ReverseSalvation

The snow on Xueling Mountain in the Buddhist kingdom has been falling since the day of the Buddha's enfeoffment three hundred years ago and has never stopped. The ferryman stood in front of the white jade steps, his robe soaked in snow and heavy, as if wrapped in an unbreakable past. He twirled a string of prayer beads at his fingertips, each of which was ground with stubborn stones he had picked up along the way. Each bead was engraved with a shallow pattern - it was not carved by him, it was carved by the wind, it was carved by the water, it was a trace left by a pair of furry hands. At this moment, the last bead suddenly shattered and shattered into two halves, revealing half of the old armor embedded inside. The armor was engraved with a vague word, like "enlightenment" or "emptiness". The wind carried snow foam and rushed over, causing the Bodhi branch under the eaves to break. The juice mixed with snow water at the crack formed the outline of a face on the bluestone board - it was the appearance of a pig shaped monster drunk many years ago, with tears still hanging from the corners of his eyes. He vaguely heard the sound of waves, not the stillness of Lingshan, but the muffled sound of chains rubbing against the flowing sand at the bottom of the river, the whimpering of the old turtle sinking in the Tongtian River, and the roaring of the monkey smashing the mountain at the top of Wuzhi Mountain five hundred years ago. The old wound under the robe is hurting again. That was a scar on the Flame Mountain, which was burned out in order to grab a fan. Its shape was very similar to the peach pits on Huaguo Mountain back then. Three hundred years ago, when the Tathagata handed over the scriptures, his fingertips gently brushed over this scar and whispered, "What you have crossed is not the scriptures, but your own obsession." At that time, he didn't understand, until now when the pearl shattered and the snow fell on his eyelashes and melted, he realized that the so-called achievement was just trapping himself in a bigger cage. He wasn't supposed to go for scripture. One morning, a white horse suddenly appeared in front of the door, carrying an empty scripture scroll on its back. A half peach wood sign was tied to the reins, with the word "du" written on it. He followed the horse, walked through the Liusha River, passed through Gao Laozhuang, and arrived at the foot of Wuzhi Mountain. He saw the monkey pressed under a stone, its eyes shining like fire, and said, "You've finally arrived." The snow grew heavier and heavier, covering up the beads and the broken branches of the Bodhi tree, but it couldn't hide the old lantern in the corner of the hall. The animal hair on the lampshade was blown up by the wind, resembling a mane that fell to the ground one night when the pig shaped monster got drunk. The ferryman bent down to pick up the half broken bead, and his fingertips touched the icy cold in the snow. Suddenly, he understood that he had never traveled westward, but against time, to repay a debt that had already been written down. Three hundred years of snow, at this moment, finally reveals the truth of fate - he is not a transmigrator, but a person transmigrated by fate. From the snow in the Buddhist kingdom, back to the initial encounter, back to the predetermined reunion and separation before all obsession began.