Chapter 37: Su Ying

After leaving Ciyun Chan Yuan, Qin Yun walked south along the highway, glancing at three devotees performing full-prostration worship without any surprise. Tourists, however, found the sight astonishing, some even filming with their phones.

Many people might not understand this form of worship: shouldn’t sincerity alone suffice? Is such ritual unnecessary? Or, put bluntly, what grave sin must one have committed to resort to such gestures?

Such opinions are everywhere online in today’s free era.

Indeed, two young people taking photos beside Qin Yun were debating whether this behavior was normal. The boy thought it was a personal act, nothing to criticize; the girl thought it excessive—even if a Buddha existed, it wouldn’t pay attention just because you prostrated more times.

The boy said: “They’re not worshipping the Buddha in the temple, but the Buddha within their hearts.”

The girl said: “If so, why come to Mount Putuo? Why not prostrate at home? You can rest on the sofa when tired.”

The boy said: “You’re just being argumentative. This is Guanyin’s sacred ground, closer to the Buddha.”

The girl said: “Oh, aren’t immortals omnipotent?”

The boy said: “You’re just twisting words. Their behavior is mostly a discipline of the will—perhaps they once made a vow and are here to fulfill it.”

The girl said: “You say I’m twisting words… now you think I’m twisting words, right?”

The boy said: ………

Qin Yun smiled as he watched the boy, who had just been earnestly debating, instantly turn into a flustered sycophant. Then he thought of his past self—and his smile vanished. A sycophant who licks too long ends up with nothing.

His gaze passed over the worshippers and continued forward.

In truth, this form of worship is merely a ritual to fulfill a wish, unrelated to anything else.

He walked slowly; due to his drastically improved physical condition, mere walking no longer tired him—he remained in an excellent state for long periods.

He walked, paused, sought out overlooked beauty in his view, photographed landscapes, people, freezing moments of beauty.

Unconsciously, time flowed through his lens; temple icons quietly appeared on his panel, yet Qin Yun paid them no deliberate attention—he slowly immersed himself in this journey.

Someone once said: “Where the heart finds peace, there is home—only joy, no sorrow.” Qin Yun now sought this kind of equanimity, accepting whatever came his way. He felt he had the system and the capacity to pursue true freedom, yet the system could not directly grant him true liberation. But at least, he now had the ability to pursue it.

At the temple archway, a monk swept fallen leaves with a broom, beside a lush ancient camphor tree. Tourists came and went. Qin Yun suddenly felt this scene struck him deeply. Without hesitation, he raised his camera and stepped back one pace.

But at the moment he pressed the shutter, his back brushed against something—there was a cry of “Ouch!”—someone behind had fallen.

Su Ying rubbed her sore buttocks, grimacing. She felt utterly unlucky, yet knew the other wasn’t intentional; no matter how bad her mood, she couldn’t lash out randomly.

“Miss, sorry—are you okay?”

Suddenly, a strong hand gripped her right arm, effortlessly lifting her to her feet—Su Ying felt as light as a piece of clothing.

She looked up at him: a tourist with a camera, quite handsome, with a touch of Yan Zu and Guo Rong’s charm, older than her, taller, well-built—wonder if he had a girlfriend…

Instantly, Su Ying snapped back to reality, her face flushing. “I’m fine, fine, no problem, handsome, did I hurt you?”

As soon as she spoke, she nearly slapped herself.

“Su Ying, don’t just freeze when you see a handsome guy. Get your head straight—your shop’s problems aren’t solved yet. Do you really have time to flirt?”

Qin Yun blinked. Rare to meet such a polite girl—in such situations, most girls wouldn’t curse, and a glare would be generous.

“I’m fine. I didn’t notice behind me while taking photos. My apologies.”

He instantly recognized the woman—she was the one in coarse hemp clothes who had devoutly prayed at Ciyun Chan Yuan. He hadn’t expected to see her again at Puji Chan Temple.

“It’s nothing.”

Su Ying brushed off the dust on her backside and smiled at Qin Yun.

Qin Yun nodded, ready to leave. The Puji Chan Temple icon had already lit up, and he’d toured it—he should head to other temples now.

“Um… handsome… are you a tourist?”

Qin Yun nodded: “Yeah, sort of. But I’m also local.”

Su Ying’s eyes lit up. She stepped forward two paces: “Handsome, which temple do you think is most efficacious?”

Qin Yun chuckled. Such a question had no answer—“sincerity brings results” was the universal reply. He was about to give that cliché, then remembered her devout prayer at Ciyun Chan Yuan—and stopped himself.

He wondered: could she be facing some unsolvable problem? Otherwise, why come to Mount Putuo to beg invisible deities for help?

He thought a moment, then asked a question he immediately regretted: “Miss, are you in trouble?”

……

“Guo Degang was right—everyone hopes their rivals die. What are they thinking? If I fail, do customers suddenly flock to them? They’re worse at service and quality—how can they even have the nerve to pull dirty tricks?”

“Who does something like this? Are they even human? I just make a bit more than them—is that reason enough to be jealous? Can’t they improve themselves? Instead, they sabotage me from behind—I’m furious.”

“I wish the Bodhisattva would strike them down with lightning—just to relieve my hatred.”

Qin Yun’s head throbbed. Listening to Su Ying’s endless complaints, he felt a swarm of flies buzzing in his ears. He didn’t know what question had unlocked her floodgates—since leaving Puji Temple, past Baotao Courtyard, Tianhua Chan Courtyard, Baizitang… she never stopped.

She relentlessly vented her resentment toward competitors to this stranger, over and over, driving him to despair.

“Maybe you should drink some water and rest?” Qin Yun said as they neared Fayu Chan Temple on the mountain path.

Su Ying agreed. They sat on a bench beside the trail.

“You don’t need to rush,” Qin Yun said after thinking. “As you said, your service and product quality are better than competitors—that’s why you’ve succeeded. So, keep your patience. Trust your customers.”

Su Ying turned to him, smiling bitterly: “You’ve never run a business. Sometimes public opinion is more terrifying than facts. No one cares about the truth—when everyone believes you’re guilty, people follow the crowd. Death is near.”

Qin Yun sighed, pointing to the temple silhouette above: “So you’re placing your hope here?”

Su Ying’s expression darkened. She said nothing.

Qin Yun didn’t know how to comfort her. He sat quietly. Then Su Ying’s phone rang.

“Hello…”

“Boss, the public opinion has reversed! It’s reversed!”

“What?”

Su Ying shot up, urgently asking: “Explain clearly—what happened?”

“Boss, a net celebrity visited our shop. Her video went viral. After it exploded, all the negative local reviews instantly flipped…”

Hearing the joyful voice on the phone, Su Ying felt the surprise arrive so suddenly.

After hanging up, she looked sharply at Qin Yun: “Did my prayer work?”

Qin Yun’s vision darkened. He was certain: from now on, Guanyin Bodhisattva would have one utterly devoted believer.

Whether by coincidence or divine intervention, it was good news. Qin Yun offered congratulations. As she entered Fayu Temple to worship, he quietly slipped away.

The largest and most crowded temples on Mount Putuo are Puji Temple, Fayu Chan Temple, and Huji Chan Temple.

Besides these, Mount Putuo has many lesser-known small temples. After registration and standardization, they’ve gradually opened, but their popularity is incomparable to the three major temples.

Qin Yun descended from the back of Fayu Chan Temple, walking slowly, pausing now and then. He checked the sky, then marked the Yinxiu Lecture Hall before heading down the mountain to find lodging.

On Mount Putuo, lodgings are hard to book during peak season—even now, many are in high demand.

He found a guesthouse costing two or three hundred per night. The owner was warm, saying he could go to the rooftop terrace tonight—they’d be hosting a party there.

Qin Yun noted it, ordered dinner, and returned to his room.

When dinner time came, the owner asked his permission, then immediately had the kitchen start cooking.

The guesthouse dining area had three round tables and one square table. All three round tables were occupied—likely family groups. His gaze landed on the woman eating at the square table.

Sensing his attention, Su Ying looked up—and her face lit up with surprise.

“Qin Yun? What a coincidence! Tell me—are you following me on purpose, trying to arrange a chance meeting?”

Qin Yun rubbed his forehead, sat across from her, thinking: You’re really hard to shake off.

Outwardly, he smiled: “I thought you’d take the last ferry back. Why are you still here tomorrow?”

Freed from psychological pressure, Su Ying relaxed: “I came all this way—I’ll enjoy myself tomorrow.”

Qin Yun nodded, said nothing more. The owner brought out the dishes. Qin Yun ordered stir-fried crab with rice cakes, salted shrimp, roasted ribbonfish, clear-simmered wild mushrooms, and a pot of rice.

The four dishes made Su Ying’s eyes bulge.

The guesthouse served generous portions—her plate of seafood noodles looked bland beside his overflowing platter.

“Won’t you eat too much alone?” Su Ying ventured.

Qin Yun ladled rice: “How about—”

Before “how about” finished, Su Ying grinned and reached her chopsticks over: “Thank you—I won’t be polite.”

Qin Yun’s face darkened.

Since his body improved, his appetite had exploded. These four dishes were nothing to him—he finished them all with the pot of rice in under twenty minutes.

Su Ying, even with chopsticks in hand, ate barely anything.

After eating, they went to the rooftop. The owner had turned it into a free-activity zone. Many guests were there, with entertainment: arcade machines, treadmills, badminton.

Qin Yun wandered around, spotting a corner piled with wood and finished wood carvings, plus several carving tools. His interest stirred.

Since the jade carving, Qin Yun hadn’t touched carving. Now, seeing suitable tools, he thought: since he was on Mount Putuo, why not carve a small gift for his mother, then bring it to Puji Temple for a monk to bless?

Hmm… since he was here, why not carve a few more?

Thinking this, he sat down—then realized the wood was just for tourists to play with, likely casually cut from nearby trees.

He remembered Mount Putuo had many craft shops—perhaps they sold suitable wood.

“Qin Yun, you can carve?”

Qin Yun looked up, smiled—neither denying nor confirming.