Chapter 662: Tathagata's Meal

Wait a moment.

Tathagata walked into the kitchen, and Yu Lin leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching him.

Lao Jun sat down on the living room sofa, crossed his legs, picked up the teacup on the coffee table, took a sip, then set it down, his expression saying, "I want to see what that bald donkey can pull off."

Tathagata stood in the center of the kitchen, looking around.

Stove, sink, cutting board, seasoning rack, and refrigerator—everything was in its proper place.

Hmm, not bad.

He nodded slightly, reached into his monk's robe sleeve, took out a wooden box, and placed it on the cutting board.

The wooden box was small enough to hold in one palm, its surface unadorned, the dark brown wood glowing warmly in the kitchen light.

He opened the wooden box; inside lay five lotus seeds.

The dark red one was rich as blood, the golden one bright as light, the silvery white one cool as snow, the emerald green one fresh as spring, and the jet black one deep as night.

The five lotus seeds lay quietly in the wooden box, their aura restrained, showing nothing unusual.

Tathagata pulled a kitchen knife from the rack on the cutting board.

The blade wasn't long, its edge flashing coldly in the light.

He pressed his left hand on the board, held the knife in his right, the tip hovering an inch above the dark red lotus seed, then lightly carved a few flower-cut strokes.

The kitchen fell silent.

Tathagata placed the dark red lotus seed into a copper pot, added water, and covered it.

The moment the lid sealed, stove fire shot out from the burner, licking the pot's base.

The copper pot heated over the fire, the lotus seed churning in the water.

First a white mist rose in the pot; when it dissipated, the lid began to vibrate, emitting a humming sound.

Tathagata lifted the lid; hot air blasted his face, the water in the pot had evaporated, and the outer skin of the lotus seed, which had been flower-cut, fell off.

Inside, the core had split open along a seam, oozing a thread of red light.

That light rose from the copper pot and condensed in the kitchen air into a phantom of Buddha.

Buddha's features were blurred, his expression indiscernible, but his aura was calm and steady, as weighty as the earth.

He wore a monk's robe, held a lotus blossom, and sat cross-legged in midair.

Yu Lin gazed at the phantom and recognized it.

That was an emanation of Amitabha Buddha, the leader of the Western Pure Land.

Tathagata reached out, gathered the phantom, and pressed it back into the lotus seed.

The lotus seed stilled, lying quietly at the bottom of the pot.

He took the lotus seed out of the copper pot, placed it on the cutting board, and with one chop split it in half.

At the cut, dark red juice seeped out, flowing down the grooves of the board.

Tathagata reached for a blue-and-white porcelain bowl and caught the juice.

The juice pooled in the bowl, growing more abundant, shifting from dark red to vivid red, then to golden yellow.

It swirled in the bowl, forming a vortex whose center flashed with golden light; Tathagata placed the bowl of juice into the steamer basket.

The steamer basket sat on the stove, and the stove fire was lit again.

Steam escaped from the seams of the basket, carrying a sweet fragrance.

That scent was not strong, faint, like the aroma of rice stalks drifting over fields on an autumn evening.

The lid of the steamer basket twitched slightly under the pressure of the steam.

Tathagata lifted the steamer lid; the juice in the bowl had solidified, its surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting the kitchen lights.

He set the bowl beside the stove and began to work on the second lotus seed.

The golden one.

Tathagata did not cut it with a knife; instead he placed it in his palm, pressed his hands together, and gently rubbed.

The lotus seed turned in his palm, emitting a faint rubbing sound.

The light in the kitchen began to shift, from warm yellow to golden, then to blazing white, like the midday sun streaming through the window.

Tathagata's palm glowed, light leaking from between his fingers and casting spots of light on the kitchen walls.

He opened his hand; the lotus seed had vanished, leaving a mass of golden liquid in his palm, like molten gold.

He poured the liquid into a glazed bowl; the bowl was transparent, the golden liquid swirling within, reflecting every utensil in the kitchen—stove, cutting board, knife rack, sink, refrigerator—all mirrored in that golden mass.

Tathagata set the glazed bowl on the stove, applying no heat or steam.

The golden liquid in the bowl cooled slowly, its surface beginning to solidify into a thin film.

The film grew thicker, shifting from gold to amber.

Tathagata lightly tapped the surface with a spoon, producing a clear sound, like tapping on glass.

He peeled the film off, placed it on the cutting board, and cut it into small pieces.

Each piece was the same size and shape.

He arranged the pieces on a plate, forming them into a flower shape.

The silvery white one.

Tathagata placed it in a stone mortar and crushed it with a stone pestle.

The pestle fell; the lotus seed cracked with a crisp sound, like stepping on thin ice in winter.

The powder in the mortar became ever finer, from granules to powder to dust.

The dust flew from the mortar, drifting through the air to settle on the cutting board, the stove, the floor—like a thin layer of frost.

Tathagata dipped a finger in the dust and drew a circle on the cutting board.

The dust gathered, spun, and coalesced within the circle into a mass of silvery white light.

The orb of light rose from the cutting board and hovered in midair.

The Tathagata pointed at the stove; the orb drifted over, landed on the stove and spread out, turning into a silvery-white thin pancake.

The pancake flipped itself on the stove, and both sides were fried to a golden, crisp perfection.

The Tathagata rolled the pancake up and sliced it into small pieces.

Each piece was the same size; the cut surface resembled tree rings, concentric circles from the outer golden edge to the inner silvery core, clearly layered.

The emerald‑green one.

The Tathagata placed it into a clay jar, added water, and sealed the lid.

The clay jar was set on the stove over a low flame to simmer slowly.

The water in the jar began to bubble; bubbles rose from the bottom, burst on the surface, and splashed out fine Water Droplets.

Steam lifted the jar's lid, which then fell back down.

The Tathagata reached back and lifted the lid.

The lotus seeds inside the jar vanished, the water disappeared, leaving only a mass of emerald‑green viscous liquid slowly flowing at the bottom of the jar.

The Tathagata poured the liquid into a shallow dish, where it spread out thinly.

The dish was placed on the stove to cool; the liquid gradually solidified, turning from liquid to gel, then from gel to solid.

Its surface developed fine patterns, like leaf veins, like river branches.

The jet‑black one.

The Tathagata did not treat it further, merely placing it in a black Clay Bowl, which sat in a corner of the stove.

The jet‑black lotus seeds lay in the black Clay Bowl, almost invisible.

The Tathagata did not glance at it again.

The aroma in the kitchen grew stronger.

Five distinct scents mingled yet did not interfere, each clearly discernible.

Lao Jun peeked from the living room toward the kitchen, then withdrew.

He muttered:

"These bald donkeys really know how to part with............ hmm."

"Fine."

He shook his head and stopped murmuring.

Until.

The Tathagata began to carry the dishes to the table.

The first course was the dark‑red one, served in a blue‑and‑white porcelain bowl.

What was in the bowl resembled an ordinary red bean soup: thick, dark‑red broth with a few whole red beans floating on the surface.

Yu Lin lifted a spoon, scooped a mouthful, and as the spoon stirred the soup, a golden sheen rippled across the bottom of the bowl.

The light emanated from the soup itself.

He set the spoon back on the rim.

The second course was the golden‑yellow pieces, arranged into the shape of a flower.

Each piece was crystal clear, allowing the pattern on the underlying plate to be seen through its surface.

They were packed tightly, with no gaps between petals, indistinguishable as assembled pieces.

The third course was the rolled silvery‑white pancake, cut into small sections and placed on the plate.

The cut surface showed concentric rings, with colors shifting from the outside inward: deep silvery, light silvery, pure white, transparent, and the very center hollow.

The fourth course was the emerald‑green solid, thin and covering the entire plate.

When the plate was set on the table, the patterns continued to shift, veins extending, branches bifurcating.

The fifth course was the black Clay Bowl.

The lotus seeds inside were still lotus seeds, jet‑black, exactly as they had been when taken from the wooden box.

But their surface now bore a sheen, as if something had soaked them.

The Tathagata carried the final bowl of rice to the table.

The rice was served in a white porcelain bowl; each grain was distinct, plump, translucent, exuding a faint rice fragrance.

The Tathagata placed the white rice before Yu Lin, extending a hand in a gesture of invitation.

"Please."

Yu Lin picked up his chopsticks, pinched a grain of rice, and put it into his mouth.

The rice melted on his tongue, a warm sensation traveling down from his throat, through his chest, pausing in his stomach, then spreading to his limbs.

After swallowing, he nodded and said:

"Thank you."