Zanxing

The first time Mingjing met Bujiang, it was a rainy evening.

On his way back to the Spring Temple, he met a girl. The girl was sitting on the bluestone, bowing her head and gently rubbing her ankles. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head and smiled, revealing a face that was not as beautiful as Hongchen should have.

She smiled and said to Mingjing: Little Master, I have a sprained foot, can you help me up?

Mingjing stood a few steps away from her, her snow-white jade feet were like the best handicrafts, without any flaws. The woman smiled at him Yingying, like the ghosts and spirits recorded in ancient books, her gestures were seductive.

After a long time, he said, Okay.

Mingjing is a Buddhist practitioner.

He was an orphan, and the old abbot of Liuquan Temple picked him up by the stream and took him by his side to raise him. He was born with superior spiritual roots, has a talent for cultivation, and has a pure mind, which is the most suitable for practicing Buddhism.

His appearance is also good, clean and bright, and there is a touch of holy Buddha in his eyebrows. Every time he went down the mountain, there was always a young lady peeking at him, implicitly suggesting that he might as well think about returning to the vulgarity, or change his way.

Mingjing never takes it to heart.

The red dust comes and goes, and everything is left behind. Stop thinking and forget your worries, the Buddha will appear before him.

But not ginger is probably an accident.

He helped her to Liuquan Temple, and she couldn't leave. Living in the temple, he haunted him every day, and said to him: Little Master, stop cultivating Buddhism, come with me.

Mingjing closed his eyes and recited the scriptures as usual, only pretending he didn't hear it.

She wasn't annoyed either, just smiled and sat down beside him, staring at him intently.

Mingjing knew that Bujiang was not a human race.

She was born extremely beautiful, and this kind of beauty can cross ethnic groups and be easily captured by anyone. She would occasionally tease other monks in the monastery. The younger ones couldn't help blushing and shaking their minds under such breathtaking beauty.

The next moment, she approached Mingjing again, her red dress was like a blooming flower, spread out in the empty Buddhist hall, and she was like a female goblin with bad intentions, half-testing and half-seriously: Are you jealous?

He tapped the wooden fish for a while, closed his eyes and said lightly: The donor is self-respecting.

Oh. She was next to him, her breath had a faint floral fragrance, and her voice seemed to be hiding a hook, I don't.

At that time, Mingjing was still a young Buddhist practitioner, and no matter how good-natured he was, he couldn't stand such daily entanglement. At first, he was polite and courteous. Later, when Bujiang came to him early in the morning, Mingjing would look at the corner of her skirt and calmly say, When will the donor leave?

The woman was not annoyed at being expelled at all, as if she was deliberately fighting against him, she said slowly, Wait for the day you fall in love with me.

Mingjing turned around.

He is a Buddhist cultivator, so naturally he will not be tempted by delusional thoughts, nor will he fall in love with a demon.

But Bujiang didn't seem to care, as if liking someone was a normal thing for her. As for how the other party responds, whether they like it or not, it doesn't matter to her that much. She enjoys the process and enjoys it, no matter how it ends.

She didn't even know where to find a small silver lock, engraved the names of Mingjing and Bujiang on it, hung it on the big locust tree in Liuquan Temple, and smiled: The love between you and me is destined to be locked in one. The locks are all hung up, little master, she said frivolously, you are mine now.

Mingjing looked at Fang Xiaosuo hanging on the treetop, and said, Donor speak carefully.

Jiang will not speak carefully, she is bolder than all human women. Whenever I say something that makes people blush, I don't care about it, and those who just listen can't sit still.

When winter comes, the branches and leaves of the locust tree fall off, and when spring comes, new branches and buds will emerge again. The days were calm like flowing water, gurgling by, and Mingjing gradually got used to the days when there was one more person in the temple.

One day, on the way down the mountain, Mingjing encountered a group of robbers who murdered.

The robbers kidnapped a young couple and brutally murdered them together with their domestic servants. Mingjing made a decisive move, but the robbers hid their vicious thoughts and wanted to perish with him. At the last moment, the Zen stick pierced into the heart of the gangster, but the tip of the knife was still an inch away from the monk's chest.

The robber is dead.

There was a rustling sound in the grass. A child of about eight or nine years old stumbled out, jumped on the robber and cried loudly: Father—

Mingjing was stunned.

This heinous robber is a father who loves his son very much. He was afraid that after his death, his younger son would be implicated, so he wanted to die together with Mingjing so as to eliminate future troubles for his younger son, but in the end, it backfired.

Mingjing took the child back to Liuquan Temple.

Bu Jiang also saw the child.

The woman stared at the child for a long time. For the first time, there was no frivolous smile on her face, and she only asked, Do you want to take him in?

He has nowhere else to go.

I advise you not to. Bu Jiang's eyes swept over the shivering little boy on the ground, I can see clearly, there is hatred in his eyes. Little Master, she said, this is a Wolf, if you keep him, you will be bitten back by the wolf sooner or later.

Mingjing said: No problem.

As you like. She shrugged, Just don't regret it.

Mingjing kept the child and named him Zizhen.

Zizhen is very timid and always follows Mingjing cowardly, unlike his cruel and vicious father. Mingjing treats him very well, and Xu Shizi's real life experience always reminds him of himself. Back then, Mingjing was helpless, and it was the old abbot who pulled him up.

But Bujiang doesn't like Zizhen, she always whispered in Mingjing's ear: Wolf can never be raised, little master, don't waste your time on that kid. Could it be that you treat him as your own son? Is it? She complained a little, Since he came, you have less time to talk to me.

In this case, when will you fall in love with me? Her voice reached his ears, and it became misty again.

Mingjing said nothing, bowed his head and knocked on the wooden fish quietly.

Bu Jiang smiled lightly, and looked sideways at the corner of the Buddhist hall. The young boy in monk clothes was hiding in the shadow of the Buddha, his eyes like green moss growing out of the shadows, tightly entangled in front of the sitting monk.

Seemingly noticing Bu Jiang's gaze, the young man raised his head, and the moment he looked at her, his eyes trembled, and he hurriedly lowered his head to hide the emotions in his eyes.

The voice of the wooden fish sounded unhurriedly in the Buddhist temple, and in the smoke of the Buddha, the huge Buddha statue looked down at the people in the temple with kind eyes and benevolent eyes.

Little Master, if you are so soft-hearted, you will definitely be bitten to death by a wolf. She said suddenly.

Mingjing still recites the Buddhist scriptures.

She pressed her red lips to the monk's ear, and the hot air she exhaled was like a mist, quickly igniting every inch of his skin. She said, Because I like you so much, I can help you kill this wolf. Okay?

He knocked on the wooden fish for a while, and then said, No need.