Samuel Reed's subordinates had already been terrified for a while. When had they ever seen such skills? Originally, this young man was just quietly speaking, but in their eyes, he was more frightening than anything else. When they heard him say, "Actually, I'm quite a gentle person," they became even more furious and angry, cursing him loudly.

At this moment, David Foster was already riding his bicycle toward the riverside. He thought about how calm and composed he had been during the fight just now, and the floating, elated feeling afterward. He couldn't help but sigh softly, "Am I really a monster?" The river breeze blew against his face, a bit dry, but it made his gloomy heart feel somewhat comfortable. He let go of the handlebars with both hands, raised his head to the sky, and shouted, "Damn you, old heavens! You won't give me my parents, but you give me this thing!"

The riverside in the county town was lined with green trees and grass. The riverside avenue ran straight from the center of the county to the Power and Communications Building. David Foster thought of the girl who was waiting for him, and his mood finally brightened a bit. He gripped the handlebars tightly and pedaled hard toward that direction, the setting sun hanging in the mountain pass across the river casting long shadows of the boy and his bicycle.

Chapter 10: The Monster Who Loves to Study

Night had fallen, and for some reason, the moon was nowhere to be seen in the sky, only a blanket of stars scattered above. Summer nights always seemed more vibrant than those of other seasons. David Foster sat by the pond not far from his little dark room, breathing in the scent of flowers and grass drifting from somewhere, feeling the faint, damp, fishy air stirred by the wind brushing over the pond, eyes closed, head tilted up at a forty-six degree angle, gazing at the sky.

He had always been puzzled by his own body, always feeling that he was different from ordinary people, surely some kind of monster. But he couldn't bring himself to believe in all those supernatural things, so he kept trying to find some reasonable explanation. Unfortunately, even with his ability to recite all six volumes of high school physics textbooks backwards, he couldn't find the slightest possibility of explaining it from a physics perspective.

So he decided to look into metaphysics, but felt those so-called masters were too childish. He had no choice but to seek psychological balance in martial arts novels. Seeing the experts in the books flying through the sky, he would feel a bit comforted, thinking: Look, now that's a real immortal, way cooler than me... Sometimes, when reading Jin Yong's novels, he would fantasize that he wasn't born this way, but had painstakingly cultivated Shaolin's innate protective energy. Unfortunately, even he couldn't fool himself with that excuse.

He didn't know which philosopher once said that humans always place their final hope of explaining the unknown in religion. David Foster was no exception—a true Chinese boy, he certainly wouldn't go around memorizing the Old Testament. Besides, he was especially fond of the cute look of little angels with wings, so naturally, he found Jehovah, that old pervert, extremely annoying... So he started practicing Zen. As for "practicing Zen," to him, it was really no different from studying physics: he would borrow some Buddhist scriptures from the city library and blindly memorize them at home, not knowing what kind of enlightenment he might achieve. If there really were Buddhas in the West, they would probably all be sent into nirvana by this stubborn, childish big and little Buddha.

Recently, he had been reading the "Sutra of Sitting Meditation and Samadhi," which mentioned the Five Methods of Counteraction. David Foster read Buddhist scriptures mainly to find a cure for his "illness," so this was right up his alley. He read it carefully and memorized it. The book described the five methods of counteraction as follows: for those with excessive lust, use the impurity method; for those with much anger, use the loving-kindness method; for those with much ignorance, use the contemplation of causes and conditions method; for those with many thoughts, use the mindfulness of breathing method; for those with much equanimity, use the mindfulness of Buddha method.

Earlier, he had been in his little dark room, reading under a dim 25-watt bulb, scratching his head, unable to figure out which "illness" he actually had and which method he should use. So, like a blind cat running into a dead mouse, he randomly picked "much ignorance." His thinking was simple: if those thugs had his strange physical abilities, they'd probably be laughing every day, not frowning and worrying like he did. It's like winning a Xiali car in a mall lottery—if someone isn't happy but instead worries it's a scam, in the eyes of the world, that's definitely the "ignorant" type.

So he carefully read what he thought was the cure for ignorance... the contemplation of causes and conditions method. But after reading a bunch of stuff like "ignorance conditions volitional formations, thus contemplate," his head was spinning. Then he read the mindfulness of breathing method and finally found something that made sense, especially savoring the words "cessation and contemplation," and then realizing that the body is fundamentally nonexistent... the body is like a cluster of foam, impossible to grasp; this body is like the sea, never satisfied with the five desires.

……

He vaguely felt he had understood something, but in reality... he still hadn't figured out anything. Practicing Zen by rote memorization like David Foster was certainly not unique in the world. Think of those illiterate monks in ancient times—they probably also used the cramming method to become Buddhas. But someone like him, who started to feel elated and as if he had gained insight after rote memorization, was probably rare.

In fact, he hadn't realized anything at all; he just clung to one principle: don't care.

He didn't even care about himself anymore, whether he was possessed by a monster or the reincarnation of some holy child. Maybe he was just a genetic mutation. The world is already full of worries—why think so much? Rivers flow into the sea, following the course of nature. If those thugs came looking for trouble, even though his body was tough enough to compare with a tank, there was no reason to stick his head out and let people smash it.

David Foster thought he had figured out some great truth, so he was in a good mood and sat by the pond to cool off.