The True Nature of the Mortal Dust

In the northern frontier, at the edge of an unnamed secret realm. The mountains here were low and undulating. Terraced fields were carved into the foothills, surrounding sparse villages with dwindling populations. Were a mighty cultivator present, they would see that the spiritual qi was barren and the earth veins parched; cultivating here would yield half the result for twice the effort. This was because nearby lay a secret realm established by a grotto-heaven. Over centuries and millennia, the realm had continuously siphoned spiritual qi from its surroundings, gradually turning the surrounding territory into a barren wasteland. Consequently, across the entire commandery, there were barely a handful of dharma idol cultivators. Even the commandery governor had to rely on a spirit gathering formation established within his manor just to make the slightest progress in his cultivation, and even then at a snail's pace. Right now, at high noon, a tall, thin monk walked along the dilapidated commandery road. His movements were slow and unhurried, yet in the blink of an eye, he appeared a hundred zhang farther down the road. He walked on, taking in the scenery as he traveled. By the roadside, an old man and a youth were resting. Seeing the monk, the old man rose tremblingly to his feet and offered a respectful bow. Seeing how strictly and properly the salute was performed, the monk knew the man was a lay practitioner who had cultivated in the mortal world for many years and had grasped the true principles of the Buddhadharma. A favorable impression rising within him, he walked over and returned the bow. The old man hurried to tell the youth to fetch their food basket. Taking out two steamed cornbread buns, he pressed them into the monk's hands, muttering ramblingly, "Seeing Master's robes, one can tell you are someone devoted to ascetic practice. This bit of food will help stave off Master's hunger, and it will also accumulate some karmic virtue for my grandson." The tall, thin monk had not intended to accept them, but hearing the old man's words, he knew the elder must have received guidance from an eminent monk. He inherited the dharma idol of All Beings Delight in Seeing Bodhisattva, emphasizing asceticism and faithful devotion. To him, giving even a bowl of congee or a single meal was immense merit—an offering to a Buddha of Merit—and the giver would surely reap great karmic rewards. That they were able to wait and meet him here, even if guided by someone, was itself a karmic affinity. The monk glanced again at the youth, noting the mixture of terror and yearning on his face. There were faint traces of cultivation on him, along with some incense aspiration power. Though his sea of consciousness was not yet opened, a faint precious light shimmered within, showing he possessed great karmic fortune. However, a layer of black mist blanketed it—a terrible catastrophe bearing down on him that he stood virtually no chance of surviving. The tall, thin monk understood immediately. It seemed the youth suffered from a grave illness that had reached the terminal stage. Without his intervention, the boy would not live long. Yet the vast precious light in the youth's sea of consciousness stirred the monk's appreciation for talent. Once this hurdle was passed and his Great Fortune erupted, if he joined the Pure Land, he would very likely become a prime seed for Buddhist cultivation, capable of inheriting a dharma idol. Thinking of this, the tall, thin monk accepted the two steamed cornbread buns, pressed his palms together, and said, "Almsgiver has made an offering to the Buddha's body; great blessings will surely follow." The old man broke into a smile that deeply creased his wrinkled face. He rubbed his chapped hands repeatedly, so overjoyed he was rendered speechless. In the monk's eyes, this sight was more gratifying than anything else. Without another word, he offered a bow and drifted into the distance. The black mist in the youth's sea of consciousness was merely a mortal's dire tribulation. Having accepted the two cornbread buns, it was enough for him to dispel the foul illness, and perhaps in the future he might gain a disciple capable of inheriting a golden body. At this thought, the monk could not help but sigh with emotion. "The karmic affinities of this world are truly marvelous. Who would have thought that a peerless prodigy of a generation would live in a place like this for a hundred years? The three Scenery Command masters in that secret realm probably never dreamed that a tiger was sleeping right beside them. Their reckless harvesting of spiritual qi all these years has been watched the entire time... When the day comes, a reckoning will be inevitable." In truth, the monk knew why the secret realm drained spiritual qi so frantically, disregarding the lives of an entire commandery's people. Only immortals could establish a secret realm, and after this sect's former Immortal Ancestor passed into meditation, no new immortals had ever arisen. Meanwhile, the population inside the realm grew ever larger, driving up their demand for spiritual qi. Over the past century, their expenditures had clearly exceeded their resources, and the secret realm was on the verge of collapse, forcing them to resort to this desperate measure. Little did they know that in the cycle of karma, the more they acted this way, the fiercer their karmic retribution became, and the faster their secret realm would fall. That Sky-Propping Spear Saint had chosen to enter seclusion and make his breakthrough right under their noses; surely he harbored the intent to nourish his spear through battle upon emerging. With the secret realm's three Scenery Command masters sacrificed to his spear, that single spear intent might not be entirely unprecedented, but it would not be far from it. *** An ordinary small town, an ordinary courtyard. Two small plots had been cleared in the courtyard, where vegetable sprouts grew pleasantly green. A stubble-faced middle-aged man was absorbed in carving a cup from a tree root. Nearly half the yard was piled with tree roots; this was how he made his living. The carved root cup possessed an archaic shape, though its contours were slightly crooked and uneven. He adjusted it bit by bit, but after carving continuously for an incense stick's time, the strength in his hand faltered slightly, and a stroke cut a fraction too deep. He frowned, then began reshaping around the deep cut. "A fine cup!" The man frowned and looked up at the tall, thin monk standing in the courtyard. His gaze then shifted to the greasy, tattered rag in the monk's hand. The tall, thin monk was still pinching it gingerly to minimize contact. The man stood, took the ragged cloth, and actually brought it to his nose, taking a deep breath! The tall, thin monk was utterly shocked. This cloth was repulsive in the extreme; even someone like him, who had practiced asceticism for years, found it hard to stomach. Above all, it was soaked with the fat monk's sweat and greasy grime—odors that not even the Great Vehicle Buddhadharma could dissolve. This single sniff from the Spear Saint filled him with absolute reverence. The man gave a chuckle and said, "Let me ask you: what was good about my cup just now?" "Returning to simplicity, with not the slightest trace of spear intent, nor any craftsman stiffness..." The man shook his head. "Of course it has craftsman stiffness. It has the very level of skill and deliberate effort an ordinary craftsman should have at this stage. A bit higher or a bit lower, both are the true meaning of the mortal dust. Merely purging the spear intent from the work is barely crossing the threshold." The man waved the sweat-soaked, oil-slicked rag in his hand. "Good thing you didn't wash this rag. On it is the breath of the mortal dust." The tall, thin monk felt somewhat unconvinced. "The world is vast, with tens of thousands of forms. Why should only this rag be the mortal dust? If I grab a handful of dirt by the roadside or pluck a few blades of grass, is that not the mortal dust?" The man replied impassively, "Those are the mortal dust, yet they are not the mortal dust. They are not the mortal dust I seek, the kind that points straight to the Great Dao. As for your senior brother Fami, his disposition is soaring and his comprehension peerless. When he attains his karmic attainment in the future, it should be at the side of the King Buddha or the Great Sun. But perhaps he has other thoughts." Other thoughts? A possibility suddenly struck the tall, thin monk. If even the sides of the King Buddha and the Tathagata could not accommodate him, where else could he go? Even in the distant future, replacing the King Buddha or the Tathagata was something one dared not even imagine! A sudden terror seized the monk, as though he had committed a cardinal sin, and cold sweat drenched him in an instant. His lifelong wish was merely to reach the upper tiers of Spirit Mountain and stand a little closer to the two supreme beings at the very summit. Seeing this, a hint of mockery surfaced in the man's eyes, though he said nothing to expose it. The monk's expression shifted several times in a single breath. He suddenly let out a long exhalation, sweating profusely, his face showing both regret and relief. He gave a wry smile. "This humble monk is dull of wit and harbors no grand ambitions. Senior's enlightenment seems doomed to fail on me." The man was not surprised. He said flatly, "You people inherit dharma idols directly, ascending to the heavens in a single step, yet you miss out on the process of being tempered in the world. That is why those fellows in the Pure Land have such poor temperaments, and some are downright vile. They may triumph for a time, but they have stepped onto a dead-end road. If a day comes when one ascends the lotus seat of Spirit Mountain, guess who will be sitting upon that lotus throne? And who will be the one who, having attained this lifetime, is cast back into the cycle of reincarnation?" The monk's expression shifted slightly. "No notion of self, no notion of others, no notion of sentient beings, no notion of longevity. When all forms unite as one, it is all of them, yet none of them." The man sneered. "Words like that are fine for fooling novice monks, but you are Fami's junior brother, and you possess the karmic affinity to interrupt my peaceful cultivation—how can you speak such nonsense? "The Buddha said: 'Originally there is not a single thing; where can dust alight?' Once karmic attainment is verified and the golden body perfected, one is naturally unstained by dust. And you lot are the dust within the cycles of reincarnation across all worlds." The tall, thin monk was stunned for a moment before chanting a Buddhist invocation. "This humble monk lacks innate wisdom and cannot fathom it. Yet a golden body is one lifetime, and dust is also one lifetime..." Before he could finish, the man cut him off: "That is what the dust always thinks." The tall, thin monk froze once more, then sighed. "This humble monk truly cannot see through it. Yet such a karmic affinity is rare, and I have doubts in my heart that I cannot resolve. I hope Senior will instruct me." "Speak." "I observe Senior living in seclusion here, deeply versed in the samadhi of entering the mortal world. My senior brother sent a scrap of a robe, which you say carries the true meaning of the mortal dust. What I fail to understand is: why is this matter so crucial?" At last, a glimmer of approval appeared in the man's expression. "Though none of Fami's fellow disciples amount to much, that you can ask this question shows you are far ahead of your peers." He pointed toward the pedestrians passing to and fro beyond the courtyard gate and said, "What is the Great Dao? Heaven and earth are the Great Dao, and all living beings are the Great Dao. Immortals are living beings, and mortals are living beings too. How many immortals are there? And how many mortals? Compared to mortals, all the cultivators in the world combined are nothing more than a drop in the ocean. "We cultivators walk this path observing heaven and inspecting earth, penetrating the profound and mysterious. We saw through the world above long ago, but what about below? What about these hundreds of millions of living beings? Who truly understands them? Who knows what they think and feel, able to truly empathize?" The tall, thin monk said, "This humble monk once practiced asceticism for ninety-nine years..." The man scoffed. "Your asceticism is far from genuine empathy; it is nothing more than empty formality. Let me ask you: if you have no food, will you die after starving for a few days?" The tall, thin monk was rendered speechless. Evidently, no matter how many days he starved, he would not die. The man concluded, "Without truly becoming one of them, one cannot comprehend it at all, and one's insight into the Great Dao will lack this vital link, forever imperfect. "This scrap of Fami's robe retains the mortal realm's true essence upon a mighty figure, untainted by a sliver of spiritual aura and unburdened by karma. Fami by now has nearly leaped completely out of this heaven and earth. As for this old man..." He paused, then said, "Back then, this old man lived entirely in a mortal body, only to die in an unforeseen calamity seven years later. After reviving, I realized that having a contingency for resurrection still placed a barrier between me and the mortal dust. And so, I relinquished all divine abilities and mighty powers, severed all retreat into reincarnation, and lived here just like this—for one hundred and three years already."