In the past couple of days, the servants and tenant farmers of the town’s most prominent household, The Thompson Family, have been scurrying about like headless flies. Even the usually lazy constables are now following the county officer, iron ruler in one hand and iron chain in the other, their eyes bloodshot as they search everywhere, as if everyone they see is a suspect.

In order to find their third young master, who has been missing for three days, David Thompson and Mr. Thompson have nearly turned the entire Xiyan Town and more than a dozen nearby villages upside down, causing chaos everywhere. Especially with the reward offered by The Thompson Family for finding their son, many people have been tempted and have taken action.

Originally, Mr. White had no interest in getting involved, but he accidentally discovered that his neighbor Mr. King's small boat was missing. He guessed that it might have been taken by Little Thompson, so he immediately took his daughter and set out along the lakeshore in their own boat to search.

If they could earn The Thompson Family's reward, Emily's dowry would be secured, and she could marry into a good family in the future, no longer needing to toil with him fishing on Lake Jumo.

Fortunately, at sunset, the father and daughter found a boat lying sideways on the opposite shore of Lake Jumo, half-sunken and half-floating. It was the very fishing boat that Mr. King had lost. But whatever terrible ordeal it had gone through, the hull was nearly shattered and could no longer carry people; the fact that it made it to shore was already a blessing.

Seeing the boat in such a state, Mr. White's heart tightened, fearing that Little Thompson had met with misfortune. After all, the opposite shore of Lake Jumo was at the foot of Mount Kunlun, where man-eating monsters were not unheard of.

With the thought of collecting Little Thompson's remains, Mr. White raised his torch and followed some traces left on the shore. He hadn’t gone far before he saw a young man staring dazedly at the starry sky. Looking closely, it was indeed the Little whom Mr. Thompson had been desperately searching for.

“Hmm! This story is a long one. On a dark and windy night, when you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face…”

The little girl Emily's eyes gradually widened as Little Thompson began to spin a wild and fanciful tale.

However, the exceptionally bright moonlight, the vast mountains, the cave, the stone bowl, the palm-sized, exquisitely crystal-clear lotus in the bowl, the soul-stirring, inexplicable pressure, the obscure and incomprehensible words and roars… These fragmented memories, impossible to piece together, kept flickering in the young man’s mind, like a bizarre and unruly dream.

“…One flower, one world; one tree, one life; one blade of grass, one paradise; one leaf, one Tathagata; one grain of sand, one Pure Land; one square, one land of bliss; one smile, one karmic bond; one thought, one serenity…”

The chanting of a monk, rising and falling, drifted across the lake, interrupting John Thompson's fanciful storytelling. The small boat carrying the three of them had, at some point, gradually approached the lakeshore on the Xiyan Town side.

“Master, good morning!”

Mr. White put down the oar, stood up at the stern, and respectfully pressed his palms together in greeting to the monk walking along the shore.

The monk’s robe, washed pale and patched like a quilt, covered his ancient-looking face. He held a chipped clay alms bowl, his beard and brows turning white, his figure thin, but his eyes were bright and penetrating, as if he could see into people’s hearts.

“Good morning, Master Grant!”

Emily White also stood up, devoutly bowing to the monk on the shore.

No one knew when this monk, whose Dharma name was Grant, had built a barely weatherproof thatched hut outside Xiyan Town and settled down there.

Every morning, he would carry his clay bowl, chanting Buddhist scriptures as he begged for food in the town or nearby villages. Rice, vegetables, meat, fish—it didn’t matter if there was oil or salt, vegetarian or not. He only asked for food, never for money. No matter how much he received, he would recite a long blessing scripture for the donor.

Even when mischievous children played pranks by throwing sand, dirt, or stones into his bowl, he never got angry. He would still recite a short scripture and respond with a smile.

Once the bowl was full, it would provide for his breakfast and lunch. The monk would stop begging once it was full. After noon, whether or not the bowl was full, he would return to his thatched hut, chanting scriptures until midnight, then rest, and continue begging the next day, rain or shine.

Rather than begging, it was more like a devout ritual.

Over time, everyone in and around Xiyan Town came to know this ascetic monk and called him Master Grant, and his reputation grew.

His simple thatched hut was often visited by devout men and women who came to worship and chant scriptures with him, but he never accepted even a grain of rice or a single coin as incense money. It was all so plain and devout—saving himself and others.

John Thompson did not believe in Buddhism, so he naturally did not press his palms together in greeting, but simply cupped his hands in a polite gesture.

The monk slowly stopped, set down his clay bowl, and smiled as he pressed his palms together in return to the three people on the boat.

“Namo Amitabha! Good morning to the three benefactors!”

At that moment, a red carp leapt out of the lake and, by sheer coincidence, landed in the boat, right in front of John Thompson.

Carp are naturally good jumpers, and it’s common for them to be startled by boats.

John Thompson looked at the monk, then at the red carp flopping and struggling at the bottom of the boat. Moved by a sudden impulse, he reached out to pick up the unlucky little fish.

Hiss!

There was a shallow pool of water at the bottom of the boat, with tiny duckweed floating on top. He hadn’t expected that beneath the duckweed was a hidden wooden splinter, and he accidentally pricked his fingertip.