National School Prince Is A Girl

Qin Mo held an amulet in his hand, pulling his little panda luggage single handedly. His ascetic looking face was even colder than before. He didn’t say a word until after getting in the car. “Grandfather, I want to go to Mount Wutai after returning to China.”

“Mount Wutai?” Old Master An looked sideways. After all, his grandson had never been interested in such things as Buddhism studies.

“Mmh,” Qin Mo replied while glancing down to the amulet in his hand. “Mount Wutai.”

Old Master An had never rejected his grandson’s request and he would not begin to do so – especially not in such times. Because when his grandson turned his head and looked at the scenery outside the car window, his head fell low.

Three days later, Qin Mo went to Mount Wutai. There weren’t many people who came to worship. Anyone who had read about Buddhism would know that the incense was most prosperous on the first and the fifteenth day.

But today was the seventh. The number seven didn’t mean much in China.

However, on this very day, at the top of the long flight of stairs, a small figure walked with a calm expression. A thin layer of sweat had formed on his forehead as he walked and bowed. He had done 999 worships. Thus, his sweater was soaked with sweat. There were beads of sweat on his hair as well but that didn’t affect his nobleness. It was probably because he was really too young.

The novice monks watched on as the little child continued. It was still snowing at the peak of the mountain. The snowflakes melted into water after landing on his head.

As the small figure came close, some of the novice monks ran into the temple. “Master, Master, there is someone outside.”

The old monk, knocking on the wooden fish, placed down the Buddhist book and raised his eyes to look at the little novice monk. “Such a mess. When has there not been anyone coming up to the mountain? What happened to all the knowledge you learnt from the Buddhist books?”

“No, please take a look, it’s a small child.”

The novice monk was a child himself and yet, he called someone else a child? The old monk shook his head and walked out, carrying the scent from the sandalwood as he walked. Initially, he didn’t think much about it. However, when he saw the figure that worshipped one step at a time, he paused slightly, and then said, “Amitabha Buddha.”

The cold wind blew and snow fell on the shoulders of the figure between the mountain streams. But the little boy’s face was even more eye-catching than the mountain of snow.

That scene was very much like a poem by Tsangyang Gyatso. He had said, “That year, I kowtowed on the mountain road. Not for admiration but for the warmth of seeing you. In that lifetime, I revolved around the mountains, rivers, and the pagoda; not to cultivate my next life, just to meet you on the way. In that instant, I ascended into an immortal; not for longevity but for your peace and joy.”

The old monk was waiting, waiting for the noble little figure to come to him.

Qin Mo had proper etiquette. Even though there was sweat on his forehead, he bent over and greeted, “Master.”

The 999 steps of worship, regardless of when it was done, he must return a wish. The old monk lowered his eyes but there was helplessness in his eyes. “Little Benefactor, what are you seeking?”

Qin Mo drew a red string from his neck. On one end of the red string was an amulet. “Someone asked for this for me. Master, can you give me a piece of Buddhist advice?”

“You believe in the Buddha?” the old monk asked.

Qin Mo shook his head. “I only believe in myself.”

The old monk asked again, “Then why did you come to ask for the Buddha’s advice?”

“She believes in it.”