The moon hung low, draping a pale silver veil across the quiet pond. Monks, their robes soaked and torches flickering in the wind, waded through mud pulling lilies and reeds aside. The tramp's ribbon found hours ago, had stolen their sleep and peace alike. None dared complain. They only cast furtive glances at their Master.
Seated on the bank, the Master dipped his feet into the cold water, winding the ribbon around his wrist with almost painful tenderness. Then…
"Report from the palace! Report from the palace!"
A frantic cry tore through the night. And breathless monk stumbled forward, presenting a golden envelope cupped in trembling hands. Before he could speak, the Master flicked his wrist.
The letter brushed his palm, then slipped into the pond.
The monk froze.
A palace letter was no trivial matter; it could carry orders, accusations… or death.
"Master,"
the monk whispered, reaching toward the sinking glint beneath the water. He retrieved the wet envelope with trembling fingers and held it out carefully.
"Forgive my boldness… but will you not accept this message?"
At last, the Master moved. He stretched out his hand, and the monk placed the letter upon his palm.
But instead of opening it to read, the Master tore it apart. The golden pieces scattered like broken sunlight across the water.
"What have you done?" the monk choked, panic rising. "We'll be executed if we're ignorant of its contents!"
More monks gathered along the shore, eyes wide, bodies taut with dread. No one dared breathe.
"Ungrateful dogs!" the Master's fury ignited as thunder.
"Whose servants are you? Who feeds you? Who clothes you? The palace?"
"Servants?!"
A bucket flew crashing into the water near the Master and sheet of icy spray hit his face.
Gasps rippled through the group.
No one stepped back.
No one dared step forward.
"You insolent old man!" A monk shouted from across the pond. "You think you can order us around and insult us too? We are not servants!"
"Oh?" The Master's lips curled. "Not servants? How bold of you!"
The entire monastery held its breath.
They were no longer hoping for answers, only praying they would survive the night.
"Better stay where you are," the Master warned softly. "Unless you wish to trade your bones to the creatures beneath this pond."
The monk scoffed. Seriously? An old man's threat? What could he do? Yell louder? Toss another fit?
So he took a single step.
The Master raised his palm.
Air split.
A storm erupted from the pond, wind and water surging upward in a spiraling column of pink lotus petals and flailing fish. The wave crashed onto the defiant monk, swallowing him whole. In a blink, he was gone, swept away into the falling water.
Silence fell.
The pond stilled.
Only the torn petals drifted softly to the surface.
The Master surveyed the trembling monks, eyes red with fury.
"Let another dog rise," his voice was dangerously low that time, "and let the pond's beasts gnaw your bones. Now, continue!"
*Thx for reading.