Don't Forget What Our Senior Brother Said.

"Abbot... the plaque has been delivered, but should we reconsider the matter of mounting it?"

"Why? I already agreed earlier."

Yuan Kong's eyes seemed half-open yet unfocused, as if he had slept for an eternity, his eyelids too heavy to lift. Yet, it also felt as though there was something urgent he needed to attend to, forcing him to rise.

His memories were hazy, as if he had dreamed of something vitally important—something he absolutely must do. But the moment he got up to relieve himself, the memory slipped away entirely.

Yuan Kong's gaze drifted toward the temple hall's entrance, where a familiar silhouette stood. Without thinking, he called out:

"Senior Brother..."

The blurred figure slowly turned, revealing a face Yuan Kong could never forget—now etched with hesitation.

In an instant, Yuan Kong's foggy vision cleared, and Yuan Jing's conflicted expression melted into a gentle smile.

"You've finally woken up," Yuan Jing said, his voice calm and soothing.

Yuan Kong stood, rubbing his eyes with small hands before murmuring, "Mmm..."

As if shaking off the remnants of a long dream, he lowered his pale fingers and met Yuan Jing's warm gaze. Suddenly, an inexplicable ache filled his chest, and before he knew it, he stepped forward and embraced the aged monk.

"What's wrong? A nightmare?" Yuan Jing's voice floated above him. "That must've been quite the terror, for even the Buddha's protection to fail you."

Yuan Kong meant to pull away, unwilling to endure his brother's teasing, but found himself unable to let go.

After a pause, he whispered, "Mmm..."

For reasons beyond his understanding, he clung to Yuan Jing as though releasing him would lead to a lifetime of regret—irreversible, inexplicable.

"Don't be afraid. Your brother is here."

Yuan Kong listened to those words, feeling the old monk's weathered hand gently pat his head.

After a long moment, Yuan Kong finally lifted his face, tears welling as he met Yuan Jing's compassionate eyes.

"Why the tears?" Yuan Jing asked, surprised but tenderly wiping them away.

Yuan Kong shook his head slightly before releasing him, his gaze shifting to the temple courtyard where junior monks crowded outside.

"What are they discussing?"

His tone brightened, as if trying to mask his earlier vulnerability.

Yuan Jing turned. "Ah... The Dharma Assembly is about to begin. This year, a donor sponsored a plaque for me to mount. It arrived today."

Yuan Kong stiffened. The words felt eerily familiar—as though he had dreamed them long ago.

A plaque...?

"Don’t Snatch the Nun from This Old Monk"?

The thought flashed through his mind. But when the juniors unfurled the plaque, relief washed over him. The inscription wasn’t the absurd phrase he’d imagined.

Instead, it read: "The Buddha’s Mercy."

Yet as Yuan Kong stared at it, an inexplicable unease settled in his chest. Despite its perfectly normal message, something felt deeply wrong.

A voice inside insisted the plaque should’ve borne those ridiculous words instead.

Standing frozen, Yuan Kong felt time stretch thin, sounds fading away. He watched as Yuan Jing stepped into the courtyard, lifted the plaque overhead, and murmured something inaudible.

Is... this how it should be?

Confusion gripped him, but soon, certainty replaced it.

Of course. Someone as virtuous as his brother would never mount such a foolish plaque.

Yuan Kong hurried outside, but the moment his feet crossed the threshold, daylight vanished.

Lanterns blazed to life—the Dharma Assembly had begun.

Disoriented, Yuan Kong turned, only for a voice to interrupt:

"Uncle, why are you still here? The Abbot asked you to greet the honored guests."

The voice was familiar, though he couldn’t place it. Nodding absently, Yuan Kong took in the festival decorations before striding toward the temple gates.

Right... There were guests today.

Pushing through the crowd, he spotted three figures who stood apart—two women and a man.

Strangely, they too felt familiar.

One cold-faced woman eluded his memory, but the other two names surfaced effortlessly: Li Yingling and Li Xingtian.

Puzzled but dutiful, he approached.

"Are you Lady Yaoqin?"

The icy woman looked down. "Xie Lingyu."

(Note: If you can’t find the book by title, try searching the author—it might’ve been renamed!)

Yuan Kong faltered. Though she’d said "Xie Lingyu," his mind insisted she was "Yaoqin"—two unrelated names now inexplicably linked.

His gaze shifted to Li Yingling, whose sorrowful expression held no trace of joy. This, he felt, wasn’t how she should be.

Then he saw Li Xingtian—eyes murderous, lips curled in predatory satisfaction.

"No..." Yuan Kong’s mind churned. This was all wrong.

"Are there others?" he pressed.

Li Yingling’s voice was hollow. "No one else. Lead the way."

Yuan Kong refused to believe it, scanning the empty path behind them.

"Where’s your master?" he demanded.

"My master?" Li Yingling glanced at Xie Lingyu, then frowned in confusion.

Yuan Kong’s brow furrowed. "Not her. Your master isn’t her."

"Then who?"

A name surfaced—"Chu—"

But the syllable vanished the moment it left his lips, erased from memory.

A sharp pain lanced through his skull. When he looked up again, the trio had disappeared.

Instead, a golden Buddha gazed down from his lotus throne, voice resonant with compassion:

"Yuan Kong, you’ve attained the Dharma. Today, I shall cleanse your meridians and set you anew upon the path of cultivation."

Only then did Yuan Kong realize he was kneeling. To his side, Yuan Jing knelt as well.

"Your brother has nurtured a Buddha-child with merit. He shall ascend to Arhathood. Once you’re cleansed, both of you will cultivate at the Great Thunderclap Monastery and share its fruits."

The Buddha’s thunderous voice left no room for doubt.

Yet though Yuan Kong’s mind screamed at him to agree, his lips refused to part.

"Junior Brother," Yuan Jing whispered from his right, "accept this, and I’ll stay with you forever."

Those words shattered every last shred of his resistance.

Yuan Kong obediently lowered his head and opened his mouth, ready to comply.

But suddenly, the voice of Yuan Jing from his left spoke again—frail and weary.

"Why seek the Golden Lotus beneath the Buddha? You are yourself."

Yuan Kong's eyes widened as his gaze slowly shifted leftward.

There sat Yuan Jing, weak and barely managing a smile, cross-legged beside him, holding a pill in his hand.

Yuan Kong stared at his senior brother, then at the pill.

"Mount the Golden Lotus! Then senior brother can share the Great Fruit with you—never to part again."

The voice of Yuan Jing from his right pleaded.

Yuan Kong did not turn. Because in his heart, his senior brother had already attained the Great Fruit.

He reached out and took the pill from Yuan Jing's hand.

It was refined by Chu Xingchen, who had said that if Yuan Jing truly reached the brink of death, he should try this pill. After all, with nothing left to lose, it was worth a gamble.

Yet... Yuan Jing had not taken it. Instead, he left it for Yuan Kong.

Perhaps Yuan Jing thought it was something precious—the only thing he could leave behind.

"Senior brother, you’ve never tasted this," Yuan Kong said, his voice trembling with tears. "This thing is damn bitter."

Looking at his own darkened, enlarged palm, Yuan Kong swallowed the pill without hesitation.

"Senior brother knows. You told me before," Yuan Jing's voice was calm and tender. "But don’t forget his words again."

"Once senior brother is gone, you must take care of yourself."

Yuan Kong raised his head, tears blurring his vision.

It made it hard to see his senior brother’s face one last time.

"Hold on. I’m on my way."

Hearing that familiar voice, Yuan Kong smiled through his tears and wiped them away.

"Chu Xingchen, you’re truly insufferable... bothering me at a time like this. Don’t you know I’ll never see senior brother again?"

Can't find the book by title? Try searching the author—it might just be renamed!