Chapter 349. Youngwoo's Inspection — In Front of the Temple Dining Hall
The courtyard in front of the dining hall was where those engaged in study and cultivation paused for a short rest.
They did not return immediately to their routines after eating. Instead, they lingered for a while, walking across the yard or gathering beneath the eaves to catch their breath.
Had the weather been warmer, they might have stood in small groups talking together.
But winter had deepened now, making it difficult to remain outside for long. Even so, without this brief interval there was little opportunity for conversation.
The monk who had greeted Youngwoo earlier approached him.
"Where have you come from?"
Youngwoo rubbed his hands together as if cold and answered,
"Recently, I was at Hubodagang. I was also in Hoeryeong Prefecture."
The monk's eyes widened slightly.
"Hoeryeong Prefecture?"
"Yes."
"The place where they say a new country has been founded...?"
"That's right. It is very busy there."
The monk studied Youngwoo for a moment.
"And what brings you here?"
"I ought to be going home, but there were people who had nowhere left to go, so I came with them."
Youngwoo did not think there was any need to explain everything in detail inside a temple, so he kept his answer just close enough to the truth not to be a lie.
The monk tilted his head.
"People with nowhere to go?"
Youngwoo gave a light laugh.
"I came with the Balhae people in yesterday's battle. Ahaha."
He had spoken indirectly, but the meaning was clear enough.
The monk leaned back slightly and looked Youngwoo up and down.
"But you are not wearing a military uniform."
"No. I resigned and returned it. This is the martial clothing I wore underneath."
The monk kept asking questions, yet his curiosity remained unsatisfied.
Youngwoo did not look like a victor.
The man was only telling parts of the truth.
And yet those parts did not sound false.
The monk wanted to ask more, but could not decide where to begin.
Looking at Youngwoo's clothes, he said,
"They look rather thin."
"Yes. It's cold."
Youngwoo stamped his feet lightly as though to prove the point.
One monk snickered, while a young novice nearby covered his mouth.
The monk asked again,
"But what brought you here...?"
Youngwoo pointed west.
"I could see that tower even from far away."
The White Pagoda stood faintly in the western darkness.
By day, its white surface would have been striking, but now only the layered eaves remained as black lines against the night.
The monk nodded.
"It is very tall. Truly, very tall, isn't it?"
"It is."
The monk looked at Youngwoo again.
"Are you leaving now?"
Youngwoo shook his head immediately.
"No. I like it here very much. If you do not mind, I would like to continue my cultivation a while longer before I go. That would be all right, wouldn't it?"
The monk glanced toward the hall with a troubled expression.
"Well, there is no reason you cannot. But please put out the candles."
"Of course. I would not leave such expensive candles burning."
The monk added,
"And do not go rummaging through the donation boxes."
Youngwoo blinked, then nodded with complete seriousness.
"Of course. I do not steal."
That only made the monk more uncomfortable.
He had meant it as a joke, but Youngwoo had taken it entirely at face value.
Still, with such a solemn expression before him, it felt awkward to show any further suspicion.
The monk raised a hand and pointed toward the Mahavira Hall.
"Then keep quiet. When you leave, use the side gate. The main gate is already closed."
"Understood. Thank you for your kindness."
Youngwoo brought his hands together in something resembling a respectful Buddhist gesture.
The form was not perfect, but the sincerity was.
The monk said nothing more.
He simply stood there for a long moment, watching the strange Goryeo warrior in thin martial clothes walk back toward the hall on that cold winter night.
When Youngwoo said he was not leaving, the monk let out a short sigh.
He walked toward the Mahavira Hall and stopped before the donation box.
Checking it before closing for the day was routine.
It was more habit than expectation.
When he lifted the lid, however, his eyes stopped.
Inside lay a silver ingot shaped somewhat like a duck.
Even in the dim hall, its silver gleam was unmistakable.
The monk stared down at it for a long time.
Surely not that man.
He did not seem the type.
The monk thought back over everyone who had visited that day.
There was no one else likely to have left a silver ingot.
Besides, people wealthy enough to make donations like this rarely did so quietly.
Usually they brought the offering directly, presented it respectfully, gave their names, identified their households, and allowed the temple to know exactly who had been so generous.
Even when people donated to a temple, they often wanted to leave some trace of themselves behind.
They said the offering was made before the Buddha, yet still hoped people would talk about it.
They prayed for blessings, wrote down their names, made sure others knew how much they had given, and quietly displayed their generosity.
It was not as though such things brought greater blessings.
But people always seemed to want to leave their mark somewhere.
The monk picked up the silver ingot.
It was heavy.
Just as he closed the donation box and started to rise, Youngwoo entered the Mahavira Hall again.
As before, he set down a meditation cushion and prepared to sit.
His expression gave no sign that anything unusual had happened.
The monk held up the silver ingot and asked with his eyes,
"Was this...?"
Youngwoo broke into a broad smile and nodded.
"Yes."
The monk's expression stiffened, then softened again.
"No, but something like this..."
Youngwoo answered calmly,
"It is only a small offering. Ahaha."
The monk could not continue.
It was not the sort of thing one dismissed as a small offering.
A silver ingot like this would make a considerable difference to the temple's household.
It was not merely enough for a few days of meals.
It was enough that they would not have to worry about firewood and grain for quite some time.
Youngwoo sat back down on the meditation cushion and pointed toward the exit with his palm.
The meaning was clear.
Please leave now.
He had the face of a man intent on returning to his cultivation.
The monk held the silver ingot in both hands and bowed deeply.
The joke he had made only moments earlier about rummaging through the donation box suddenly embarrassed him.
Without another word, he stepped backward.
Before crossing the threshold, he bowed once more, then quietly left the Mahavira Hall.