Refuse to trample on the pride of heaven

Chapter 333 Bodhisattva

"Goddess, be merciful, Goddess, be powerful, please protect me, please show me your power..."

The sound of knocking his head shattered in the ashes of the incense sticks that were almost gone in the copper stove. The heavy head fell bit by bit, and the man's bony spine rose and fell like a knife in the linen cloth, but his head fell heavily to the ground, as if it was about to fall into a pool of red blood formed by the candle tears.

Wax wrapped in incense ash solidified into scabs on the blue bricks and spread over his cracked knees. His eyes were closed tightly, and when he opened his eyes, there was a look of madness in his sunken eye sockets, and his two cloudy pupils were red from the smoke of incense.

There were two deep inverted eight-shaped wrinkles under his sunken cheekbones, revealing a miserable look that could only be caused by long-term deprivation.

But the cracked lips were slightly raised, revealing half of a white tooth, like a jade cicada suddenly mixed in with yellow paper money, some kind of morbid joy unique to a sacrificer.

"Goddess, please have mercy on me. Goddess, please have supernatural powers. I beg you to protect me. I beg you to show your power..." The murmuring of prayers echoed between the walls of the dilapidated temple, as if it was a faint hope squeezed out from the cracks of time.

Next to the man was an old woman, hunched over like an old tree bent by the wind, her body almost parallel to the ground.

The patched coarse cloth dress on her body looked old and gray in the dim light. Her face was like a dried orange peel, full of wrinkles, and the deep wrinkles on her face revealed countless vicissitudes of life.

Her eye sockets were deeply sunken, and her eyes were cloudy yet revealed a stubborn expectation, like a candle flame that was about to go out, swaying stubbornly in the wind. Every time she kowtowed, her sparse white hair trembled, and a few strands of hair scattered on her cheeks, sticky with sweat and incense ash, making her look increasingly disheveled.

Her dry lips opened and closed as she muttered something in a hoarse voice, as if the air was squeezed out of a rotten throat: "Goddess, please bless me and let me live..."

She trembled with her lips and kept repeating those pious words. The saliva from the corners of her mouth dripped down her chin to the ground, wetting a small piece of blue brick.

The hunchbacked old man grasped the edge of the mat tightly with both hands, his knuckles turned white from the force. His face was skinny, his cheekbones protruded high like two abrupt hills, and his cheeks were sunken like two black holes.

The old man's cloudy eyes were full of bloodshot, and there was awe of the gods and confusion of struggling in suffering in his eyes. His lips were as dry as the frozen soil in winter, and the bloodstains were shocking. Every time he said "Please show up, Goddess", blood would seep out of the cracks, staining his yellowed teeth crimson, but it still couldn't stop his murmuring of prayers.

Several children huddled together, timidly imitating the adults in their kowtows. They were pale and thin, with dry, yellow and tangled hair, like a pile of messy straw on their heads. One of the little girls had big eyes full of fear and helplessness, her dry lips trembling slightly, and she kept repeating in a low voice: "Mom, I'm hungry..."

The thin body looked even thinner under the tattered clothes, and the two thin arms were like bamboo poles that seemed like they would break with the slightest bend.

"Good girl, you will not be hungry now that you have received the blessing of the Queen..."

The boy who was speaking was so thin that his ribs were clearly visible, like the precarious beams in a dilapidated house. The single piece of clothing with countless patches on it could not protect him from the cold in the temple. He shivered from time to time, his little face turned red from the cold, and his cracked skin was streaked with blood. His big eyes were surprisingly bright, but that brightness was mixed with fear and confusion.

After comforting his sister, he imitated the adults, put his hands together, and kowtowed to the statue. His movements were a little clumsy, but he was serious in a way that made people feel distressed.

People's bodies seem so small in the dilapidated temple, but they are trying hard to find a possible blessing amid the prayers.

"Where are you taking us, madam?"

"Go to heaven, become an immortal, throw away this rotten body, never again suffer from hunger, go to the paradise, and truly live a life..."

The monk standing under the Bodhisattva statue was wearing a tattered but neat cassock. The color of the robe was dull, but it inexplicably exuded a sense of old solemnity in this dim temple.

At first glance, the monk's face seemed somewhat compassionate. His face was round and had a faint halo, as if he was illuminated by the Buddha's light.

But if you look closely, you can find that there is a hint of weirdness under the mercy. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and there seems to be a layer of mist in his eyes, making it impossible to see his expression, but inadvertently, a hint of elusive light flashes.

There was a smile on the corner of his mouth, which was too deliberate, as if it was carved on his face with a knife. There was an unnatural stiffness in it. The flesh on his cheeks was slightly bulging, but against the backdrop of the shadows, it looked a little eerie.

His fingers were slender, and his nails were slightly yellow. His fingertips gently moved the rosary beads hanging on his chest. Each bead had a dim luster, as if its edges had been worn away by countless times of rubbing. His voice echoed in the temple with a strange rhythm.

The monk put his hands together and spoke slowly. His voice was low and melodious, but it seemed to have a bewitching power: "Good men and women, do not worry, do not be afraid. The goddess is merciful and will lead you to the land of bliss."

He paced forward, each step was as light as if he was walking on clouds, and the straw sandals on his feet made a slight "rustling" sound on the blue brick floor. He walked in front of the crowd, and his eyes slowly swept over each person. He still had a compassionate smile on his face, but his eyes were like the cold tongue of a snake, sliding across everyone's faces, looking them up and down, as if he was looking at prey.

"You see, this world is full of suffering, and you are all struggling in this endless sea of ​​suffering. Only the blessing of the Goddess can allow you to transcend."

The monk's voice gradually became lowered, sounding like pity and also like some kind of hidden expectation.

The air in the temple seemed to become heavier, and the smoke from the incense hung over everyone's heads like a veil separating reality from illusion.

The kneeling people were still murmuring to each other, and the sound of their foreheads hitting the blue bricks came one after another, as if responding to the monk's words. Their eyes gradually became blurred, as if they had really seen the legendary heavenly palace and the scene of themselves escaping from the sea of ​​suffering and ascending to become immortals.

The candlelight in the temple flickered, shining on everyone's faces, looking particularly strange. The kneeling people seemed to be pulled by some invisible force, their movements became more and more orderly, and the sound of their foreheads hitting the ground became louder and louder, as if they were ringing the bell to lead them to paradise.

The monk's figure became increasingly blurred in the candlelight, as if merging with the swirling smoke.