Unconventional [Rebirth] - Chapter 77

In the beginning, my master told me that I was destined to face a fatal ordeal—a “Death Calamity.” It was a trial that should never have manifested, yet the arrival of another person who was also “not meant to be” threw the laws of fate into total chaos.

When I was thirteen, I followed my master down the mountain, carrying nothing but a few dry rations. In my memory, we moved constantly. My master sought to evade the calamity marked upon my life, but his efforts were in vain. No matter where we settled, disaster followed, culminating in the collapse of the mountainside beneath Putuo Temple.

The landslide destroyed the temple entirely. Left with no choice, we—a master and disciple with few worldly possessions—descended the mountain for good. At the time, I was young and ignorant; I didn’t understand the gravity of my master’s warnings, which sounded more like cryptic proverbs than reality.

“Jia Shi, this is your destiny. Since it cannot be avoided, you must simply endure it.” That day, dressed in a cyan monk’s robe, my master led me to a small room where we took up residence.

I had a vague sense that my calamity was tied to a specific person. My master warned me more than once: I must never feel “emotion.” The moment I succumbed to love, that inexplicable catastrophe would be triggered.

Being only thirteen, I didn’t understand. So, when the first stirrings of the heart—as described by my master—actually occurred, I panicked.

A boy named Rong Anchen had burst into my life without warning. He knew nothing of the world and was always dressed like a “Golden Boy” from a traditional painting. He spent his days playing and causing mischief with his inseparable young nephew, yet even so, my heart raced whenever he was near. During those moments, my master would stand by the window, silently counting his Buddhist beads as he watched them.

By the time I was fifteen and Anchen was thirteen, he begged me with such piteous eyes to play “house” with him as a farewell to Rong Jingtang. I couldn’t resist. Even knowing my master would punish me, I felt that if the boy’s soft lips pressed against my cheek, copying three days of Buddhist scriptures in penance was a small price to pay.

Then, another tragedy struck the Rong family.

As if he had foreseen it, my master had me fetch the boy to our room that afternoon. He ordered me to stay by his side and forbade him from leaving. That night, Anchen was startled awake by the screams and the roar of flames coming from the main Rong estate. I watched helplessly as his cries eventually faded into a hollow silence. Finally, hugging his knees, he asked me in a heavy voice if I had known all along.

The next day, Anchen’s parents took him away. The boy, who had forced his eyes open all night, fell into a deep sleep on his father’s shoulder. I followed my master as Anchen’s parents handed him a dull yellow object: the Gamosuo, a Rong family heirloom. Afterward, my master told me his own end was near, and he had a few final tasks to complete.

Everyone assumed my master had left, but that night, he stood at the back gate of the courtyard and handed the Gamosuo to me.

“A-Shi, the sole purpose of the Gamosuo is to extract one’s ‘Seven Emotions and Six Desires.'” My master’s once-ruddy face was now deathly pale, his body stooped and frail. In a daze, I realized what was happening, but I could only clutch the artifact and watch him. “My time is short. If the day comes when you have made your decision… take the name ‘Yuan Jue’ and go to Mount Putuo.”

With those words, he walked away with trembling steps. I knew that high-ranking monks often sought out a specific place to undergo Zuohua—meditating until death—effectively choosing their own gravesite.

Later, I was taken into the Rong household. I was treated with the same luxury as Rong Anchen, if not better. I kept my master’s words in my heart, always believing the “Death Calamity” was meant for me alone. Thus, when Anchen confessed his love on the night of my eighteenth birthday, I wavered for a long time before finally giving in to my own longing. I said “yes.”

I thought: If the calamity ever comes, I will simply find a nameless place to live in seclusion or meditate until I pass. That wouldn’t be a bad end.

I even planned to use the Gamosuo before I left to take back all of Anchen’s feelings for me, so that he wouldn’t have to suffer. My plans were perfect, but I forgot one thing: a Death Calamity is mutual.

Once I had made my peace with fate, my love for Anchen grew daily, though I never took a step across the line of propriety. That is, until the day the boy brought me a cup of drugged tea.

I hesitated for a long time, debating whether I should take him. But seeing the disappointment he couldn’t hide, I finally lost control of my desires.

From that day on, Anchen’s health began to decline. In the shadows of my mind, I remembered the package my master had left me. Inside was a razor, a stack of notes, and the Gamosuo.

The notes revealed a chilling truth: “A life for a life.” Since ancient times, the children of the Rong main line were born as pairs—one grew in the “Yang” (light) while the other lived in the “Yin” (shadow) to absorb all disasters for the elder brother. But in this generation of the Rong family, the order had been reversed.

Following my master’s instructions, I dug up a child who had been buried beneath a grave—a child who had survived for years underground—and entrusted him to an illiterate family.

Having broken my vows once, they no longer seemed to matter. I told that family the child was a reincarnation of the Buddha and needed to be raised in the mortal world for eighteen years to reach maturity.

I returned to the Rong estate. Following the notes, I used the Gamosuo to pierce my own heart, drawing the “blood of the heart” to feed the artifact day after day. Anchen’s body began to recover, but I grew weaker. My exhausted frame could no longer support the daily bloodletting. I decided to stay with him through one last birthday before leaving to find a place to die in peace.

But fate is cruel. The Gamosuo, a Buddhist holy relic, had undergone an unknown corruption during its centuries with the Rong family. I thought it would take my life, but it was actually draining Anchen’s.

In desperation, I had to swap the Yin and Yang poles. I sacrificed my own “Seven Emotions and Six Desires” to return Anchen’s life to him.

Once the Gamosuo is used, it takes seven days for the effects to fully manifest. That night, I dragged my weary body to Anchen’s father. I handed him a manuscript I had written overnight and asked for a single photograph of Anchen. My plan was to return to the mountain as “Yuan Jue” and spend the rest of my life as a monk.

Before leaving, fearing I might one day succumb to my inner longing and use the Gamosuo again, I shaved my head and left the artifact with Anchen. Facing his father’s heavy gaze, I spoke words that made my own heart bleed: “Let him believe I simply don’t want him anymore. Let him think he’s had his fun for two years and it’s time to move on.”

Human emotions are fragile. I believed then that Anchen would forget me in a few years, marry, have children, and live a peaceful life.

During those final seven days, I felt it was impossible to forget him. I carved his name all over my room and hung his photograph from the ceiling, terrified that I would lose him. But when the seven days were up, I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke and saw the names covering the walls, my heart was empty of all turmoil.

Perhaps I had left myself one final safety net. In a secret box, I left a note: “If Anchen ever comes to the mountain, ask him for the Gamosuo.”

Even then, I was unwilling to truly let go.

Yet ten years passed, and Anchen never came to Mount Putuo. When the boy named Jiang Rui arrived, a dormant trigger in my memory was activated. I picked up that note; I should have ignored it, but for some reason, it became burned into my mind.

Returning to the Rong estate, I saw the boy from my memories. Ten years apart had made him more mature and steady. There was a calm aura about him that was genuinely pleasant. I admired him, and I felt as though something was missing, but that was all. There were no deeper feelings.

I heard him ask, with a voice full of heartbreaking sorrow, if I had anything to say after ten years. I gave him a string of meaningless, polite excuses. Finally, I told him I was there to reclaim the Gamosuo.

When he said “I’m giving it back, all of it,” and his voice broke, my hand trembled. I didn’t know why. I simply took the warm artifact and turned back to my room.

That night, I went back to that family and brought the child back, intentionally letting Anchen hand him to Jiang Rui.

Seeing his expressionless face, a sudden spark of nameless anger flared within me. I wasn’t willing to be cast aside so easily; I wasn’t willing to be forgotten. So, seeing his stunned look, I showed him my first real smile in ten years. I said, word by word: “Anchen, I remember you.”

But when I saw his panicked, helpless expression, I felt a surge of cold pleasure. I pointed to my heart and said slowly, “But here… there is no longer any feeling.”

I made a silent decision, took one last look at his face—hidden behind his hair—and returned to my room.

I thought I could remember him that day, but when the time came, the things that were meant to be forgotten were forgotten nonetheless.

My master said I was his calamity. If he was to live, I had to return to Putuo, sever all ties, and devote my heart to the Buddha. I didn’t believe in fate, so I chose to be with him anyway. I didn’t believe in fate, so I preferred to use Rong Jingtang’s infant brother as a vessel to sustain him rather than leave.

But every step was a mistake. In the end, I harmed both of us.

Ten years have turned, and I have descended the mountain again. This inexplicable calamity… in the end, I simply cannot accept defeat.