A gust of cold wind swept through, making the frost-covered leaves tremble in its wake.
A few grains of fine sand slid down the hillside with a soft rustling, like the sound of rain.
Under the bright moonlight, cold was the only feeling left in that moment.
An eight-year-old boy monk, clad in a thin robe, knelt by the frozen stream, hammering at the ice with a stone. Only after much effort did he break off a few shards, but his small hands were already swollen and red from the cold.
His tiny figure shivered in the cold wind.
He breathed into his palms for warmth, then hurriedly scooped the broken ice into a basket larger than himself. Step by step, he climbed the winding mountain path.
He could no longer remember how long it had been since he last saw the sun—even Evan Leaf himself had lost track. It had simply been a very, very long time.
Each day grew colder than the last; every river and lake had frozen over. Trees wore thick coats of frost, yet their leaves remained as green as if newly sprouted. Stranger still, not a single snowflake had fallen.
It was just as well that it hadn’t snowed. Otherwise, he, his master, and all his fellow disciples would surely have frozen to death.
His master had said that an eastern demon monkey was causing such havoc that even the Dragon King and Yama, the King of Hell, had fled—so naturally, there was no rain.
After walking for a long time, he finally reached the top of the low mountain, breathless and panting. There, he saw the ruined temple at the summit—the gate was so rotten and crooked it looked as though a single gust of wind might topple it.
Entering the temple, he tiptoed to toss the shards of ice into the kitchen pot, took out a firestarter, and crouched by the stove to light a fire. When the ice in the pot had melted into water, he climbed up to ladle out a bowl, cupping it carefully in his hands as he walked into the main hall.
Inside the main hall, the Buddha statues were draped in cobwebs from years of neglect. The floor was a chaotic mess—mud, sand, rotten wood, and all sorts of debris—making it look just like a ruin.
Turning into a small side room, he looked up to see an elderly monk, pale-faced, reclining on a worn couch.
"Master, are you feeling any better?" he asked, handing over the bowl of water with both hands.
The old monk took the water Evan Leaf offered, sipped it, covered his mouth and coughed twice, pressing his chest as he took deep breaths. He sighed, "Much better. I thought I was about to go, but somehow I’ve recovered. It must be the Buddha’s blessing."
As he spoke, he pressed his palms together and bowed devoutly toward the west.
Evan Leaf widened his clear eyes and asked softly, "Then Master, would you like something to eat?"
"Something to eat?" The old monk was briefly taken aback, then smiled helplessly. "Is there anything left to eat in the temple?"
"There's no rice left, but I picked some wild vegetables early this morning. How about I make you some wild vegetable soup?"