Volume One: The Young Monk Returns to Secular Life Chapter Fifty-One: Xiao Yan Was Eaten by a Tiger

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The next day.

The sun was shining brilliantly, with a gentle breeze and clear skies. Not a cloud could be seen above Golden Mountain Temple.

On the winding path leading up to the temple, a bald young monk was gnawing enthusiastically on a plump chicken leg as he drove a horse cart up the mountain.

Life at Golden Mountain Temple had become stifling of late; most of the monks were listless, each day dragging by as though it lasted a year.

By the abbot’s decree, only one vegetarian meal was served per day, leaving the monks thin with hunger and sparking a chorus of complaints.

Yet, not long ago, there had been a piece of good news at Golden Mountain Temple.

It was said that the young monk who used to sweep the grounds had, by some twist of fate, become acquainted with Li Bai, the greatest master in the land. Struck by the youth’s extraordinary bones, Li Bai had taken him as his disciple. Now, the boy was learning martial arts at the master’s side, his future limitless. The rest of the monks could not hide their envy.

But Lin Dong felt no trace of jealousy. Each day, he happily tended to his duties as the “latrine boy.” Since Xiao Yan had slipped away, the five-star toilets were left in his care, and he managed them with impressive diligence.

He continued to collect the usual fees from the martial artists who came to use the latrines, and, following Xiao Yan’s instructions, he delivered all the collected silver promptly to the abbot’s meditation chamber.

Lin Dong kept nothing for himself. He knew well the purpose of the money, and so he went about his task with great dedication.

Of course, the collection process was not without its difficulties. The martial artists would often try to make trouble, but the young monk had mastered a technique called the “Manure-Scooping Sword Art,” which always saw him through, ensuring he completed his task successfully.

Word of his exploits began to spread in the martial world, earning him a nickname: the King of the Latrines.

Lin Dong paid this no mind, only smiling as he bent once more to his task.

Recently, Lin Dong received a letter from home, inquiring about his fate in love and why he had not returned for so long.

He truthfully wrote in bold characters on a blank sheet of paper: “Scooping manure at Golden Mountain Temple. All is well. I am happy. Please do not worry.”

He placed the letter in an envelope and entrusted it to the servant who had brought him the message, hoping to ease his family’s concern.

…

On the temple’s path, a few young monks were listlessly chatting.

“Sigh… So boring… Every day is just chanting sutras… nothing ever happens…” one of them murmured, shaking his head with a dejected sigh.

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“That’s right. Wait—suddenly I feel like… isn’t someone missing from Golden Mountain Temple? Where’s that troublemaker Xiao Yan? He’s been so quiet lately.”

“You didn’t hear? The abbot said Elder Xiao Yan was eaten by a tiger up on the mountain…”

“No way! That sounds absurd.”

…

Life was as still as a dead pond, undisturbed by the slightest ripple. Only the mention of someone they once looked down upon could stir a trace of excitement among them.

Just then, an old monk who swept the temple gate came running in, panting with excitement, shouting, “Xiao Yan is back! Xiao Yan has returned!”

“What? Stop joking, the abbot said Xiao Yan was eaten by a tiger!”

“No… it’s true… Go see for yourselves, he’s coming up the mountain right now. I must go inform the abbot…” the old monk cried, before hurrying away with brisk little steps.

The monks left behind exchanged glances, and almost at the same moment, all dashed out. Their faces flushed with excitement, spreading the word as they ran.

What could be more gossip-worthy than the sudden reappearance of someone said to have been eaten by a tiger?

The details of their retelling grew ever stranger as the news spread: “Xiao Yan, who was eaten by a tiger, has come back as a tiger,” “I heard there’s a tiger climbing the mountain,” “Xiao Yan ate a tiger and is now climbing the mountain himself…” The pilgrims, bewildered by the rumors, turned pale with fright.

A single pebble had stirred a thousand waves.

Most of the monks abandoned their tasks upon hearing the news, hurrying to the temple’s gate to see for themselves.

The crowd was so dense that any unknowing visitor would have thought a grand festival or important ceremony was being held at the temple entrance.

As always, Xiao Yan never failed to live up to expectations.

“Look over there… that bald head… yes, that’s him… he’s coming up the mountain!” someone cried.

Not far off, a young monk’s head gleamed in the sunlight. He was eating something, humming a tune, and guiding his horse cart up the mountain road.

“The nerve! Look what he’s holding! Unbelievable… that’s a chicken leg… dripping with oil… heavens!”

“He’s broken the precepts! Outrageous… We get one meager meal a day, starving like fools, and he’s out there feasting. It’s intolerable! Unforgivable!”

“That’s right. We must report this to the abbot and have him punished with eighty strokes!”

The crowd, always eager for drama, fumed with righteous indignation.

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“No wonder ever since Xiao Yan took over the latrines and started charging outsiders, all the money went to buying him chicken legs… Despicable!”

“A crime beyond redemption! Unforgivable!”

The chorus of condemnation grew, even the onlooking pilgrims joining in. Some monks clamored to go find the abbot and demand Xiao Yan’s punishment, their bald heads flushed red with anger as they rushed off.

At that moment, the abbot was already overwhelmed with worry. An urgent letter had arrived from the north, saying that the money and provisions sent for disaster relief were far from sufficient—there were too many victims, and the funds vanished like stones dropped into the sea.

Thankfully, the sensible Lin Dong had been delivering money every day. Though the sums were modest, together they formed a considerable amount, enough to ease the immediate crisis.

But it still fell short, and the abbot was considering whether he should cut the monks’ meals to once every three days.

Whenever he reached such desperate thoughts, he recalled Xiao Yan’s confident expression.

A few days before, Xiao Yan had come to speak to him in earnest, saying he would go down the mountain to collect money and provisions for disaster relief, and that he had a clever plan…

The abbot, momentarily taken in, had agreed, helping Xiao Yan by sending the Eighteen Arhats away and letting him leave the mountain.

To make the story believable to the others, the abbot had even concocted a tale that Xiao Yan had been eaten by a tiger…

Now, after more than ten days with no news, it seemed clear he’d been duped and abandoned. The abbot was furious.

His anger nearly made him faint, his vision clouding. He hadn’t eaten for ten days, trying to save grain for the north. The noisy commotion outside only worsened his headache.

“Scoundrels! What’s all this racket? Have you no sutras to chant?” he roared, glaring furiously.

“But Abbot… it’s Xiao Yan… Xiao Yan is eating a chicken leg…” one monk pointed angrily toward the temple gate.

“Yes, and the oil is still dripping from it…” another monk said, swallowing hard.

“What nonsense is this?” The abbot, for a moment, could not make sense of it all. Xiao Yan? A chicken leg?