Golden Mantis

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In ancient times, Jin Chen served as a divine official. He was naturally compassionate and kind-hearted, valuing every plant and tree, unlike later officials who sought power and strength. He dedicated himself to the pursuit of truth and became the youngest "practitioner" among them, receiving the highest inheritance from Nuwa—the "Three Divine Artifacts." Witnessing the suffering of the divine race due to their desires and feeling compassion for the fate of the demon race, Jin Chen sought answers through his cultivation. He hoped to find a way to help sentient beings escape their suffering and discover the ultimate truth—the essence of life. He began inscribing what he had learned as "divine patterns" on his body and mind, delving into profound contemplation every day. Later, unable to change the demon race's fate with his own strength, Jin Chen, despite his reluctance, reduced his divine power, left the lofty Suspended Sky, and descended to the mortal realm to continue his cultivation. During his quest for "truth," he shared hardships with Sun Wukong and other companions, forging bonds of good fortune. However, in an attempt to save all sentient beings, he ultimately sacrificed himself in a battle between gods and demons... That was his past life. Thousands of years later, Jin Chen's consciousness was reborn during the hero era through reincarnation. In this lifetime, he was born into a once-prominent family, with a unique mark on his forehead—the radiant seal of a "practitioner." However, after experiencing the downfall of his family and losing both parents, he found himself alone in a dilapidated temple by the river Lo. At a young age, Jin Chen displayed exceptional wisdom and talent due to the early hardships he faced and occasional flashbacks of his previous life. The unpredictable fate of heaven and frequent disasters brought suffering to all, despite his best efforts to help.The Golden Mantis, deeply saddened by the suffering of all living beings, sought desperately for a way to liberate them from their misery. He wandered through the ruins of an ancient temple, hoping to find enlightenment in its tattered books. Despite his efforts, he found nothing. He then traveled across the rivers of Haolo and Chang'an, searching for hidden libraries and studying every classical text he could lay his hands on. Yet, he still couldn't grasp the truth. A glimmer of hope emerged as fragments of a hazy memory from his past converged into a dream, guiding him towards his goal. He braved countless obstacles and set out on a journey westward. From the bustling streets of Chang'an, lined with vibrant markets, to the vast deserts filled with swirling sands and crumbling ruins... from the Empress, waiting for seven days outside the Imperial Palace, shaken by her desperate plight, to the encounter in the desert with Dharma, who walked east and west, and finally, to Gao Changgong, enlightened by the transformation of conflict into harmony... Could he this time find the "true essence" to liberate humanity from their suffering? Two months of climbing stone steps, the cool spring rain poured down on the temple's forest, creating a misty veil. Raindrops pattered against the ancient, neglected stones, and moss crept across the boards, growing thicker with each passing day. Standing at the foot of these crumbling steps, the Golden Mantis paused, remembering a chilly spring morning years ago when he was just a child. A cold wind bit into his cheeks, making him wince. He stood by the riverbank, watching the water flow past, lost in thought, gazing at a single stone in the current.A child of solitude, his lineage once belonged to a prestigious family that had enjoyed great fame. His high grandfather and great-grandfather had served as governors, and his grandfather held a high position. He had a father who held a significant role in Chang'an and a joyful home. Born with an unusual mark on his forehead, he was considered a "child of gods" reborn. He vividly recalled his mother's words: "In my dreams, I see our young son dressed in white, riding a beautiful white horse to the west." Later, she never spoke of this dream again, as tragedy struck when she passed away from illness at age five, and their father, after falling ill at ten, resigned his post and died with a deep longing for his wife. With successive misfortunes, the once-prosperous family's servants scattered. He followed an elderly butler to the banks of the Yellow River, where they eventually settled until the old man passed away as well. Shortly after on the Lantern Festival, he was left homeless by the family he had been fostered with, a decision understandable given their own struggles—they had six children and faced harsh times in this uncertain era. On the riverbank, a ten-year-old orphan huddled in the cold rain, pondering silently. An old monk appeared, carrying an ancient umbrella, and asked, "Child, aren't you cold? Why are you standing here alone? Where are your family?" "I'm thinking..." "About what?" "Why do leaves fall into the river and get carried away by the current, while a stone remains still?" The monk was surprised at such profound questions from a young boy. "You're so young to be pondering these things." "Maybe," he replied, "over time, I'll find answers to these questions about leaves and rocks." "Perhaps," the monk agreed, "you will.""After a long while, the old monk finally led me to this secluded mountain foot, marking his first glimpse of these nine thousand, eight hundred and eleven winding stone steps, worn and uneven, snaking their way deep into the mountain. In the drizzling rain, the mossy path, slick with moisture, was a challenge even for the lone child, who preferred to struggle alone rather than give up. Despite his small frame, he persevered through some steep sections, using both hands and feet to continue climbing. The old monk explained that at every nine thousand, eight hundred and eleven steps, there is a stone bearing the wishes of countless good-hearted men and women over the years—some seeking peace, others wealth, some fame or fortune, while some pray for children and grandchildren... It's uncertain if these wishes were fulfilled, but it's possible that those who made them are no longer among us. The faded inscriptions remain, though, much like the steps themselves, now slick with moss, obscuring the ancient desires. At the end of the long stairs, shrouded in misty rain within the mountain forest, lies their destination: a dilapidated temple, long abandoned and neglected, its once-vibrant incense no longer wafting through the air. This child, who had already contemplated life's impermanence, possessed an extraordinary wisdom and talent that set him apart from his peers. The old monk, recognizing this as a sign of destiny and spiritual insight, decided to take him under his wing. 'From now on, you are my apprentice,' he said kindly, 'call me Master.' The child's obedient nature and quiet demeanor, coupled with an air of calm serenity that belied his age, reminded the monk of the golden seal etched upon his forehead.""Apprentice... Master..." the child murmured, these words feeling unnaturally familiar, as if he'd heard them in dreams. Dreams, yes, those fragmented, chaotic dreams where he often saw a long-haired monkey head, a nine-foot pitchfork... and repeatedly witnessed himself, young and dressed in white, riding a beautiful white horse westwards. "It's time to give you a dharma name," the old monk said, pulling the child back to reality. The chirping of cicadas filled the courtyard both inside and out, making the summer afternoon in this secluded mountain even clearer, inspiring the old monk with a thought: "'The cicada sheds its skin in filth, floating free from dust. It enters the earth and is reborn, rising again from the soil, transforming and renewing itself, endlessly cycling through life.' This eternal idea resonates with the golden seal on your forehead, and from now on, you will be known as Golden Cicada." "Apprentice Golden Cicada, thank you, Master!" "Remember, apprentice, a practitioner must always bear compassion in their heart." "Master, what is compassion?" "To love all beings and bring them joy, to have mercy on them and alleviate their suffering. This is compassion," the old monk explained. "Understood, Master. I will remember your teachings," Golden Cicada replied earnestly. With the passage of seasons, from spring to autumn, through cold and heat, Golden Cicada lived in close companionship with the old monk. Though their living conditions were humble and sparse, they endured a life of simplicity. Yet, these hardships did not hinder Golden Cicada's cultivation. Thanks to his innate brilliance, he often grasped principles that even the old monk found difficult to comprehend.The times are fraught with adversity, and even the Golden Mantis often accompanies the Old Monk up and down these nine nines and eighty-one steps, reaching all the way to the town at the mountain's foot. He distributes the temple's meager provisions among those who have been displaced, or assists strangers in overcoming various hardships; occasionally, people from the mountain below will struggle to ascend these nine nines and eighty-one steps to reach the ruined temple. Among them are elders whose oil has run out and who were driven out of their homes, soldiers abandoned on the battlefield with severe injuries, and women who sought medical help but found none, ultimately perishing... The ruined temple is their final "resting place," as they have no hope in this life and can only aspire to the so-called afterlife. After a person's death, the Old Monk and Golden Mantis will perform rituals for them and bury them on the small hill behind the temple; no one knows their names, nor are there any proper tombstones. The tiny Golden Mantis often plants a handful of wild chrysanthemums in front of these raised mounds, hoping to ease their loneliness.However, these often also fill the young Golden Silkworm with compassion, and every night as silence descends, he dives headfirst into the small temple's dim and dilapidated attic. Among the incomplete scrolls, the ancient, obscure text seems to hold infinite power, almost like it could dispel his suffering... The Golden Silkworm believes they might also unravel the perplexities that have plagued his heart... Those who have endured impermanence and hardship often remind him of the scattered leaves floating in the river on his tenth birthday; they were swept away by fate, their destinations unknown. Year after year, as the sun rises and sets, the scriptures in the attic have become worn out, yet the Golden Silkworm still hasn't found answers. The elderly monk, whose health has deteriorated with age, often urges him to leave the temple and seek a broader world for exploration and cultivation. He believes that with the Golden Silkworm's innate talent, he can help many more people and eventually uncover the true answer... After this year's final snowfall, a new grave appeared on the small hill behind the temple. The adolescent Golden Silkworm planted a Bodhi tree nearby; it is an incredibly resilient tree. When its branches grow thick with leaves, the shade will bring coolness in summer and warmth in winter. Once again, the Golden Silkworm stands before the aged, neglected temple gate. He gently closes the broken wooden door, bows his head in reverence, and says goodbye. In the same drizzling rain, now slightly cooler, overgrown grass covers the stone steps that lead downhill. There are nine hundred and eighty-one steps in total—a path the Golden Silkworm has walked up and down countless times with the old monk. For the young Golden Silkworm, the hardships of his childhood have long since vanished.The true test lies ahead on the long and treacherous path below these mountains. Golden Mantis clings tightly to his bundles, descending calmly along the 9981 steps, one by one, as he follows in the footsteps blazed by the old monk who showed him the way. The rest of his journey is up to him... perhaps the answer lies just ahead, within each step he takes. On this frigid winter day, a biting wind sweeps through the streets, and winter has silently descended upon Chang'an, the mighty fortress city. Though the winter solstice hasn't arrived, people have already donned their thickest garments. Despite the cold, the bustling markets of Chang'an remain lively, except for one place that stands out with a different, solemn atmosphere. Beneath the imposing palace walls, a figure stands resolute in a plain white robe, his crimson garment billowing in the wind. He is the renowned "Golden Mantis Monk," celebrated throughout Chang'an as a national treasure, though still young, he possesses extraordinary talent and has been entrusted by the Empress to oversee the largest academy in Chang'an. His gaze is calm yet determined, taking in the magnificent palace before him, its grand architecture exuding unparalleled majesty. Unfazed by the cold, he stands steadfast, waiting for the monarch within to emerge and grant his request. After a long while, a small crack appears in the sealed palace gates, and a blue-robed official approaches Golden Mantis, shaking his head in resignation. The following morning, a frosty chill descends upon the city, transforming the gray stone patterns into sparkling white ice crystals. The ancient trees outside the Great Palace, their branches bare of leaves, are adorned with pristine frost. Even the thick bark of the winter-stricken trees is covered in a layer of snow. A chill runs through the air as guards on the palace towers tighten their collars. Outside the gates, Golden Mantis, dressed in white and red, still stands defiantly against the cold wind, seemingly unbothered by the frosty breath that surrounds him.He is all too familiar with the seasons of Chang'an City, having been born here and leaving at age ten due to the fickle nature of fate. He spent his remaining childhood in a small temple on the border of He Luo, before embarking on a journey to find a way to save all sentient beings. Gold Mantis left the temple and traveled through the lands of He Luo, enduring years of hardship. Eventually, he returned to Chang'an, as it held the largest academy in He Luo. He believed that the "truth" he sought lay hidden within the complex characters and texts. During the day, Gold Mantis would perform good deeds and give alms, teaching others. At night, he would immerse himself in the study of sacred scriptures in the library's hidden chambers. In just a few short months, he earned the nickname "Master" from the people of Chang'an. Over three years, he deciphered thousands of scriptures and even studied ancient scrolls authorized only by the Empress. Yet, he could not attain enlightenment. Then, in a fragment of a dream, a familiar glow appeared in the west of the continent. He knew it was time to leave once more. As night fell, a chilling frost descended, and the closed palace gates let out a glimmer of light. A blue-robed official approached him, shaking his head: "Master Gold Mantis, please return." "It's alright, I'll wait," he replied, bowing. On the third day, rain began to pour down over Chang'an. The cold winter rain made everyone shiver. Beyond the grand palace walls, a realm that prohibited entry for mortals was desolate and silent. The vast space seemed frozen in time, and Gold Mantis, standing amidst the winter rain, appeared as an eternal, unchanging presence within this world.Three years ago, in the same winter rain-soaked Chang'an, a climactic debate between a cultivator and sorcerer had already made the rounds, with the renowned牡丹方士 defeating all representatives. Yet, it was the young Gold Mantis who emerged victorious, matching the famous figure blow for blow. It was then that the Empress on the grandstand, who favored this cultivator born with a golden seal on his forehead, granted him control over Chang'an's largest temple, ordering him to preach and spread teachings among the people. Commoners and nobles alike flocked to hear him, marveling at how the mystic named "Gold Mantis" could answer every question in their hearts, bringing them peace and fulfillment. Thus, they often offered precious treasures, but Gold Mantis took nothing, instead bestowing all of it upon Chang'an's impoverished masses. The Gold Mantis became a favored guest of the Empress. Through him, she witnessed that the realm she ruled was not merely a peaceful utopia, but also contained the struggles and hardships of common folk, the resilience of the living, the impermanence and constancy of affairs... These profound insights benefited even the Empress, who valued her rare talent and appointed Gold Mantis as her "younger brother." Such a talented and virtuous cultivator was indeed a blessing from Heaven for the people of River and Lake. The Empress hoped he would stay in Chang'an forever. As cold rain poured down, a blue-robed official returned to stand before Gold Mantis, bringing the same news once more. On the fourth day, they said, winter rain would be like snow, but no one expected that the previous day's cold drizzle had turned into a blizzard, marking Chang'an's first snowfall of the year. Children from every household in the market district ran out to play and frolic in the alleys. Only the grand Ming Palace remained silent and still outside, with only the sound of snowflakes gently falling in the frigid air.Standing amidst the falling snow, the Golden Mantis' figure remains resolute. He quietly embraces the pristine essence of heaven and earth, his mind conjuring fragmented dreams. Often, he dreams of traversing a vast, snowy expanse, battling fierce winds and blizzards as he trudges forward with a golden staff in hand, his crimson robe fluttering in the storm, accompanied by a long-haired monkey head adorned with a golden bracelet, and a nine-foot plowman's scythe... Everyone walks side by side, seemingly bound for a distant quest... The Golden Mantis is unaware of why these dreams persist, but he believes there must be some profound reason. One day, after a discussion on sacred texts, the enlightened empress bestowed upon him three "treasures," and the official guarding them stated that ever since the return of Master Gold Mantis to Chang'an, these three ancient artifacts in the sealed treasury had exhibited unusual phenomena—as if resonating with one another—and the empress recognized them as items destined for the Golden Mantis. The reunion with dream-world objects further solidified the Golden Mantis' faith in the guidance offered by his visions. Of course, when he received the "Three Treasures," the Golden Mantis also promised the Empress: "I shall use these tools to alleviate the world's suffering and protect all sentient beings." This journey is precisely to fulfill that promise. The snow grew heavier, passing many hours, and the sealed palace gates seemed frozen in place, immovable as if sealed with a spell. Until the figure of a blue-robed official appeared once more, this time dressed in a thick deer-skin cloak, his hands tucked into his sleeves for warmth, he hurried to the Golden Mantis' side, shaking his head again and choosing not to speak further. On the fifth day, snowflakes continued to fall relentlessly, showing no signs of stopping, accumulating over night and transforming the silver-white realm. Amidst this, the Golden Mantis' crimson robe stood out, his eyes half-closed, his eyelashes coated with snow, his expression serene.The snow reminded him of his days at a small temple by the River Lo, where during winter, the old monk would often accompany him in studying the incomplete scrolls within the dilapidated small pavilion. The pavilion was tiny and worn out, with few classics, far from comparing to the vast collection in Chang'an's largest library. Especially the dark room on the pavilion's roof, named "Wulian," where several ancient fragments were stored; access required the Emperor's authorization, and throughout the entire city of Chang'an, there were only three keys to unlock it—one held by the Emperor herself, one by her most trusted security official, and another given to "Yudi" Jinchen, whom the Emperor had taken a liking to, leaving him deeply grateful. The snow continued to fall, chilling the earth and freezing all life, as a blue-clad attendant in deerskin robes ran back, shivering, his lips trembling, still shaking his head. On the sixth day, the snow fell even more heavily, like petals falling after a bloom has faded, beneath the grand imperial city, a figure stood tall with a staff, unmoved, surrounded by a blanket of pristine white snow.In the vast, misty realm, the Golden Silkworm remains unmoved by external affairs, silently reciting scriptures from the Temple of Scriptures, originating from the Cloud Cave Monastery. West of the River Lo, it points to the same radiant light as seen in the Golden Silkworm's fragmented dreams. They say that beyond that formidable, continuous Great Wall lies an endless sea of sand, a desolate land. A white-robed swordsman from their homeland once told them of a lonely fortress cut off from the outside world, with crumbling ruins, a labyrinth of devouring winds and sandy mazes like hellish domains, a royal city crafted from jade and emeralds, an ancient city with flowing rivers and endless libraries, and countless uncharted territories teeming with mystery and danger... The West, where hope and peril coexist, is the destination he is about to embark on. In the Golden Silkworm's vision, a blue-robed official again appears, even on this freezing day, he refuses to take another step forward. He gestures from afar through the snow at the palace gates before turning away, not interrupting the Golden Silkworm's recitation or thoughts. The snow continues to fall... For several days, the seventh day included, it has been nonstop, thickly accumulating on the ground. The Golden Silkworm maintains a calm demeanor, still standing steadfast in the wind and snow, patiently waiting... After a long while, the grand, jet-black palace gates slowly swing open on both sides, echoing through this blizzard. Finally, Her Imperial Majesty, the highest ruler, emerges from this magnificent palace, stepping out with dignified strides amidst the howling winds. "My decision is final," she declares with an aura of authority, "Why the trouble, younger brother?" "Your Majesty," the Golden Silkworm responds, "This journey will take me far away, over mountains and rivers. I vow to dedicate myself fully in search of truth. Please grant your permission." His words carry an unwavering resolve and benevolent fate. Her Imperial Majesty furrows her brow slightly, "Very well, answer me three questions then," she says. The Golden Silkworm nods in agreement. "First, younger brother, you are a rare talent, capable of dispelling the confusion of the people and soothing their hearts. Why leave when Chang'an needs you?""Golden Mantis responds." "Second, the item your younger brother seeks, I can dispatch an army to find it. Why do you need to do it yourself?" The Empress asks again. "Traveling ten thousand miles is a test of one's body, experiencing countless affairs is a test of one's heart. The path ahead is long and arduous, only by going in person and with a pure heart can you truly find it, see its true form. It cannot be achieved through others' efforts." Golden Mantis spoke slowly. "Third, if the road ahead is naturally treacherous, mountains and rivers block the way, foreign lands have strange customs, wolves and tigers roam wild, bandits and thieves are everywhere, will you still go west?" The Empress inquired once more. "Even if I need to cross mountains and seas, face countless difficulties, Golden Mantis' heart will remain as firm as a rock." Golden Mantis declared with a clear voice. Without warning, the snow and wind stopped, leaving an eerie silence between them. After their conversation concluded, only the vast emptiness remained. The Empress neither nodded nor shook her head, she turned and left silently, her steps still carrying the weight of her regal presence as she re-entered the magnificent palace. Just as the immense gates were about to close, she glanced back and said softly, "Allow it." After her figure disappeared completely, a blue-robed official rushed over for the last time, he whispered to Golden Mantis, "Do not blame Your Majesty, She said that these seven days of frost, snow, and rain were merely a test of your brother's resolve. She has already understood his heart, seven days ago she personally wrote this 'Passage Permit' with her own hand, hoping you have a safe journey." The first rays of sunlight illuminated the scroll adorned with phoenix patterns, six golden characters, "Changan, Granted by His Majesty" shone brightly in the light.

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Sức mạnh: Ma Đạo

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