Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

I fished out two bills and handed them to him.

“Four, miss.”

“But you just said two!”

“Yes, two for each hand. You have two hands, right?”

“All right, you win.” I slapped two more bills onto his outstretched hand.

“Good luck, miss.” He smiled. “May the Buddha protect you.” After that, the two lifted the poles and hurried away.

I put on the gloves and placed my first step on the path. The philosopher Laozi’s famous line popped into my mind:

A journey of a thousand miles begins under your feet.

Yes!

I started to count my steps. To keep my spirits up, I imagined each one was leading me closer to my three-million-dollar goal with a dream house by the sea, vacations in Europe, French and Italian gourmet food, antique furniture, lush oil paintings, silk and cashmere clothes, Tiffany jewelry, and of course my hugely successful great American novel….

Daydreaming, I slipped and almost fell but regained my balance just in time.

“Careful! Don’t throw your million-dollar life down the cliff!” I muttered heatedly into the air.

Like a racedog aware only of the rabbit, I focused fiercely, counting my breath with each step. From time to time I’d look down, the scenery looking unreal from my high altitude. I imagined myself suspended between heaven and earth, surrounded by immortals’ caves filled with elixirs, magic herbs, and esoteric manuscripts.

At last I reached level ground. Feeling quite dizzy and short of breath, I steadied myself against a rock for a few minutes, gulping the fresh, almost intoxicating mountain air. My eyes wandered until they landed on a small, dilapidated building with a weathered green roof. I straightened up and walked to the entrance. My arrival was welcomed by a large door with a rusty metal lion head knocker. The rust told me there were hardly any visitors to knock on the temple gate. Could it be I was the first in many years?

Gingerly my hand made a few tentative knocks on the gate. No answer. I waited for ten seconds and knocked again. And again. Still no answer. Had all the monks inside turned to mummies? Were they left over from the colonial days of a hundred years ago, or the Ming dynasty four hundred years before that? Still knocking, I felt a sudden panic, as well as pangs in my stomach. I put down my backpack and searched inside for the buns I had brought. Soon I felt as if both the sky above and the earth underneath were spinning ever faster….

Iwoke up inside a small room that smelled of incense. A teenage monk with a long face was pressing a damp cloth on my forehead while waving mint-scented medicinal oil under my nostrils.

“Good day, miss,” he whispered, then turned to shout excitedly, “Master, the miss wakes up!”

From nowhere, a fortyish, muscular monk appeared. Half kneeling next to my bed, he put a thick palm on my forehead and asked tersely, “Miss, are you all right? Do you feel better now?”

I nodded as I sat up. “I guess I’m just exhausted and hungry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve already prepared herb soup and vegetarian dishes for you. You ready to eat?”

“Yes, please.”

The two monks led me to a bigger room with a wooden table covered with tea, steaming soup, and several dishes.

While I ravenously gulped down my tofu, mushrooms, lotus roots and bok choy, hot soup, and fragrant tea, the older monk watched me intensely like a doctor his patient or a mother her newborn. Finally, my hunger sated, I set down my chopsticks and the young monk took away the plates.

Only then did the older monk speak. “Miss, our humble temple is honored by your presence. But may I ask the purpose of your visit?”

That was a pretty direct question. However, since I couldn’t possibly tell him the real goal, I made up something. “I got lost.”

“Lost, climbing up a steep path to the top of a remote mountain?” His eyes were large as an owl’s and sharp as a wolf’s.

“I’m… writing a novel. There is a scene about a hermit living on a mountain.” I smiled inside. Wow. How did I just come up with something so clever?

He stared at me curiously. “Climbing here alone in the twilight doesn’t intimidate you?”

“I didn’t come here intentionally; I got lost. A panic seized me so I kind of… lost my mind.” I laughed nervously, feeling completely befuddled. “So… Master, why a temple here?”

“Because we’re hermit monks. We want to be as far from the trivial affairs of the world as possible.”

“That’s what I want, too.” I gave out another nervous laugh. “If that’s possible.”

I looked around, but there was not much to look at—an altar with offerings placed before a wooden Buddha, and rough walls decorated with a few paintings of Buddha and Guan Yin, the Goddess of Compassion.

Although this square-jawed, broad-headed monk was robust and in fact not bad looking, I didn’t feel much warmth for him. He seemed careful not to show his emotions—if he had any. But that emotionless mask could have just as easily concealed boiling passion.

The monk spoke again. “It’s already dark, so you cannot go down the steep hill now. You will have to stay here overnight.”

That was exactly what I wanted. “Thank you, Master. I’m Violet Chen from Taiwan. May I have the honor to know your name?” I thought it was very clever of me to change my name and country.

“Floating Cloud.” He pointed to the young monk who now sat in a corner listening intently to our conversation. “My disciple, Pure Wisdom.”

After I made a slight bow to both of them, Pure Wisdom excused himself to fix the bed in an adjacent room.

I took the chance to ask the older monk, “Master Floating Cloud, only you and Pure Wisdom live here?”

He nodded.

“Do you have visitors?”

“The last was many years ago.”

Just then, the young monk came back and announced that my room was ready.

Floating Cloud studied me with his torchlike eyes. “Miss Chen, I think you should retire now.”

Early next morning, the young monk knocked at my door and led me to have breakfast in the main room. All three of us quietly consumed our rice soup and pickled vegetables. I sensed we were not to speak during the meal.

Fifteen minutes later, as Pure Wisdom cleared away the bowls and plates, Floating Cloud asked, “Miss Chen, are you feeling better now?”

I looked up to him from my steaming tea. “Yes, much better. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“If you want to leave today, Pure Wisdom can take you down the mountain. If not, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. But I’m afraid there’s not much to see around here.”

The young monk blurted out, “Master, what about our library and art collection?”

“You have an art collection here? I’d definitely love to see it. That should be something very useful for my writing.”

Floating Cloud asked, “What do you write?”

Still expressionless. I didn’t have a clue what could possibly be inside his bald, monkish head.

“I’m a novelist. My second book will be a family saga about siblings fighting over a huge inheritance of precious artwork. Since I don’t know much about art or how to research it,” I said, putting up the sweetest smile I could muster, “may I have both the honor and pleasure to see your temple’s art so I’ll be inspired?”

He studied me for a few moments before, to my delight, a faint smile finally made its delayed appearance on his face. “All right, maybe you’re meant to be here. I’ll let you see the art collection, which almost no one knows about. This will be the most auspicious day in your life.”

I put my hands together in the prayer gesture and made a deep bow. “Thank you, Master Floating Cloud. I’ll never forget.”