52: Chapter 52 The Depths of White Deer Cave

Lu Mingyuan gazed at that osmanthus tree for a long time.

It wasn't the blossoms he was looking at—he had seen those yesterday—it was the tree itself. He looked at its gnarled and twisted branches, its mottled bark, and those scars of varying depths. Each one was a year of wind and rain, each mark a passage of time.

Eight hundred years.

This tree had stood here for eight hundred years. It had witnessed Master Zhu reading and meditating here, seen the Disciples of Master Zhu come and go, observed the academy's rise and fall, the change of dynasties, and the vicissitudes of the world. And it simply stood, blooming every year, shedding its leaves each season, like a silent old man, hiding all its stories within its rings.

Lu Mingyuan sat down cross-legged beneath the tree.

It wasn't a meditation, just sitting. Listening to the rustle of the wind through the leaves, the murmur of a distant stream, his own breath gradually merging with it all.

He suddenly remembered something.

In his later years, Master Zhu wrote a poem titled 'Spring Day':

'On a fine day, I seek fragrant herbs by the Si River's bank; / Boundless scenes are all at once renewed. / Easily I recognize the east wind's face; / A riot of purple and crimson is always spring.'

The Si River is in Shandong, a place Master Zhu never visited in his life. Yet when he wrote this poem, it was as if he truly were seeking fragrant herbs by the Si River's bank, truly seeing those boundless scenes.

Why?

Because when the heart arrives, that is arrival.

Just like now, sitting beneath this osmanthus tree, though he had never met Master Zhu, he could almost sense the presence of that old man sitting here eight hundred years ago—not through any Divine Ability or spiritual sense, but a faint, almost imperceptible sense of 'being there'.

It was something indescribable.

Like the wind, like clouds, like the fragrance of the osmanthus blossoms filling the tree.

You couldn't grasp it, but you knew it was here.

---

The sun climbed higher. He rose from beneath the tree and began walking down the mountain.

By the time he returned to the academy, it was nearly noon. In front of Minglun Hall, several students were reading under the corridor. Seeing him pass, they nodded slightly in greeting. He returned the nod and continued on.

Passing through Minglun Hall, he came to a small courtyard. The gate was slightly ajar, and a small plaque hung above it, inscribed with the three characters: 'White Deer Grotto'.

He pushed the gate gently.

The courtyard was not large. In the center was a stone platform, upon which stood a stone stele. The inscription was the same 'White Deer Grotto Precepts' he had read outside the gate yesterday, but this stele seemed older. The characters were somewhat blurred, yet possessed an indescribable sense of antiquity.

He walked to the stele and read it, character by character.

'Between father and son, there is affection; between ruler and minister, there is righteousness; between husband and wife, there is distinction; between elder and younger, there is precedence; between friends, there is trust.'

This was the outline of the Five Teachings. Master Zhu said that when Yao and Shun appointed Xie as Minister of Education to respectfully disseminate the Five Teachings, this was it. A scholar's learning is simply this.

He thought of his journey thus far, all the profound principles and mysterious methods he had encountered. Yet Master Zhu grounded the very foundation of scholarship in these most ordinary matters of human relations and daily life.

It wasn't that he didn't pursue profundity; it was that he deeply understood—without these, any profundity would be a castle in the air.

He continued reading:

'Extend your knowledge through the Investigation of Things, inquire into them carefully, ponder them prudently, sift them clearly, practice them earnestly.'

This was the sequence of learning. The path of scholarship is nothing more than these five stages: studying, inquiring, thinking, discerning, and practicing. Not one can be omitted.

He thought of his own cultivation over the past three-plus years. From Heyin to Zhongnan Mountain, from Longhu Mountain to Wudang Mountain, from Qingcheng to Shaolin, from Bianliang to Luoyang, to this very White Deer Grotto. Wasn't each step a form of study? Each doubt a form of inquiry? Each insight a form of thinking and discerning? And in the end, everything ultimately had to rest upon practice.

If not practiced, what use was insight?

He continued reading:

'Let your words be sincere and trustworthy, your actions earnest and respectful; curb your anger and stifle your desires; move toward goodness and correct your faults.'

This was the essence of self-cultivation. Words should be sincere and trustworthy; actions should be earnest and respectful. One must restrain anger, stifle selfish desires, move toward goodness when seen, and correct faults when committed. Not a single one was mysterious. Not a single one was profound. But which one was easy to practice?

He recalled the words of the elderly Confucian scholar at last night's lecture—how in his youth he had driven himself almost to madness because he misunderstood 'curbing anger and stifling desires'. It showed how easy these five characters were to say, yet how difficult to practice.

He continued reading:

'Set right what is right, and do not scheme for profit; illuminate the Dao, and do not calculate success.'

This was the essence of handling affairs. In doing things, ask only whether they should be done, not whether they are profitable. In walking the Dao, illuminate only that it should be so, without calculating success or failure.

He thought of the 'Sword of Protection' he had realized on Wudang Mountain. That sword did not ask about victory or defeat, did not calculate success or failure; it simply protected. Wasn't that precisely 'setting right what is right, and not scheming for profit'?

So here, Confucianism, Daoism, and martial arts were connected.

The final principle:

'What you do not desire for yourself, do not impose on others. When your actions do not achieve their aim, turn inward and seek the cause in yourself.'

This was the essence of interacting with others. Do not force upon others what you yourself are unwilling to accept. When things are not accomplished, first reflect upon yourself.

He remembered at Shaolin, when Hui Ke said 'a fist is just for striking', and Jingchen said 'that moment itself is the meaning'. Wasn't that precisely 'when your actions do not achieve their aim, turn inward and seek the cause in yourself'? Not seeking reasons from the external world, but only asking whether one's own heart was present in the moment.

He finished reading the last line and stood before the stele for a long time.

A mere hundred-some characters. Not a single sentence of abstruse theory, not a single line of lofty discourse, just the basic principles of being human. Yet these basic principles had upheld an eight-hundred-year tradition.

Why?

Because it was learning of 'practice'.

It didn't ask you to think; it asked you to do.

It didn't ask you to understand; it asked you to practice.

'Has the layman finished reading?'

A voice came from behind. Lu Mingyuan turned and saw an old man standing at the courtyard gate. His beard and eyebrows were snowy white, his demeanor refined and scholarly. He wore a faded blue robe, washed to a pale hue, with several fine, neat patches at the cuffs.

Lu Mingyuan cupped his hands in salute. 'This junior Lu Mingyuan pays his respects to you, Elder.'

The old man returned the salute. 'This old man's surname is Li, given name Fan. I have been guarding this shrine for forty-three years.'

Guarding the shrine?

Lu Mingyuan was taken aback. Forty-three years, guarding this small courtyard, this stone stele?

The old man seemed to perceive his doubt and smiled faintly.

'Is the layman wondering what meaning there is in guarding a shrine for forty-three years?'

Lu Mingyuan nodded.

The old man walked to the stele and gently stroked the blurred characters with his hand.

'What did the layman think of the 'Precepts' just now?'

'Each character plain and solid, each sentence close and practical,' Lu Mingyuan said. 'But this junior was thinking that precisely this plainness and closeness is the hardest to achieve.'

The old man gave a slight nod.

'The layman's words hit the mark,' he said. 'This old man has guarded this place for forty-three years, looking at this stele inscription every day, watching students come and go year after year. Some look at it and then set it aside; some look at it and remember it in their hearts; some look at it and then go and do it.'

He paused.

'Which kind does the layman think is the fewest?'

Lu Mingyuan was silent for a moment.

'Those who do are the fewest.'

The old man nodded.

'That is the earnest intention behind Master Zhu's erection of this stele. He didn't want you to remember; he wanted you to do. But doing is ten thousand times harder than remembering.'

He looked at Lu Mingyuan.

'Where has the layman come from?'

'Zhongnan Mountain. First visited the Three Mountains of Daoism, then the Three Temples of Buddhism, and now come to the Three Academies of Confucianism.'

A glimmer of light flashed in the old man's eyes.

'The layman has traveled many places on this journey.'

'Yes.'

'Then what does the layman think? Of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, which is superior?'

Lu Mingyuan did not answer immediately.

He thought for a moment and said, 'This junior dare not speak of superiority. I only feel that the three schools start from different points, yet their destinations seem to have connections.'

The old man looked at him, his gaze carrying a hint of scrutiny and also a hint of expectation.

'How are they connected?'

Lu Mingyuan said, 'Daoism speaks of clarity, stillness, and non-action, asking people to let go of attachments. Buddhism speaks of Emptiness and Existence are Not Two, asking people not to cling to either extreme. Confucianism speaks of the Investigation of Things and the extension of knowledge, asking people to exhaust principles through things. The three schools express it differently, but in the end, they all ask people to return to that most ordinary place.'

He paused.

'Just like this stele inscription. Not a single sentence of abstruse theory, yet if one can truly practice it, one becomes a Sage.'

The old man was silent for a long while.

Then he smiled.

That smile was extremely faint, like a slight wrinkle on water when the wind passes over, but there was a thin layer of light in his eyes.

'How old is the layman this year?'

'Twenty-six.'

'At twenty-six, to be able to say such words is not easy,' the old man said. 'When this old man was twenty-six, I was still arguing fiercely with others over the two characters 'investigate things', how could I have understood 'the most ordinary place'?'

He turned and walked towards the courtyard gate.

After a few steps, he spoke without looking back:

'If the layman has some leisure, he may go to the east wing room. There is a handwritten copy of 'Great Learning with Commentary' by Master Zhu from that time. Though it is only a fragment, it may be worth a look.'

Lu Mingyuan stayed in the east wing room until dusk.

It was an extremely small room: a small table and a couch. On the table rested a wooden box. Opening the box, inside was a stack of yellowed pages. The paper was as brittle as butterfly wings, liable to shatter with the slightest force.

He carefully turned the first page.

The handwriting was neat, each stroke forceful, penetrating the paper. It was Master Zhu's own hand.

He read a few pages and suddenly stopped.

There was a note by Master Zhu himself:

'I have said that the method of reading books requires that each character be read aloud clearly. Not a single character may be misread, not a single character omitted, not a single character added, not a single character transposed. Only when read aloud clearly, character by character, can one then appreciate its meaning.'

He read it several times over, and suddenly felt something stir within his heart.

Character by character, aloud and clear.

Wasn't it the same for being a person and handling affairs? Every step must be taken clearly, every matter done distinctly. No vagueness, no carelessness, no self-deception.

He thought of his own journey. Drawing talismans at Longhu Mountain, not daring to make a single wrong stroke; practicing sword forms at Wudang Mountain, not daring to be negligent in a single posture; striking fists at Shaolin, not daring to be disorderly in a single punch or palm. Wasn't that precisely 'character by character, aloud and clear'?

So the reading method Master Zhu spoke of was also a method of cultivation.

Dusk gradually deepened. He set down the pages and walked out of the wing room.

The academy had quieted down. The students had finished dinner and returned to their rooms to study. Only Minglun Hall still had lights on, faint sounds of reading drifting from within, like distant tides coming and going.

He strolled to that ancient osmanthus tree.

The moon had just risen. The fragrance of osmanthus blossoms was even stronger in the night, like an intangible net enveloping the entire academy.

He stood beneath the tree for a long time.

Suddenly, he remembered what Huang Gan had said upon parting: 'The natural rhythm is not something external; it is the nature of things themselves. Finding that natural rhythm is to extend knowledge.'

Were these osmanthus blossoms filling the tree not within their 'natural rhythm'? Blooming in the fourth month was its rhythm; flowers falling and bearing fruit was its rhythm; year after year, season after season, never missing its time.

And humans? Where was a human's 'rhythm'?

In the daily practice of human relations, in the sweeping and responding, in every task that ought to be done.

Doing when it is time to do, stopping when it is time to stop; advancing when it is time to advance, retreating when it is time to retreat. This is rhythm.

This is to extend knowledge.

He suddenly felt a wave of warmth in his Dantian.

Looking inward, that Chaos Golden Core was slowly rotating. With each rotation, it solidified a bit more. It wasn't a Breakthrough, but a stabilization—from the turbulence of its initial formation to this moment's solidity.

Golden Core Middle Stage.

Without any sign, without any deliberate effort. Just walking, looking, reading, thinking, and then he had arrived.

He opened his eyes and looked towards the night sky.

The moon was full, its clear light like water. The distant mountain shadows lay layer upon layer; the nearby osmanthus tree stood silently. A night bird flew overhead, the flapping of its wings fading into the distance.

He suddenly felt a strong desire to thank someone.

But he didn't know who to thank.

Master Zhu? He had been gone for eight hundred years.

That shrine-guarding elder? He had already returned to his room to rest.

Huang Gan? He was far away at Yuelu.

In the end, he simply said softly to the osmanthus tree:

'Thank you.'

The next morning, Lu Mingyuan went to bid farewell to the shrine-guarding elder.

The elder was sweeping in front of the stele. Seeing him arrive, he stopped his broom.

'Is the layman leaving?'

'Yes. This junior should proceed to the next stop.'

'And the next stop is?'

'Having visited White Deer Grotto, I should go to the birthplace of the School of Mind—perhaps Xiangshan Mountain Retreat, or Yangming Cave,' Lu Mingyuan said. 'However, this junior wishes to stay on Mount Lu a few more days to pay respects at Master Zhou Dunyi's tomb.'

The elder nodded.

'Master Lianxi's tomb is at the foot of Mount Lu. The layman should go.' He paused. 'Before parting, this old man has a word to offer.'

Lu Mingyuan stood solemnly, listening quietly.

The elder looked at him and said slowly:

'Master Zhu's learning lies in the Investigation of Things; Master Xiangshan's learning lies in illuminating the mind. Most people in the world consider the two to be opposed, but that is not so. The Investigation of Things is the effort to illuminate the mind; illuminating the mind is the destination of investigating things. The layman has traveled this far and met Master Zhu; he should also meet Master Xiangshan. Having met Master Xiangshan, one then understands Master Zhu; having met Master Zhu, one then understands Master Xiangshan.'

He smiled.

'These words, this old man understood only after guarding this shrine for forty-three years. The layman, at twenty-six, has already come this far. The road ahead is still very, very long.'

Lu Mingyuan bowed deeply, his hands reaching the ground.

'This Disciple has received your teaching.'

The elder did not return the salute. He simply picked up his broom and continued sweeping.

The broom tip scratched against the bluestone, *shasha, shasha*.

Lu Mingyuan turned and left the courtyard without looking back.

Leaving White Deer Grotto, he followed the Guan Dao Stream downstream.

The stream murmured, clear enough to see the bottom, with fish darting to and fro. Azaleas bloomed profusely on both banks, clusters of red, pink, and white, like brocade spread out.

He walked without haste, looking as he went.

Coming to a mountain hollow, he suddenly stopped.

A stone stele stood by the roadside, inscribed with six characters: 'Path to Master Lianxi's Tomb'.

He turned west, passed through a pine forest, and the view suddenly opened up—a simple tomb, backed by mountains and facing water, surrounded by pines and cypresses. The tombstone was carved with:

'Tomb of Zhou Dunyi, Duke Yuan of Song'.

He bowed deeply before the tomb, his hands reaching the ground.

Zhou Dunyi, Master Lianxi, founder of Neo-Confucianism. His 'Explanation of the taiji diagram' and 'Penetrating the Book of Changes' opened the beginning of an eight-hundred-year tradition.

He sat down before the tomb.

It wasn't a meditation, just sitting. Listening to the pine wind, the stream, the occasional birdcall.

He sat for an unknown length of time, then suddenly remembered a line from 'Penetrating the Book of Changes':

'Sincerity is the foundation of the Sage.'

Sincerity.

When drawing talismans at Longhu Mountain, Immortal Master Yu Shu had said 'with sincerity, there is efficacy'; when inquiring about Chan at Shaolin, after Zen Master Huijue said 'resting is...', he let go of everything—that moment was also sincerity; when investigating bamboo at Yuelu, just looking, without distracting thoughts, was also sincerity.

Sincerity is the unity of mind and matter.

No deception, no falsity, no evasion, no concealment.

Like this stream, flowing when it should flow; like this pine wind, blowing when it should blow; like the person in this tomb, being where he should be.

He rose and offered one final bow to the tombstone.

Then he turned and slowly descended the mountain along the path he had come.

At the foot of the mountain, a broad road stretched eastward, leading who knew where.

But he knew that no matter where it led, the road was beneath his feet.

He just had to walk it.