'm looking for.
The man's left hand was in his sleeve, holding a lantern that seemed to be extinguished at any moment, and his right hand was twirling a string of black prayer beads.
"Amitabha." He called the Buddha's name.
I struggled to stand up straight, squinting at him.
"Donor, please follow the poor monk." He approached me, and I finally saw his eyes. They were the eyes of Gujing Wubo. At the bottom, there seemed to be a certain emotion deeply buried.
He stared at me.
The wind and snow were in peace, and the world was silent.
In one corner, a small wooden house appeared.
A wooden door temporarily separated the seemingly cannibalistic wind and snow under the gloomy sky. When I entered the door, I noticed that there was an old wooden plaque hanging on the door frame.
Yi Nian An.
The world has three thoughts, one for good, one for evil, and one for peace.
Sitting in front of the fire, I opened my pores, greedily absorbing the heat in the air, and stretched my whole body. The strands of heat traveled through my meridians, clearing away the coldness that had entered the body.
The monk sat opposite, closed his eyes and chanted, his dry face drooping loosely, and he could only see that the man was very old, but he couldn't estimate how big he was.
After he brought me here, he sat down and chanted silently without saying a word. It was hard to say what I wanted to ask, so he had to look at the layout of the house in private.
This is not a big house. The only source of light is the swaying fire in front of me. In the flickering of the fire, there is silence in the house, and the sound of wind and snow outside the house makes people feel peaceful.
Opposite the door is a two-faced double-faced Buddha statue, with a joyful image on one side and a compassionate image on the other. In the light of the fire, the blushing face of the Buddha statue appears from time to time, the compassion is like blood and tears in the eyes, and the joy is like a hook on the corner of the mouth.
It is not like an orthodox Buddha image, but more like a foreign evil Buddha.
In front of the Buddha statue, the offering incense was burning, and a touch of Buddha smoke was slowly shaking.
Inside, it seemed to be an old wooden door that was closed. I don't know what was in it, maybe it was a monk's meditation house.
The so-called comfort, fullness, and warmth, although it has not yet reached the point of desire, but free from the threat of death, relax by the fire, and there will be a sound in the stomach.
An embarrassing voice sounded in this quiet wooden house. The monk stopped chanting, I don't know if it just ended or was interrupted by me. Anyway, these monks chanted the scriptures and I couldn't understand it.
This monk who didn't know how old he was, squinted his eyes and glanced at me. In that moment, I seemed to have the creepy feeling of being stared at by a lone wolf.
Subconsciously, my hand leaned toward the ankle.
There is my dagger.
"Donor, are you hungry?" The hoarse sound that seemed to be scraped by a knife sounded, which made people uncomfortable.
"I haven't eaten anything, sorry." I scratched my head in embarrassment.
"Please wait a moment for the donor." The monk stood up and said slowly.
The monk speaks very quietly.
He got up slowly, his dry body gave people a sense of danger.
When he walked to the closed wooden door, he opened a slit for one person to pass through and walked in sideways. Then, the wooden door closed tightly.
What's in it, is there something that I don't want me to see, or is there something I don't want to let out
Leaning slightly, the monk walked out slowly, and the wooden door closed tightly again.
A plate of yellowed steamed buns was placed on a low black table.
"The poor food, the donor forgive me." The monk folded his hands together and bowed.
I quickly stood up, "It's okay, it's okay, it's fine." Then I bowed decently.
The two sat down again around the fire. When I went to fetch the steamed buns, I saw several yellowed books on the low table. One of them was opened but not closed, and there was a vague image painted on the pages of the book.
Head snake body.
The face of the painted image is somewhat similar to the compassion image of the double-sided Buddha statue offered in the hut. There was blood and tears in the corners of his eyes, but the corners of his mouth smiled, revealing a strange strangeness. The snake is painted with dense black scales.
Sure enough, everything is right.
I stared at this picture, which was not very clear, and it was sixty-two like the one on that document. It is now completely certain that the person in front of me is the person I am looking for.
"The donor, seems to be interested in this painting?" The monk narrowed his eyes and said hoarsely.
I found out that I had been facing this painting for too long.
"Ah, it looks so strange, is this a mermaid?" I slapped haha.
He laughed abruptly, as if he heard something extremely ridiculous, as if his throat that had been polished with sandpaper made a scalp tingling sound.
"This is the god worshipped by fishermen along the southeast coast. It is called Wet Jiao and Longevity Buddha."
"Oh? Isn't the god on the southeast coast Mazu." I asked.
"Mazu is a righteous god, and the fishermen offer sacrifices to Mazu in the hope of going out to sea and rest in the wind and rain. This longevity Buddha is an evil god." The monk added a few sticks of wood to the fire.
"The fishermen offered sacrifices to it in the hope that it would stay on the bottom of the sea and not be out of water for disaster." He slowly explained.
"Legend has it that the wet dragon will surface at night when the full moon illuminates the sea and take away the fishermen’s boat."
"Since this wet Jiao is so evil, why is it called the Longevity Buddha again?" I asked afterwards.
The content of that document is somewhat true, and you will know when the monk said it.
"Because wet flood can really make people live forever."
The monk lowered his head, staring at the jumping flames, his dry face hidden in the shadows, and his expression could not be seen clearly.
"Haha." I told him with an expression, I didn't believe it.
But the heart is never as calm as it seems on the surface.
The monk glanced at me and said, "Some wild histories have recorded some things about wet floods."
"Qin Shidan said that Xu Fu went to sea to visit immortals, looking for longevity medicine for the first emperor. It is said that he visited the Longevity Buddha. There are one thousand boys and one thousand girls, including Xu Fu himself.
In the Ming Dynasty, Zheng He sailed for the first time, and met many wet dragons. Part of Zheng He's voyage records were handed over to Emperor Yongle and destroyed overnight. Afterwards, Zheng He went to sea many times, staying in Southeast Asia for a long time.
The escaped treasure ship of Emperor Jianwen of the Ming Dynasty was discovered by the Japanese in Southeast Asia during World War I. After that, Japan stepped up its expansion into Southeast Asia and seemed to be looking for something. "
The monk seemed to be talking to himself about such indistinguishable things.
"You seem to be very concerned about this wet flood." I raised my head and looked at this monk who could not see his age.
The monk nodded slightly, took a yellowed bun and chewed it, "Yes, this is related to some things that poor monks have experienced."
"Oh? Can you tell me something?" It just so happened that the purpose of my trip was related to this monk's past.
"It's all a long time ago." He raised his head, seeming to remember. "At that time, the poor monk had not yet become a monk, and was engaged in business in the family..."
The monk slowly moved the fire in front of him and began his story.
The wind and snow are gradually rising, the night is getting heavy, and the dusty corner of the past is slowly unfolding on this reckless wasteland. (End of this chapter)