TODC Chapter 1

On the western side of Hangzhou, nestled in the foothills of Lingyin Mountain, with Beigao Peak to the north and Feilai Peak in front, two towering peaks stand shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by lush, towering trees.

In the depths of the forest lies an ancient temple, shrouded in mist.

“Dong…”

The sound of a bell reverberated through the mountains, startling a flock of birds into flight, their wings fluttering as they rose into the sky before gracefully returning to the trees.

The lingering echo of the bell seemed to carry a unique power, infusing the bustling city with a hint of the solemnity of the Buddhist temple.

Around a grand, imposing hall at the front of the mountain, ancient trees stood tall, their branches casting cool shade. The hall’s blue-tiled roof was meticulously arranged, and beneath the eaves, several crimson pillars stood in a row. In the center of the hall, a plaque adorned with four bold characters hung high above, reading: “Mahavira Hall.”

Inside, the hall was resplendent with gold and jade. The beams of the sandalwood structure were painted red. In the middle stood a golden statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, seated in the lotus position. His left hand rested on his left foot in meditation, while his right hand extended downward in the Bhumisparsha mudra, symbolizing the touch of the earth. His eyes gazed down upon the world with a solemn, compassionate expression.

The hall was bustling with worshipers, a constant stream of pilgrims kneeling before the Buddha, vying for a chance to offer their prayers.

A young monk with delicate features stood to one side of the golden Buddha statue. The monk wore a simple gray robe, with a finely crafted jade pendant hanging from his chest. His right hand was raised in front of him, fingers long and slender, clasped together in prayer. A sandalwood prayer bead bracelet dangled gently from his wrist.

Squinting slightly, the monk watched the constant flow of worshipers kneeling before him. Beside the railing, a red wooden table held a donation box, into which people occasionally slipped red bills.

The monk’s half-closed eyes curled into two crescent shapes.

It was the height of summer, and the visitors wore short-sleeved shirts, their clothes drenched in sweat from the crowded heat. Hair stuck to foreheads, and fine beads of sweat covered their faces. Yet, the young monk, standing tall in his long-sleeved robe next to the Buddha statue, seemed as if he were standing beside a cool, mountain spring. Despite the crowd and the heat, he remained clean and composed, without a trace of sweat on him.

Kneeling on a mat in front of the Buddha was a pregnant woman, bowing in prayer. After bowing twice, her body began to sway. She propped herself up with her hands, attempting to stand, but her arms trembled uncontrollably.

A young girl beside the woman noticed something was wrong and hurried to support her arm, her face showing concern.

“Sister Tan, are you alright?”

The two were companions, traveling together.

The pregnant woman, referred to as Sister Tan, was sweating profusely and wore a pained expression. With the girl’s help, she wobbled to her feet.

The surrounding crowd instinctively shifted, moving slightly away from the two women.

The pregnant woman seemed to be in great discomfort, unable to speak as the girl struggled to support her. Beads of sweat covered the girl’s forehead as she held up her companion. “Sister, let me help you to the seats over there so you can rest!”

The pregnant woman had barely taken a step when her body seemed to lose all its strength. Her arm slipped from the girl’s neck, and she staggered forward, about to fall.

The girl tried to hold her up, but the woman’s weight was too much. The girl could not keep her balance, and both of them tumbled to the ground.

In the girl’s desperate eyes, she saw the pregnant woman’s swollen belly falling towards the stone floor in front of the Buddha statue.

It seemed that a life yet unborn was about to be lost in this sacred place.

The crowd, which had stepped back earlier, now looked on in alarm. Some covered their eyes, unable to watch; others took out their phones, recording the scene. A few rushed forward to try to catch the falling woman, but it was too late.

Just at that critical moment, a gray figure appeared next to the pregnant woman.

A pale hand, adorned with prayer beads, reached out and caught the woman’s shoulder. With his left hand, he grabbed the girl’s arm, helping her stand up as her forward-leaning body steadied.

It was the young monk from beside the Buddha!

His brows furrowed slightly, eyes filled with concern. He knelt down, folding his legs beneath his robe, holding the pregnant woman securely in his arms.

The girl, now regaining her senses, quickly knelt beside them, thanking him profusely: “Thank you, little master! Thank you!”

The young monk paid her no mind, gently laying the pregnant woman on the ground. Her eyes were closed, her face drenched in sweat, and her expression was one of pain.

He placed his left hand on the woman’s wrist, his brow gradually relaxing after a few moments. Then, he moved his left hand from her wrist to her swollen belly, resting his right hand, with the prayer beads, on her forehead.

The nearby tourists, seeing the pregnant woman caught in time, breathed a collective sigh of relief. Smiles spread across their faces, and conversations broke out in low murmurs of excitement. Those recording the scene on their phones were even more thrilled.

The young monk remained still, his hands placed on the woman’s body. The girl, watching this, hesitantly asked, “M-master, are you…?”

“All done.”

Before she could finish speaking, the young monk had already withdrawn his hands and looked up.

It was only then that the crowd noticed just how strikingly handsome the young monk was!

A faint smile graced his face. His eyebrows were not thick but delicately shaped, like two graceful willow leaves. His eyes, deep and bright, sparkled like stars, and some people thought they glimpsed golden swastika symbols flashing in his gaze. His lips formed a gentle curve beneath his nose.

At that moment, two security guards arrived, having heard the commotion. They pushed through the crowd, rushing over to the scene.

The monk, ignoring the still-astonished girl, turned to the guards and spoke.

“Old Chen, this lady has fainted from heatstroke. She’s still weak, but she should wake up soon. Please take her to the medical room for some rest.”

His voice was calm, steady, and magnetic, and the previously restless crowd seemed to feel a cool breeze wash over them.

“Got it, got it!” The guard named Old Chen replied, kneeling down to help the woman.

The young monk stood up and exhaled, quickly glancing around the crowd before swiftly walking toward the side of the hall.

As the tourists continued to murmur, the pregnant woman let out a soft groan and slowly regained consciousness.

“She’s awake! Look, the pregnant woman’s awake! Do you think that monk knows medicine?” someone asked.

“I don’t think so! I recorded the whole thing, and I didn’t see him do anything, just put his hands there, that’s all…” another responded.

“I don’t know about his skills, but that monk is really handsome,” a girl said, clearly smitten.

“Can you stop fangirling? Did anyone notice how fast he moved when he saved her? It was like a gray shadow flashed, and he was already there. I couldn’t even see how he got over that meter-high railing…”

Old Song and the other security guard helped the pregnant woman to the temple’s medical room. The girl followed closely behind. Inside, an elderly man was receiving an IV on one bed, while a child with a bandaged knee was crying loudly on another.

The doctor was busy attending to patients.

After settling the pregnant woman onto a bed, the security guards prepared to leave.

The girl quickly spoke up, “Wait, please wait! Thank you so much…”

Her forehead glistened with sweat, her eyeshadow smudged slightly beneath her large, bright eyes, and her small lips, lightly colored in red, parted as she asked, “Can you tell me who that monk was? The one who saved my sister?”

Old Song chuckled, “Oh, you mean that young monk? He’s Master Baoyu, the youngest monk here at Lingyin Temple. I think he’s only twenty-one this year.”

“Baoyu…”

The girl murmured the name under her breath.