Free Web NovelThe weather was scorching hot, a difficult summer to endure.
On the bumpy road to Shangjing, the old monk named Guixin had developed thick calluses on his feet. They blistered and healed repeatedly, blistered and healed again, until the knuckles of his toes stuck out prominently. Yet he never stopped walking.
He survived by begging for food along the way, his clothes ragged and tattered. But somehow, the old monk had made it this far.
However, how much strength does a person truly have left? Even the toughest might fall under such hardship.
The old monk’s lips cracked, his eyes sunken. Under the blazing sun, beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks… until there were fewer and fewer.
He looked around desperately but found the land parched; no water anywhere.
The old monk sighed and sought out households.
He knocked on several doors, only to be driven away again and again.
“Where’d this beggar come from? Get lost, go on!”
“Better try elsewhere, Master Monk.”
After visiting several homes, he hadn’t even gotten one bowl of water.
Aimlessly, he wandered the street, his steps unsteady as if he could no longer hold himself up. He sat by the roadside to rest.
Thud.
A pebble hit nearby.
“Hey!”
A Little Beggar sat at the edge of the street, watching him closely.
The old monk paused, then walked over.
“Greetings, young benefactor.”
The Little Beggar blinked, confused by the term.
But he waved it off. “Benefactor this, benefactor that? Listen, old thing—this is my street. Go beg somewhere else!”
The old monk opened his mouth. “This poor monk will rest only a moment. I shall leave soon.”
The Little Beggar raised an eyebrow. “Still gotta move! This spot’s taken. You’re blocking my earnings.”
The old monk sighed and shakily rose to his feet.
He staggered forward, step after step.
The Little Beggar watched him go and sat back down, deciding not to bother him further.
But as the monk walked, his steps grew more unsteady, his body swaying.
The Little Beggar stiffened. Sure enough, the old monk wobbled… then slumped sideways onto the ground.
Thump.
The fragile body made almost no sound as it fell.
The Little Beggar flinched inwardly but quickly looked away with a huff, pretending not to care.
As the monk collapsed, others nearby took notice.
“What happened to him?”
“Don’t know. Just… fell.”
“Don’t get involved! He might blame you!”
People gathered to stare, yet no one dared step forward to help.
Onlookers came and went. The crowd around the fallen monk kept shifting. To all, it seemed just another common sight.
In this drought year, people often died of thirst.
The Little Beggar heard the whispers. He peeked through the crowd one last time… then firmly turned away.
None of my business! he swore silently.
Hmph! An icy shrug.
But the next moment, he gritted his teeth and stood.
Damn it all! Worst luck!
He marched toward the collapsed monk.
“Move aside! Make way!”
Pushing through the crowd, the Little Beggar grabbed the old monk’s arm. Grunting with effort, he hauled him upright.
“Oi! Pushing like that, little beggar?”
“You got a problem?”
“Feisty little rat. Bet no one’ll even bury you when you starve.”
“Screw off!”
The Little Beggar cursed, then hoisted the monk onto his shoulder, struggling toward a nearby alley.
Can’t leave him lying here for everyone to gawk at.
He expected it to be impossible—but the old man was lighter than him. Though clumsy, he managed to drag him away.
“Old thing, bumping into you—just damn bad luck!”
Panting, he finally entered the alley and dumped his burden against the wall.
Thud.
The monk slid down limply.
The Little Beggar nudged him with a foot. “Still breathing?”
No answer. He squatted to check.
A thin, shallow breath remained. Barely.
But death surely wasn’t far now.
“Damn it!”
The Little Beggar glared. “Listen. Only my kindness saved you. Otherwise, you’d have been dumped in the Mass Burial Ground tonight—scared yourself awake only to die again. So.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “As thanks… I’ll just take something, yeah? You won’t need it. Give it to me.”
He cleared his throat, adding firmly:
“Stay silent? Means you agree.”
With rough, quick hands, the Little Beggar started patting down the monk’s robe.
“Stupid, lousy pauper…” He grumbled as he fumbled through patches and folds of the worn fabric.
Nothing valuable. Got to be nothing…
But then, pressed inside an inner pocket of the frayed robe—he found them.
Three Copper Coins.
He picked them up, tossed them joyfully in his palm. Plink-plink.
“Got some meat on you, Old Thing! At least I won’t be out of pocket.”
Smirking, he knelt and slapped the old monk’s shoulder.
“Die happy now, alright? I’ll put this cash to good use. Call it my ‘payment’ for kindness. You’ll get some good karma next life for sure.”
Chuckling, he turned and walked out of the alley, coins jingling in his fist.
He bought one steamed bun with them. And one whole bowl of water.
That would stave off hunger for two days.
Three Copper Coins buy maybe three or four days of survival.
He savored every drop. Summers here meant drought every year—water was scarce. Merchants sold it by the bowl. One coin per bowl—a truly big bowl, at least.
To the Little Beggar, this water… it tasted better than steamed buns. Heaven.
He slowly ate his bun with the bowl beside him.
Finally feeling almost full, he patted his stomach. One coin left now.
His eyes drifted across the street… landing again on the shadowed alley where the old monk lay unconscious.
He paused. That shriveled monk—lighter than himself—stirred something in him. A strange pity.
“Who’m I kidding… I’m soft at heart.”
He sighed heavily. Eyes fixed on the last coin. After a long, hard struggle of thought, he walked back to the water merchant.
His last coin—one bowl of water.
He thought to himself: If that old fellow’s not dead yet… give it to him. If he’s gone… then it’s mine.
Carefully, he carried the precious bowl toward the alley.
He reached the slumped monk, whose breathing was so faint, almost gone.
“Old thing… still hanging on?”
Frowning, he reached out to check once more. Fingers pressed against the bony neck.
“Damn! Tough old bones! Still kicking!”
Cursing under his breath, he knelt down. Carefully, he tipped the bowl.
Drop… by drop… he poured the water into the monk’s barely parted lips.
A little water trickled uselessly down the monk’s parched cheek.
“A waste… Ah, what a waste!”
The Little Beggar bit his lip, shaking his head in genuine regret.
He managed to get half the bowl in… when suddenly—
Cough! Cough-cough!
The old monk choked. Eyes flew open weakly. Cracked lips moved.
“Thank… you, young… benefactor…”
