Chapter 08: Dawn of Departure

As the first light of dawn spills over the temple, casting a serene glow on the ancient stones, Yi stands contemplatively in the quiet courtyard. The rhythm of his day shifts, a pause in his customary journey to the garden. The serene morning air is soon filled with the sound of Brother Liang's approach, his arms cradling the result of weeks of dedicated craftsmanship – baskets, their reeds beautifully woven in shades of reddish-brown and pale yellow with sturdy bamboo handles.
"These are for you, Yi," Brother Liang announces, handing over the baskets with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Their lightness belies their strength. They'll serve you well on your journey."
Yi, taking the baskets, marvels at their deceptive weightlessness. "They're beautifully made, Brother Liang. Thank you. I’ll bring the scroll by evening, as promised."
Brother Liang offers a rare, faint smile. "Good. Find me in the storage area later. We're cataloging the harvest."
Yi bows deeply, balancing the large baskets on either side of him on the ground. He picks them up and heads toward the library, his mind occupied with thoughts of finding a sturdy branch to support the baskets' weight on his journey. He lays them at the entryway before going inside.
In the library, Yi settles at an aged wooden table, the familiar scrape of his stool echoing softly against the stone floor. The shelves of old scrolls are still and extend upwards to the high cieling. He grinds ink on the inkstone with practiced movements, preparing for the final brushstrokes on the transcriptiopn. The narrative's abrupt conclusion, which he had previously discovered, now envelops him in contemplation. Once he applies the final stroke he lets the ink dry. Yi gazes out the small window at the trees, their leaves a vibrant tapestry of amber and gold, his worries about the transcription's accuracy dissapate in the peaceful morning light. One some time has passed, he carefully rolls the new copy and the original scroll, securing them in his sleeve for Brother Liang.
Yi's next steps lead him back to the garden for a concluding session with Brother Zhang. A few monks are already transporting baskets of produce he has sorted without Yi to the storage room and kitchen. The garden, usually a plethora of color in spring and summer, now is a melding of muted greens and browns, leaves beginning to wither. Brother Zhang is kneeling in a quiet corner, where small white flowers with yellow centers peek through the large, serrated leaves – a surprising burst of life amid the green. Yi approaches and examines them.
"These are loquat flowers," Brother Zhang explains, his voice tinged with warmth. "Have you ever tasted loquat?"
Yi examines the flowers, a sense of unfamiliarity washing over him. "I'm sorry, Brother Zhang, I'm not sure I know this fruit."
Brother Zhang’s smile widens. "Then you have a delightful discovery awaiting your return. Loquats are tart, but in the most pleasant way. I'll save some for you."
A surge of gratitude and emotion wells up in Yi. "Thank you, Brother Zhang. For everything," he says, his voice nearly breaking with the intensity of his feelings. He bows deeply, feeling the strength and flexibility in his body, a physical testament to his growth under Brother Zhang's guidance.
"I don't require your assistance today, I have a few other monks helping me sort produce. Have a good journey," Brother Zhang says while he stands, brushing his robe and turning his eye to rows of swollen gourds waiting to be cut from their vines. Yi understood that Brother Zhang must also be experience some emotion, so he hurries out of the garden, taking one plum from a basket and wiping it on his shirt before biting into it. The sweet and tart juice runs down his cheek and he smiles.
As Yi makes his way across the courtyard and in the direction of the storage room, the Head Priest suddenly appears walking beside him, startling Yi. In the Head Priest's hands is a walking stick. "You have your baskets and your training," the Head Priest says, his voice raspy yet firm. "Walk with me. You have one final lesson to learn."
Silently, Yi accompanies the Head Priest to a secluded part of the temple, overlooking the southern landscape. The hilly extent of the rest of the mountain range stretches in patches of black and green, tinged with orange and red, and far beyond the sea stretches out in the distance, a vast expanse of grey. Both Yi and the Head Priest look out across the land, the afternoon sun directly above them, and the Head Master coughs slightly and clears his throat.
"Master, are you well?" Yi asks, concern evident in his voice as he examines the stick. It's clear it was recently made, its pale honey wood rich and unmarked.
The Head Priest, peering across the horizon and then turning to Yi, smiles and suddenly tosses the walking stick to him. Yi, caught off guard, fumbles but manages to catch it. The exterior is carved skillfully, with many characters and motifs. As he steadies himself, the Head Priest's foot swiftly connects with his stomach, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
"Master! Wha..?" Yi exclaims, clutching the stick, confusion and dust clouding around him.
The Head Priest's chuckle is light and mischievous. "You're prepared for the expected, Yi. Now, for the unexpected. Beyond these walls, your oath of non-violence will face real challenges."
Yi, still processing, hesitates with the stick in hand.
"This is not fighting, Yi. It's preparing," the Priest interjects. "This stick is your shield, your tool of peace."
The day unfolds with the Head Priest imparting lessons in self-defense, turning the walking stick into an instrument of protection. Yi learns to move with it, finding harmony and purpose in its weight and form. He inspects the stick, its carvings intricate and skillfully inlaid, possessing a slightly sweet smell.
"It's peach wood," the Head Priest reveals, almost as if answering Yi’s silent query. After hours of practice, Yi’s movements echo those of his teacher, his body aching but not nearly as much as it would have a few weeks earlier.
"That's enough for now. Take the scrolls to Brother Liang," the Head Priest instructs. Yi blinks, unsure how the Head Priest knew about the scrolls. "This stick will accompany you on all your journeys." Yi nods, bows in gratitude, but when he looks up again, the Head Priest has vanished, leaving him alone with the lessons of the day and the anticipation of the journey ahead.
Yi, laden with the walking stick, baskets, and scrolls, weaves his way to the storage room, a haven of activity under Brother Liang's watchful eye. Inside, Brother Liang moves with a whirlwind of efficiency, meticulously tallying and measuring the stockpiled goods. Jars of infused oils and medicinal alcohols line the shelves, each receiving Brother Liang's undivided attention.
Yi clears his throat to announce his presence, but Brother Liang offers only a fleeting nod, his focus unwavering as he assesses the inventory. "I have the scrolls for you, Brother," Yi says, holding out the precious documents.
"Just leave them somewhere for now," Brother Liang responds without looking up, his tone brisk. "I'm occupied with the inventory."
Yi, taken aback by the dismissal, hesitates, the scrolls still in hand. Brother Liang, pausing momentarily, adds, "Oh, I almost forgot. Brother Liu, your calligraphy master, wishes to see you about the new scroll. Consult with him first, then return it to me. Keep the original here."
A flicker of apprehension crosses Yi's face at the mention of Brother Liu. He hadn't sought his master's guidance, assuming Brother Liang's request for the transcription was a matter of confidentiality. The realization that Brother Liu might have been consulted initially, and his own oversight in not seeking the master's counsel, weighs heavily on him.
As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the temple grounds, Yi acknowledges the importance of meeting with Brother Liu before his departure. Though the day has been long and filled with lessons and revelations, this final task remains crucial. With a sense of urgency and a touch of trepidation, Yi makes his way to Brother Liu's quarters, the scrolls securely tucked away, ready to face whatever response awaits him.
Yi navigates the serene corridors of the temple, the scrolls in his sleeve a reminder of his task and the oversight in not consulting Brother Liu. He pauses at Brother Liu's door, taking a moment to compose himself before knocking gently, the sound echoing softly in the quiet hallway.
Brother Liu, a figure of aged wisdom and calligraphic mastery, opens the door. "Ah, Yi," he says, his voice tinged with both anticipation and a hint of foreknowledge. "Please, come in. I've been expecting you."
Stepping into the room, a sanctuary of ink and parchment, Yi is immediately enveloped in the familiar scent of his craft. Scrolls, Doaist seals, fans, and brushes are arrayed with meticulous care, each a testament to the art of calligraphy and its uses inside their practice.
"Master Liu, I have completed the transcription as Brother Liang requested," Yi begins, extending the newly transcribed scroll.
Brother Liu accepts the scroll, unfurling it with a seasoned hand. His eyes scan the characters, each brushstroke a silent narrative of Yi's dedication. After a moment, he looks up, his expression thoughtful. "Yi, your work is commendable. Brother Liang and I have discussed this. You've shown great dedication in completing this task."
Yi waits, a mix of relief and curiosity swirling within him. Brother Liu continues, "We believe it would be best for you to take this new scroll with you on your journey. It will serve as both a guide and a reminder of your time here, and the skills you've honed."
A sense of honor and responsibility washes over Yi. "Thank you, Master Liu. I will cherish and learn from it on my travels."
Brother Liu hands back the scroll with a nod of approval. "Remember, the true essence of calligraphy lies in understanding the soul behind each character, not just their form."
With a deep bow, Yi expresses his gratitude. He steps out of Brother Liu's quarters, the scroll now a symbol of trust and a bridge between his past and future. The evening sky, a blend of blues and purples, signals the end of one journey and the imminent beginning of another.
--
As the evening descends upon the temple, a quiet buzz of anticipation stirs the air. The heart of this excitement pulses from the kitchen, where Brother Shi, the temple's revered cook, orchestrates a special meal in honor of Yi’s impending journey. The kitchen, a hive of warmth and activity, welcomes Yi with the rich aromas of simmering broth and a medley of fresh, autumnal herbs.
Brother Shi, a master of culinary simplicity and flavor, has prepared a feast that captures the essence of the season. The table is adorned with bowls steamed rice. Platters of stir-fried bok choy, vibrant and crisp, nestled alongside tender, soy-glazed mushrooms that melt in the mouth, collected from the forests surrounding the temple are being served.
As Yi enters, the kitchen's warmth envelops him like a comforting embrace. He is met with quiet smiles and respectful nods from the other monks, their gestures a silent salute to his achievements and the journey ahead. Brother Shi, with a knowing smile, ushers Yi to the table, a spread that speaks of both celebration and farewell.
The meal, savored in the company of his fellow monks, is a harmonious blend of flavors and textures. Each dish, though simple in its ingredients, is rich with the depth of Brother Shi's skill and the monks' collective esteem for Yi. The pumpkin soup, imbued with the warmth of ginger and a hint of star anise, is a comforting reminder of the temple's nurturing presence. The bok choy and mushrooms, sautéed to perfection, are a testament to the temple's connection with the natural world. The main dish, Gan Mianpi, presents elegantly rolled sheets of wheat starch noodles, each lightly coated in a tangy blend of aged vinegar, sesame oil, and soy. The noodles, tender yet chewy, are adorned with crisp julienned cucumber and bean sprouts, while a dash of chili oil and a sprinkle of crushed peanuts add warmth and depth to the dish. Accompanying the Gan Mianpi is the Mianjin. Brother Shi has skillfully braised it in a flavorful broth of star anise, cinnamon, and a whisper of five-spice, infusing it with a rich, umami essence. The Mianjin, with its satisfying chew and depth of flavor, complements the lightness of the noodles perfectly.
Yi partakes in the feast with a heart full of gratitude. Each bite not only nourishes his body but also strengthens his spirit. The meal, shared in the soft glow of lanterns, becomes a moment of unity and reflection, a poignant reminder of the bonds forged within the temple walls.
As the dinner concludes, the sense of communal pride and unspoken understanding lingers in the air. Yi feels a deep connection to this place and its inhabitants, their silent support a source of immense strength. The simple yet profound joy of the meal stays with him as he prepares for the morrow, the first step of his journey beyond the familiar embrace of the temple.
As evening descends, Yi retreats to his quarters, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The anticipation of departure, the weight of the teachings, and the warmth of the temple community fill his heart. He thinks of his mother, planning a secret visit on his return. Would the monks diagree with his decision, is that why he still hadn't told any of them?
Yi looks out at the fading light over the temple from the sleeping quarters. With the baskets ready, the scroll transcribed, a new walking stick gifted, and the teachings etched in his heart, he feels a surge of readiness. Tomorrow, he steps beyond the temple's protective walls, carrying with him the lessons, the hopes, and the blessings of his time spent within its ancient embrace.