Heavy snow fell outside the Chanlin Temple hall.

Inside, the Buddha statue appeared somewhat worn, with the gold paint peeling off the Buddha's outstretched hand. In the harsh winter, the Chanlin Temple couldn't even afford food, let alone worry about the Buddha losing a layer of paint.

Five-year-old Yuankong sat on a meditation cushion in the hall, sniffing and flipping through a Buddhist scripture.

He had been reading this scripture for half a year, and with his sharp little mind, he could recite it backward by now.

Yet, his senior brother, the abbot, still sat by his side every day, chanting continuously. Yuankong couldn't understand what the abbot was thinking.

When he couldn't hold back his sniffles any longer, he carefully glanced at the seemingly asleep abbot beside him.

Yuankong decisively wiped his nose on his sleeve. After all, he wasn't the one who washed the clothes.

Just as Yuankong finished wiping his nose, the abbot's voice drifted over:

"You'll wash your clothes today."

Yuankong felt deceived and pouted, "Senior brother! You weren't asleep?"

"There's no need to sleep long in life; you'll sleep plenty after death," Yuanjing opened his eyes, a kind smile on his aged face. "You little rascal, if you have a clear conscience, why worry if I'm asleep?"

"Senior brother, you have your cultivation to protect you from the cold and heat," Yuankong complained, "You won't let me cultivate, and I barely have enough clothes to wear in this freezing winter, worse off than a dog."

Faced with this topic, Yuanjing seemed to instantly become deaf, quickly reaching for the wooden fish bell and gently tapping it.

Yuankong knew he couldn't win against his senior brother's stubbornness. His senior brother could be shameless when he wanted to be.

Whenever he asked, he either got no answer or was told the time wasn't right. In any case, he wasn't taught anything.

So Yuankong didn't dwell on the topic, instead picking up the thick scripture and placing it on the offering table, step by step walking out of the hall.

Yuanjing listened to the sound of the wooden fish bell and Yuankong's departing footsteps.

As Yuankong's footsteps faded, he stopped tapping the wooden fish.

Yuanjing opened his eyes, looking at the scripture on the offering table.

In fact, the scripture Yuankong had been reading for over half a year was the highest Heart Sutra of the Buddhist Path from Central State.

Yuankong was undoubtedly a Child of Buddha, understanding Buddhist teachings and principles at a touch, and was naturally intelligent.

Even if Yuanjing debated Buddhist teachings with Yuankong, he might not win.

The main thing was that people from Central State had confirmed it—Yuankong was a natural Child of Buddha.

Such a Child of Buddha should be highly treasured, with major Buddhist sects vying for him, yet Yuankong was left at the Chanlin Temple, not taken to the great Buddhist temples of Central State.

The reason was simple.

Yuankong was a natural Child of Buddha but couldn't cultivate any Inner Cultivation Method.

Yuankong's body even rejected any energy not belonging to him, whether Buddhist or immortal.

No Buddhist temple in Central State wanted a Child of Buddha who could only debate scriptures.

Thinking of this, Yuanjing felt like laughing, wondering if they had practiced Buddhism all the way to their grandmother's house.

Was practicing Buddhism about cultivating the Buddha's heart or the means of Buddhism?

But it didn't matter; staying here was better than being mistreated elsewhere.

If they didn't treasure Yuankong, he would.

That Heart Sutra, which Yuankong had read for half a year without any reaction, seemed to confirm Central State's judgment.

Yuanjing reached out to touch the scripture, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation, finally putting the scripture away.

After all, the Buddha said that even mortals could cultivate freely and change.

No force, no force.

Yuanjing looked at the heavy snow outside the door, thinking the little guy might be disappointed.

Lowering his head, Yuanjing turned around and continued tapping the wooden fish.

In the empty hall, only the crisp sound of the wooden fish remained.

Yuanjing didn't know how long he had been tapping when he suddenly heard hurried footsteps and an urgent shout from a monk:

"Abbot! Master Uncle fainted while washing clothes! Come quickly!"

Yuanjing calmly placed the wooden fish mallet aside.

This kid was getting out of hand! Wasn't it just one punishment?

He dared to pretend to be sick to trouble him!

This time, he would give him a good spanking!

Yuanjing said calmly, "Don't panic, take me to see."

The abbot's calm demeanor reassured the previously anxious monk.

"Please follow me."

The monk led the abbot to a side room.

Inside, a few monks were using warm towels to wipe Yuankong's body.

Seeing this, Yuanjing felt something was wrong, quickly stepping forward to grasp Yuankong's hand.

As soon as he held it, Yuanjing felt the hand was ice-cold, as if it had lost all warmth.

Yuanjing looked at the monk beside him, incredulous:

"How... how did he end up like this?"

The monk looked at the abbot with a strange expression, then whispered:

"I saw Master Uncle washing clothes. I wanted to help, but he said it was your punishment, and then..."

Yuanjing: "..."

Well, there's no point in assigning blame now.

Since any energy entering Yuankong's body would dissipate, Yuanjing could only use the most basic pulse-checking method to assess Yuankong's condition.

But after checking for a long time, Yuanjing could only conclude that the unconscious, ice-cold Yuankong was perfectly healthy...

This...

Could it be that as a monk, he couldn't break the precepts, so Yuanjing took a deep breath of the national essence.

Yuanjing's face was calm as water. After a while, he spoke:

"You take care of him; I'll go call someone."

The monks in the side room quickly responded, "Yes."

Yuanjing got up and hurried to the main hall, stepping onto the offering table, taking a golden relic from the Buddha's right ear, and without hesitation, crushed it.

The crushed relic turned into light and dissipated. After silently reciting "Amitabha," Yuanjing quickly returned to the side room.

Yuanjing pushed open the door to the side room and whispered to the monks inside:

"All of you, leave. No matter what happens, don't come back in."

"Abbot..."

"Go."

The monks exchanged glances and reluctantly left.

Once the monks had all left, Yuanjing closed the door, walked to Yuankong, picked up the warm water and cloth, and personally began wiping Yuankong.

About half an hour later, a dignified voice suddenly sounded in the room.

"You should know when to use that relic."

Yuanjing turned his head.

A middle-aged bald man with lean muscles stood there, half-draped in a kasaya in the dead of winter, with a dark golden flame totem between his brows.

Yuanjing's expression remained calm, ignoring the fact that the man in front of him, Luohan, had a Nascent Soul cultivation level:

"I understand, but it seems Luohan doesn't."

Luohan wasn't angry at the words: "Understanding or not is the teaching hall's business. Did you call me for him?"

Yuanjing nodded, "Please, Luohan, help."

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Luohan came quickly and left just as fast.

Now, only the silent Yuanjing and the unconscious Yuankong remained in the room.