142. Uphill? Downhill? (Seeking subscriptions and monthly votes)

With the discerning eye of Master Tianlong, he probably saw the confusion flicker in Bai Haonan’s eyes the moment he spoke. This had nothing to do with intelligence; whether in cultural refinement or cognitive ability, Bai Haonan simply could not grasp the Zen subtlety behind the old monk’s words. So the seasoned Master Tianlong smiled gently and explained, “That is the ‘long bodhi grass.’ When struck forcefully on someone’s head, it serves two purposes. For those truly capable of sudden enlightenment in life, it is like a sharp awakening blow, prompting them to reflect on everything and to adopt a new perspective and way of thinking. For those who merely follow fashions and echo others’ opinions, it is just a symbolic tap on the believer’s head, a ritual to dispel misfortune and pray for blessings—a psychological comfort, nothing more.”

Bai Haonan pondered seriously, “So, I’m neither of those two kinds of people?”

The old monk sat there with a knowing smile, “Who do you think you are?”

Bai Haonan found himself at a loss. This was practically a philosophical question—and he understood nothing of the sort.

Master Tianlong was not aggressive, “Those who can attain sudden insight have their own direction and faith within their hearts. They understand that they themselves are their greatest faith. Those who merely imitate elegance blindly follow others, believing faith can change everything, placing all their hopes on it. But in the end, faith makes it real. If you don’t believe in anything, then whatever I say to you is useless, and striking your head would only waste my effort.”

Bai Haonan tried to listen, and though his expression feigned respect, his demeanor showed skepticism. “What’s the point of believing or not? It’s all deception, isn’t it? I don’t believe a bodhisattva will fall from the sky to do mysterious things, nor that anyone can become a deity or Buddha after enlightenment. Those are lies to fool fools.”

Master Tianlong did not chase away this blasphemer but spoke quietly, “Then why have you come to study with me?”

Bai Haonan shrugged, “Old Yu said I should learn from you. I’m still wondering what exactly I should learn.”

The renowned monk was truly worthy of his reputation. “You have succeeded before, but now you’re lost, searching for your path?”

Bai Haonan stubbornly replied, “Not really. I think life’s pretty good as it is—comfortable. Traveling here and there, chasing women, drinking. Now I’m even a free-loading monk. How many people get to live such a life in their lifetime?”

Suddenly, Master Tianlong’s tone turned sharp and merciless. “The path of ease is often downhill. Only when you learn to reflect can you have the courage to climb upward. Right now, you’re just giving yourself an excuse—a pretense of living freely to cover up your insecurity. Deep down, you know you are on a downward slope!”

Bai Haonan was taken aback. “I don’t understand these grand principles…”

The old monk grew even more relentless. “It’s not that you don’t understand! You are avoiding it—subconsciously dodging the painful self-reflection! Many mediocre people do the same, and that is why they remain mediocre. If you give up this kind of thinking, you will end up as aimless and ineffective as they are!”

When facing the lectures of Chen Sufen and Qiao Yingna, Bai Haonan could immediately snap back: what right did a college student, who hadn’t even graduated, have to teach a man like him who had spent twenty years in this circle and was nearing middle age? But with Old Yu and Yu Jiali, he found it much harder to respond—their success weighed heavily on him.

In front of Master Tianlong’s words, Bai Haonan was utterly defenseless, his gaze darting about like a dog caught in the act. After a long pause, he finally admitted, “So that’s why I came to ask for your guidance…”

Unexpectedly, Master Tianlong’s tone slowed, and he changed his approach. “Insight is one’s personal destiny; external forces can only guide. You won’t be reciting sutras in classes, nor will anyone teach you Chinese Buddhist scriptures one-on-one. You might as well become a guest monk, but not one who worries about trivial temple donations. Instead, learn how to promote Tianlong Temple and raise its reputation. Since you’re so good at using the temple’s scenic spots to attract tourists, focus on that. You’re smart, so let’s speak in a smart way. Only a master who presides over such a large temple truly understands that managing its reputation and operations is a matter of fate. As long as you avoid lust and embezzlement, you need not be bound by the rules of other temples. Go.”

Bai Haonan was a bit stunned. This legendary, renowned monk was quite unconventional, and that phrase about “smart people” sounded strangely familiar.

Yet Master Tianlong truly offered no more guidance and waved him off.

Bai Haonan descended the stairs somewhat bewildered, untying Ada, the dog tied to a pillar downstairs. The dog happily wagged its tail at him. At that moment, Bai Haonan envied the creature a little. Damn, why must life be so complicated for humans? Isn’t it just about eating well and sleeping soundly?

At a time when most families were having dinner, the temple bathed in the setting sun showed no sign of cooking smoke. The monks wandered in small groups, and at a spot marked with bottle caps on the ground for a game of chess, seven or eight shaved heads gathered. Bai Haonan watched for a while but couldn’t make heads or tails of it, feeling like he had returned to his days at the youth sports school—idle after training—but without the presence of any girls.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, he hesitated about Master Tianlong’s remark that he was not bound by other temples’ rules, wondering if that meant he could go out for dinner at night. Yet his few dollars and bank cards had been confiscated by stubborn Ada. Suddenly, two figures dashed straight past him: an orange monk’s robe belonging to a small novice about a meter tall, followed by a shaved head in a pink robe…

Wait, Bai Haonan suddenly remembered—this temple also had nuns!

Damn, this was just like the boys and girls chasing each other at the youth sports school. Could it be? They preached that women should not touch monks, yet here little nuns and little monks were openly playing together.

Could it be, as Master Tianlong implied, that some things were merely for show?

Since he had nothing better to do, Bai Haonan casually followed and discovered that the little monk and nun did not run to hide in a warehouse or haystack but entered a hall with a television, already packed with monks. The pink-robed nuns were very few and clustered distinctly in a small corner by the door.

Not one for watching TV, Bai Haonan chuckled at his own dirty mind and was about to turn away when nearly the entire hall erupted in cheers. Looking closely, the screen had switched from a host mumbling unintelligibly to a live football match!

This was perhaps the most universally understandable television content. Bai Haonan’s stomach growled faintly, and he naturally leaned against the doorframe, his attention half on the TV and half on these monks from the foreign country. Could monks love football too?

The live English Premier League match gave Bai Haonan a vivid lesson in the fervor for football—or rather, the Premier League—in this country. Those monks, who looked refined by day, now bit their lips, blood rushing, shouting and roaring with passion far livelier than the atmosphere in many domestic public venues.

Though he could not understand the commentary, the monks’ applause, shouts, and chest-thumping moments showed they knew the game well, unlike many fake fans at home who merely came for the atmosphere. This made Bai Haonan all the more interested.

After the match between Liverpool and Everton ended, the monks, still eager, pulled out a ball and began to play outside in the courtyard. Perhaps that is the charm of football—it needs no special field or equipment, not even the space of a proper pitch. Just a small patch of ground and a group of people passing the ball is enough.

It was not the typical monkeying around seen in team training, nor the chaotic kicking of amateurs, but a deliberate game where they tried to keep the ball off the ground. Though they often failed, the twenty or so young monks stood scattered, happily juggling the ball with their thighs and passing it around with evident joy.

Bai Haonan stood by the building’s entrance, somewhat distant. At first, he wanted to show off some of his skills, but after watching a few minutes, he felt a strange reluctance to embarrass himself.

It wasn’t that these monks were particularly skilled, but perhaps due to ethnic differences, these youths were mostly under 1.7 meters tall, yet their flexibility and ball sense were excellent.

Especially the latter—not just their proficiency, but their intimate feel for the ball. It was almost like juggling. While these tricks might not help in formal matches, they were certainly beneficial for improving technique. Bai Haonan knew his ball control surpassed theirs, but he had never tried some of these fancy or astonishing moves and might well make a fool of himself. So he focused intently—this was, after all, the most interesting thing to him.

Just then, a timid, soft voice whispered beside him. Bai Haonan, arms folded and one foot on the ground, looked down to see a small pink-robed shaven head playfully teasing Ada. The dog was somewhat indifferent. From this top-down view, Bai Haonan guessed the little nun was about six or seven years old—comparable to a Chinese girl of the same age, who in a typical family would be cherished, cared for, and sent to school. Yet here she was, a nun. This was a common sight, which made Bai Haonan feel a bit sorry for her. He lightly nudged Ada’s leg, scolding the dog for being lazy. Only then did Ada lazily look up to interact with the little nun, who shyly retreated a step into the hall but could not resist squatting down and reaching out to tease Ada again.

Bai Haonan looked back toward the monks playing outside but then heard a warm Mandarin voice: “Ai, time to go, you should follow them back now.”

Only those far from home can truly appreciate the feeling of hearing their native tongue. Bai Haonan turned his neck so sharply it cracked, then looked down to see a young novice, barely out of childhood, speaking to the little nun. The pink figure shook her head but fondly placed her hand on Ada’s head once more. Bai Haonan mused on how many little girls in big cities back home were their families’ treasures, yet here they lived such austere temple lives. He could not help but say, “Let her play a bit longer. Ada, be friendlier!”

The dog, of course, could not fully understand but felt the warmth of Bai Haonan’s foot and immediately happily bounded over to the little nun’s arms, making her giggle. Yet she still glanced up at Bai Haonan with cautious eyes.

The little monk was quick-witted and immediately stood respectfully with palms together. “Are you… also a fellow disciple from the Chinese monastery?”

Bai Haonan looked at the boy, no more than seven or eight, and felt a fondness. “No, I’m just here temporarily to study with the great master. I’m Chinese…”

By heaven, this was the first time Bai Haonan had spoken these five words seriously—and uttering them gave him a special feeling, prompting him to say again, “I’m Chinese. I am Chinese.”

The little monk’s eyes lit up like stars. “Really…”

Before he could finish, a football flew over. The little monk turned toward it and instinctively raised his hands to shield himself, letting out a startled shout. Bai Haonan, clad in yellow monk’s robes, took a small step on the spot, stood on tiptoe, twisted his body, and used his chest to trap the ball, instinctively hugging it with his arms. His broad but not overly muscular chest steadied the ball, which slid down along his torso. Then, with a smooth motion, he raised his knee and began juggling the ball with his thigh.

This was Bai Haonan’s favorite instinctive move. Just as he had done before his last breathtaking long-range shot in an official match, and as he first learned on the medical university’s wild fields, his football skills were not extraordinary, but his ball sense was decent. He had practiced the fundamentals tirelessly as a youth, and he liked juggling the ball with his thigh because it was easier than using the narrow top of the foot. Whenever he had to meet a juggling quota during tests, he preferred this method.

It was no surprise that his coordinated thigh juggling had helped him execute that powerful strike.

Now, he showed off a bit, alternating legs to juggle the ball high, lifting his thigh to a perfect right angle, as if marching in place, steadily keeping the ball aloft. Then he quickly juggled on one leg, thigh moving rapidly, the whole body slightly trembling, the rapid frequency making the motion seem like a simple, fast vibration of the knee joint.

To onlookers, it looked like a circus act. Given the monks’ fondness for these small skills and tricks, they immediately gathered around, chattering excitedly to watch up close.

After all, he was a professional player; while he couldn’t perform the iconic, high-difficulty tricks of Brazilian stars, showing off basic skills was no problem.

As Bai Haonan completed a standard seven-part juggling sequence—head to neck, sliding the ball into his arms—the hall erupted in applause, all monks smiling with palms together.

Turning, the little nun’s eyes were wide with amazement, while the older novice gazed at him with pure admiration.

Well then, Bai Haonan had made his first friend abroad.