The surrounding pilgrims gradually turned their eyes away from the main hall.
“What’s he doing?”
“Why’s he setting up pots and cooking here?”
“Is he offering a vegetarian feast as tribute?”
“Aren’t vegetarian offerings supposed to be laid out at the gate or along the promenade? Who’s he showing this to?”
“Obviously to the Buddha, who else?”
“Don’t be silly. The Buddha won’t give him a single coin. His real patrons are the onlookers.”
“Exactly, exactly. Is the guy stupid or what?”
“Maybe not stupid—just broke. Look at the Immortal’s Abode over there. Their great vegetarian cauldron is already steaming at the entrance. Now that’s what you call a proper offering!”
Laughter and chatter rose, buzzing faintly against the solemn backdrop of Buddhist ritual music.
The copper cauldron bubbled with steaming vegetarian soup, gleaming in the sunlight like a sacrificial tripod. Plates of fresh vegetables, neatly arranged on silver platters, were poured one by one into the pot by four or five shop assistants.
A rich aroma wafted through the air.
Having rushed in the night to catch the excitement of the Zen tea gathering, the crowd was cold and hungry by now. The fragrance spread, stirring a ripple of restlessness among the people, followed by cheers of approval.
Dou Qi stood behind the crowd, a touch of pride on his face.
“Our offering—fresh and lively—is far more appealing than those lifeless things,” he said, glancing around.
Laid out nearby were long ceremonial tables, filled to the brim with an array of dishes: colorful delicacies, pastries, and fresh fruits. Yet along the entire promenade, all eyes had already been drawn to his display.
“Before the Buddha, offerings are blessed and enjoyed by the Enlightened One—then passed on by Immortal’s Abode to the people!”
The manager stood beside him, proclaiming loudly.
His words sparked an uproar. People surged forward, hands raised high in excitement.
“Immortal’s Abode! Immortal’s Abode!”
The chaotic shouting echoed louder and louder, drawing more and more people to the scene.
Long-handled ladles and copper chopsticks stirred the pot, churning it into a cloudy swirl, and the crowd outside seemed to bubble just like the broth.
Inside the main hall, once the first bowl of brewed tea was offered to the First Prince seated behind the yellow gauze curtain, the ritual moved forward. Accompanied by the music and the measured steps of over a dozen monks, Master Minghai’s carefully brewed tea was then distributed one by one.
Everyone present received their portion with reverence, bowing in gratitude.
When the ritual music ceased, the assembly rose to their feet, first to respectfully see off the First Prince. Once his ceremonial entourage had departed, the Zen tea gathering was officially concluded. The solemn air within the grand hall relaxed a little.
Outside, the noise of the crowd drifted in, but it was the same every year—no one paid it much mind.
The attendees stood and began to exit the hall, making way for the common folk who had been waiting outside to enter and pay their respects.
Master Minghai walked among the crowd, surrounded by familiar faces. Laughing and chatting, he made his way out of the hall.
There weren’t many people directly in front of the hall—the real crowd was densely packed at the far end of the promenade, near the main gate.
“Looks like it’s lively over there today.”
“Is there some new kind of offering this year?”
Those emerging from the hall laughed as they turned to look, curiosity piqued.
“It’s the Immortal’s Abode.”
“They’re offering a great vegetarian cauldron—enough to feed a hundred people at once.”
The words spread quickly, prompting many to pause and take a look.
“Immortal’s Abode’s ‘Passing Immortal’ is really good.”
“Well then, how about heading there for a brief sit-down after tea?”
Amid the surrounding chatter and laughter, a man in a plain blue robe standing toward the back smiled faintly.
“Editor Liu, would you care to join us?” someone turned and asked.
The man smiled and shook his head.
“Many thanks but I got something urgent at home to attend to,” he said with a bow, politely excusing himself.
As they watched him walk off to the side, a few people exchanged knowing smiles.
“Editor Liu rarely eats or drinks out. I heard his household’s so frugal they’re down to eating plain rice with salted fish,” one person joked.
“He can’t be that poor,” someone else scoffed.
“Just look at that robe of his—he’s been wearing it for over a decade, hasn’t he? Whenever there’s a formal event, it’s always the same one,” another said, laughing aloud.
While laughter continued on one side, on the other, Master Minghai was bidding farewell to those around him with a courteous bow. Just as he was about to take a step forward, someone tugged at his sleeve.
“Old monk,” said Old Master Chen, “you still have quite a bit of vegetarian fare left today. Look, there’s one more over here.”
Master Minghai let out a hearty laugh and cast Old Master Chen a long, knowing glance before finally following the direction he was pointing.
At the foot of the hall steps, beside a small offering table, stood a man bent over, reaching into a large bowl.
Most of the crowd had already surged forward to scramble for the food, making the solitary figure seem all the more isolated, standing alone amid the bustle.
“This is…?” Master Minghai lowered his gaze slightly as he asked.
Just those two simple words—yet in certain settings, at certain moments—they could be worth a thousand pieces of gold, and even then, not easily bought.
From the roadside, Manager Wu took a deep breath, smoothed his robes with a flick, and stepped forward.
“I am from Tai Ping Residence,” he said. “Here to offer my sincere heart to the Buddha.”
Master Minghai kept a gentle smile on his face, but said nothing more. His gaze, too, did not return.
At that, Old Master Chen gave a soft cough and stepped forward.
“What have you made, then?” he asked.
“A single taste of pure intent,” Manager Wu replied.
Because Master Minghai had paused, the others stopped as well. Some looked on with disdain, others with curiosity.
“What is that?” someone asked.
Since the question had been voiced, Old Master Chen didn’t speak again either. He stood there, now also watching with a touch of curiosity.
“It’s a tofu feast,” Manager Wu replied.
A tofu feast?
The unfamiliar phrase caught on, and more people began asking about it.
“Hard to explain—best if you take a look,” said Manager Wu, stepping aside.
One person, then another, and then more came forward, standing on the steps and peering down from above.
In the bowl of water, a piece of white, tender tofu was slowly being teased apart in the man’s hands—strand by strand, filament by filament—until a strange pattern gradually began to emerge.
The onlookers couldn’t help but step in closer.
“I know tofu,” someone said. “There’s a Daoist temple in Wei-zhou that sells it. But it’s so soft, so smooth and bland—how could anyone possibly carve it into a shape?”
More and more people crowded forward, until Old Master Chen and Master Minghai were actually pushed off to the side. Not that they needed to say anything now—everyone else had already begun buzzing with questions.
“This is tofu,” the young maid said, taking a piece from a basket nearby and holding it up for the crowd to see.
“Oh my, it’s so soft!” a woman exclaimed, reaching out to pinch it gently in surprise.
The maid nodded and offered it forward.
“It’s made from soybeans—all vegetarian. Would you like to try some, madam?”
“You can eat it just like this?” the woman asked.
“Yes, raw or cooked—it’s ready either way,” the maid replied.
The woman hesitated for a moment, but a young man beside her was quicker to reach out.
“I’ll try it,” he said, picking up a piece and popping it into his mouth. After tasting it, he nodded enthusiastically. “Not bad, not bad—there’s no bitterness, just right. Good, good.”
Soon others came forward to try as well, and the talking and debating grew louder and more lively.
Li Dashao stood calmly at the offering table, oblivious to the commotion around him. He steadily bent over, handling the knife in his hand, occasionally switching it for another.
Gradually, all eyes began to focus on him.
“Look, it’s a conch shell!” someone whispered excitedly.
“My goodness, it really is!”
“No, wait, there’s also a lotus and a vase!”
More people gathered around, letting out soft exclamations.
Watching the tofu slowly unfold, watching the man’s hands move with the precision and fluidity of someone embroidering, the crowd fell silent. They held their breath, eyes fixed on the tofu in the water, unwilling to blink.
“Is this who she went to see?” Duke Jin’an asked.
He stood under the corridor to the side of the hall, hands clasped behind his back, observing the crowd that had yet to disperse. His gaze then shifted to a lady a few paces ahead to the left.
The lady was accompanied by two maids and a young servant, all of them also looking toward the crowd. In the sunlight, it was hard to make out her expression clearly.
“Chang Liang, go take a look. Is there something worth seeing?” Duke Jin’an said.
The eunuch responded promptly, stepping forward. After some effort, he managed to squeeze through the crowd on the stairs. From his elevated position, he quickly spotted the water bowl on the offering table, where a golden fish was poised as if about to leap from the water.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, his voice rising involuntarily.
Immediately, countless pairs of eyes turned toward him.
The eunuch quickly covered his mouth, then looked back at the scene.
The seemingly inconspicuous man had almost imperceptibly switched knives in the blink of an eye. With a few light, graceful movements, new shapes began to emerge from the tofu near the golden fish.
The crowd fell silent, so still that it seemed as if even breathing had ceased.
“Quick, go take a look! There’s something really lively in front of the hall!”
Someone shouted loudly.
The message quickly spread, and the crowd soon turned around.
“What’s going on?”
“Someone’s offering a tribute in front of the hall!”
“What’s so interesting about that?”
“It’s food! Freshly made!”
As soon as these words were spoken, the crowd, having just satisfied their hunger with a bowl of “Passing Immortals” food, suddenly became more energized and eager to see what was next.
“Quick, go look, someone’s giving out food again!”
Like a rushing tide, people surged forward, and in the blink of an eye, the offering table in front of the Immortal’s Abode was empty, leaving only a scattered mess of bowls and chopsticks.
Dou Qi’s nose scrunched in anger.
“How shameless! They’re all copying me!” he yelled, pointing at them, his face red with fury. “I’m going to find out who’s doing this!” He raised his foot and stormed off.
As the crowd surged forward, a cheer erupted in front of the hall.
The man took a step back, his bent posture seemingly unable to straighten anymore. He lowered his head and looked at the large bowl of tofu before him. The originally square-shaped tofu had vanished, replaced by distinct and interwoven shapes—wheels, sieves, umbrellas, lids, flowers, jars, fish, and long forms, each bright and unique, yet harmoniously arranged.
Exclamations of astonishment rose from all sides as people surged forward to take a closer look.
Li Dashao’s eyes, filled with red veins, gradually became misty.
It’s done, it’s done…
On the other side, the tofu steaming and simmering in the covered bowl was also arranged, and the broth, cooked in a separate pot, was slowly poured around the edge of the bowl. The fragrance and steam filled the air, shrouding the table in a misty cloud.
“Please accept this offering, Buddha.”
Manager Wu stepped forward, bowing toward the main hall as he called out.
The crowd immediately parted, revealing the solemn Buddha hall before them. A soft chant of Buddha’s name began to resonate through the air.
Master Minghai slowly walked forward, standing at the foot of the stairs. He gazed at the large bowl placed on the table, observing the Eight Treasures of Buddhism floating in the bowl.
“Amitabha Buddha,” he said, joining his hands in prayer. He lowered his head briefly before raising it again to look at the man at the bottom of the stairs. “This benefactor, please bring your tribute and come with me.”
As the crowd surged forward, they saw the empty table.
“Where’s the food?” someone asked in confusion, sniffing the air as if the fragrance still lingered around.
“What food?” The nobles who had not yet left the stairs turned around with some displeasure. “That’s an offering for Buddha!”
An offering for Buddha? Isn’t offerings for Buddha not for common people?
“That person’s offering was taken to the Buddha by Master Minghai!” Someone said, pointing forward.
The crowd looked in that direction. On the stairs, sure enough, Master Minghai was followed by a man. The man had an ordinary build, slightly hunched, but he held a bowl in both hands, walking steadily. Behind him was a woman holding a plate, following closely.
“I heard he made something with tofu!”
“Tofu? What’s tofu?”
Everyone’s eyes followed the man’s figure. Against the backdrop of the imposing Buddha hall, his otherwise ordinary figure seemed somewhat dignified and imposing.
“To be invited by Master Minghai for such a special offering, he’s really impressive! Who is this person?” people asked in unison.
“Li Dashao!”
The answer came from behind. Someone turned around and saw Dou Qi standing behind, mouth agape in disbelief, staring at the man who, together with Master Minghai, was about to step into the main hall.
Li Dashao!
That coward! That coward!
