At Lingshan, the Buddha sat serenely on a lotus, his gaze distant as he looked up at the sky.
He had maintained this posture for half a day, without preaching, leaving many curious eyes turning to the heavens.
"There's nothing in the sky."
The young monk withdrew his gaze, feeling his neck ache: "Master, is the Buddha daydreaming?"
"Don't speak nonsense."
The Eastern Buddha scolded with a smile, "How could the Buddha be daydreaming?"
"Master, you're also a Buddha, and you often…" he couldn't finish his words before the Eastern Buddha blocked his mouth with a wooden fish.
Among thousands of Buddhas, the Tathāgata retracted his gaze.
"The sky has darkened."
His words held deep meaning.
Despite the subtle phenomenon in the sky, discernible to only a few, the Buddha took it very seriously.
In the Great Heroic Treasure Hall, none knew that his heart was in tumult.
Yet, from not preaching for half a day, others could sense a little something.
"Buddha,"
