Chapter 661 The Fall of Leaves Does Not Return to the Root

  The sound came from a place more than a hundred kilometers away.

  The wind is rising, whistling, the snow is falling, Xiaoxiao, the sky and the earth are hazy, whether it is sight or hearing, it is shrouded in a kind of bleak vicissitudes.

   But this is for the average person.

  Xu Guangling is not an ordinary person, and it is impossible for ordinary people to appear in such a place at this moment.

  More than a hundred kilometers away, the soft, almost inaudible chanting was so clear, seemingly unobstructed and unobstructed, that he received it, and ripples swayed in the calm lake of heart.

   Xu Guangling walked in the direction of the sound.

  His footsteps were neither hurried nor slow, his figure was like a cloud and water, and in the background of twilight and heavy snow, he looked far away, like a mountain god.

   About half an hour later, Xu Guangling came to a small town at the foot of the mountain.

   This is a very simple town with only about 20 families, and Xu Guangling hadn't even seen the most basic standard such as restaurants, hotels, pharmacies, etc.

The voice of    came from a house, and it was almost the same as half an hour ago.

  Xu Guangling did not approach, but stopped outside the town, blending in with the night.

   With the help of the mirror, he saw what he wanted to see.

   An old man, lying quietly or peacefully on the bed, his breathing has long stopped.

  His wife, a couple who should be daughters-in-law, and a few people who seem to be close to the town in this small room, sit around the table around the bed, sit on the ground, and the floor is covered with a blanket.

   In addition to the bed, there is a table in the center of the small room. On the table, a pile of small stones are neatly stacked.

   Mani heap!

   It is the same regulated mani pile that Xu Guangling saw in the wild just now, but the current one is much smaller, so small that its base is not even as big as a washbasin.

   But size should not matter.

  If there is a God, what should man’s appeal to God be?

   In fact, it is very simple, but there are two, one to eliminate disasters and one to bring blessings. - Manidui acts as such a medium.

  The wife of the deceased, the Tibetan scriptures recited in her mouth are occasionally mixed with her own murmurs. Whether it is scriptures or murmurs, the meaning is probably very simple, expressing the mourning and blessings of the living for the deceased.

   The other people sitting around the table were also chanting lightly, but they were chanting very simply, and they were all monotonous sounds, like "oh" and "um", as if they were the background.

   Xu Guangling also really felt this background.

   A kind of sadness, a kind of silence.

  Before this, he had listened to a lot of music, a lot of sounds, man-made, some natural sounds, some ordinary music, and some religious music, many of which are worth mentioning.

   But at this moment, in front of such a rudeness, Xu Guangling quietly listened.

  The simplest chanting, probably from an illiterate ordinary old woman in the countryside, went straight to the bottom of his heart in an incredible way.

   then dragged his mind into thinking about life and death.

   Or, not thinking, but just contemplating.

   This made Xu Guangling's mind, for a time, unable to help but be in a trance.

   And just in a trance, the next moment, Xu Guangling's own line of sight passed through the night, penetrated the blockage of heavy snow, trees and houses, and directly saw the scene in the room.

   It was still the bed, the table, and the small pile of stones.

   and the dead in the bed and the living under the bed.

   But in addition, Xu Guangling saw a faint mist in this small room, like a burning incense.

   But there is clearly no incense burning in the room.

   Not now, not before.

   "Xiaotian, what is this?" Xu Guangling asked the mirror.

   "A fragment of consciousness, which some of you also call a soul in the ancient name."

   Jian Tianjing's answer is unusually long. In general, it answers Xu Guangling's question in a very brief, one-word form, but never two.

   Xu Guangling was shocked by his answer this time.

   For a great master, it was a rare shock, "Soul?"

Jiantianjing didn't answer, but he didn't know what it did. The next moment, the thin mists in the small room appeared in Xu Guangling's domain of consciousness in the form of a reflection, and then let him look at him as if The content of consciousness in general, read.

   a scene.

   or blurry, or clear.

   or complete or incomplete.

   After a while, Xu Guangling understood a lot.

   about the deceased.

One of the most complete and clear passages is that shortly after the deceased and the old woman under the bed got married, he learned a poem, a short love poem, from the master inside the temple, and then went home and read it to the old woman listen.

  The old woman at that time was not yet an old woman.

  The deceased at that time were not the deceased who were growing old and dying.

   They are all young.

   The images of a pair of young people seen by Xu Guangling are rather blurry, but what is not blurred is the taste of happiness.

   The happiness of that year has been extended to this day.

   stretches across life and death.

  Perhaps, it is not the duration, but when a person dies, the most intense fragments of his consciousness during his lifetime are like wine that has been sealed for decades and finally opened.

   All frivolity and dryness are gone.

The    is uniquely mellow and radiates from it.

  Xu Guangling read and felt such a special memory.

In fact, the life of the deceased is very simple. He is an ordinary villager, and it is such a remote place. A larger town dozens of miles away, and the temple there.

   And, herding sheep.

  Juvenile, middle-aged, and old, all came here like this.

  There is no vastness, no breadth, no fierceness, and no mystery, everything is so plain and simple.

   But in front of this blandness and simplicity, Xu Guangling was rarely calm.

  Perhaps, what made him condense was not the blandness and simplicity itself, but the boundary between life and death?

   That's actually not quite right.

   For a time, there was nothing to describe.

   "What will happen to this fragment of consciousness in the future?" Standing quietly, Xu Guangling asked after a long time.

   "Dissipate".

Jian Tianjing's answer was not beyond Xu Guangling's expectation or judgment, but then, Jian Tianjing added, "If there is a newborn nearby, there is a certain probability that the fragments of this fragment, some of them, will be absorbed by the newborn."

   Xu Guangling was shocked again.

"this……"

   He hesitated for a while before saying, "What if the fragments of consciousness of a great scholar were absorbed by a newborn?"

   asked this, what appeared in Xu Guangling's consciousness at the moment was a sentence from Yuan Mei's "Suiyuan Poems" in the Qing Dynasty.

   "The book is too late to read in this life".

  ==

  Thanks for the support of the recommendation ticket of "Huayun Dreamland".

  Thanks to "dfet" for the monthly ticket.

   (end of this chapter)