The first time I saw Ming Shi was in the Guanyin Hall of Jing’an Temple. The spring rain was like smoke, and he was kneeling on a prayer mat, reciting the Lotus Sutra. Water stains bloomed on the bluestone slab, like the frost that wouldn’t melt in his eyes. Clasping the dew-kissed sutra scroll, I suddenly recalled what a palace attendant had said: “This eminent monk is a reincarnated living Buddha from Jinshan Temple. Seeing him once can clear ten years of bad karma.”

“Princess, with your noble status, there’s no need to personally copy sutras.” He turned, his kasaya brushing against my knee. It was then I noticed the jade prayer beads on his wrist, the very ones I had ordered to be sent to him. Each bead was as clear as emerald water, gleaming softly in the candlelight. “The eminent monk says all sentient beings suffer. I copy sutras and pray for blessings, merely wishing to share the burdens of the common people.”

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