Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 50

Seeking the Truth
Harrow Beijing, Yao, Caitlin - 15
Luoyang, 618
T
he trees rustled as a breeze slithered through their leaves, whispering to the birds who chirped
cheerfully in response. They greeted the dawn and the pale blue sky dappled with clouds coloured
in amaranth pink.
A monastery stood amidst the trees. The first rays of light were scattered on the ridges of its gabled roof
and reached the courtyard in front of the prayer hall. The silhouette which stood there in the darkness had
now become a small, lean figure wearing an ill-fitting robe; a jade pendant hung from her neck.
She stood quietly outside the hall, holding a piece of Xuan paper rolled up like a scroll in her hands.
When the monks emerged from the hall the girl turned towards them, her brown eyes glinted with
happiness as she spotted who she was looking for; she tiptoed to him.
He turned to her when she was still some distance away. He was walking beside his brother, holding the
Mahayana Sutra he copied faithfully.
“It’s you.” He hesitated before he greeted her, “What brings you here?”
The girl unrolled the paper in her hand, a painting slowly unfolded in front of her, “I painted this last
night.” She took a deep breath, “Would you like to have a look?” She approached him apprehensively as
she asked.
He took the painting in his hands; it was a shanshui painting, an imaginary landscape. Although both the
rocky mountains and the meandering river are all painted with rather soft, gentle brushstrokes, their essence
were captured very well.
“It’s wonderful.” He remarked.
She didn’t reply. Despite his compliment she could tell that he regarded her painting with indifference,
“You’re leaving Luoyang soon, this might be the last time you ever see my painting.”
“ I will have a good look at it, then.” He smiled.
“Do you really have to leave?” She pursed her lips.
His eyes widened, “Of course.” He said, his voice quivering a little, “ A Mi Tuo Fo! How could one
possibly keep their mind solely on the study of Buddhism with this turmoil gripping Luoyang?”
She nodded in agreement but remained silent, his lips parted, wanting to say something more but no words
came out.
“Xuanzang.” The abbot in the monastery called him at that moment, his sonorous voice echoed in the
monastery. She watched him walk away after he bid her goodbye, still clutching the sutra tightly in his
hands.
***
After her visit to the monastery her mind turned to the time when she first met him.
It was a summer evening many years ago, when she had been a little ragamuffin running barefoot in the
village. He encountered her on a dirt path, when she was drawing on it with a twig.
She raised her head when he asked her what she was drawing. He was not much older than her, wearing
a grey robe and Buddhist prayer beads.
“A tree.” She mumbled.
His eyes fell on her thick, tousled hair and her ragged clothes that seemed like a coarse burlap. “Do you
live in the village?”
“Why should I tell you?” She said with a defiant glare.
“You don’t look like you have anyone to take care of you.”
She felt her hands touching the jade pendant she wore on her neck.
“No one takes care of me.”
“A Mi Tuo Fo.” He exclaimed, sounding deeply disturbed.
She fiddled with the pendant in her hands, not knowing what to say. To her he was merely a passer-by,
perhaps a monk from a nearby monastery. He gazed at her for a while and left before they could exchange a
greeting.