(Thanks to the doctor, Sauce Beef and others for their rewards, thank you! The update is delivered!)

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A gust of night wind blew in through the window glass, shaking the white curtains.

The wind on summer nights is good. Even a hot air can make people feel the flow of air, let you know that you are still alive and hot.

At this moment, there were more than a dozen broken Buddhist scriptures in the room. Lin Yi sat cross-legged quietly. He tried his best to concentrate his mind, and his sensitive sense of smell spread to pursue the fragrance of books flowing from the Buddhist scriptures.

Lin Yi has had this situation many times. The fragrance of books that he smelled is different every time, including apple, orange, and strawberry. It is better to say that they are fresh fruit aromas than books.

But this time it's different.

It is not the fragrance of fruit, but the sandalwood smell that only exists in the Buddhist temple.

A few strands of sandalwood drifted over and into Lin Yi's nose.

The faint sandalwood seemed to be there and none, and it seemed to be true and illusory, which evoked Lin Yi's childhood memories. When Lin Yi's family was young, he would set up an incense altar on New Year's Eve, put in incense candles, and worship the omnipresent gods from afar. The piety of his parents did not bring much change to the family. He did not make money or get rich, nor did he really have no illness or disaster, but Lin Yi remembered this very pleasant smell of sandalwood.

I don’t know who said that the memory of taste can be preserved for a lifetime. For example, when you were a child, you like the fragrance of soda or candy, then when you die, you will recall this breath again. That breath can instantly restore your clear childhood memory.

Memories flash by, and in just five seconds, your life will be yours.

Of course, Lin Yi was not yet dead, but the memory of worshiping God in childhood was extremely clear, as if it happened yesterday. He remembered every detail and every step, remembered that his father was wearing a black cotton jacket at the time, with a broken mouth on the left sleeve revealing white cotton. He was wearing Yeliang pants, and under his feet was a pair of black-headed cotton shoes. The edges of the cotton shoes were stained with a lot of black mud. His eyes, his mouth, and the beard under his mouth...

It has been many years since my father passed away. Lin Yi rarely remembers him because he was still very young when he left, but now, Lin Yi remembers everything--I remember that after my father finished worshiping God, he gave him the best rice cake, remember that he tucked himself in the middle of the night, remember that he had a fever, he sat on the bed and wiped cold water on his forehead, remember that he made a face and made himself laugh...

A wisp of sandalwood opened Lin Yi's heart, like a key to unlock the lock, completely opening the door in Lin Yi's heart.

...

As the smell of sandalwood became heavier, the memories in Lin Yi's mind began to change.

Dad disappeared, and the plot of worshiping God was gone. At this moment, he seemed to be in a Buddhist temple, with smoke and the sound of Sang Sang.

Rows of engraving workers with braids were naked and exposed their strong chests. They washed their hands and faces with holy water, and then began to pick up carving knives and engrave them wildly against rows of wooden boards. The words on the Buddhist scriptures were carved and typed out, black ink, white rice paper, soft cotton paper... The words on the Buddhist scriptures were printed, Amitabha, cause and effect, and the four elements were empty...

The engraved Buddhist scriptures are treasured in the Buddhist temple's sutra building and placed on a wide variety of bookshelf--

Everything was beautiful, and there would be old monks and young monks who would take them out from time to time, look through them, and recite them...

But time flashed, and there were golden swords and iron horses, bloody volcanoes and rivers outside.

The temple was broken, and the monks fell one by one in the sea of ​​fire, and a pretty little monk was bleeding from his body. His eyes were very persistent. He ran to the Sutra Tower, put the precious Buddhist scriptures in sacks, carried them on his back, and hid them carefully in the cave outside the temple again and again, and then pushed the stones and sealed them.

Time passes.

When the cave opened, the little monk turned into a young man, still a monk, still staying in this temple. He took out all the hidden scriptures with great enthusiasm, touching them like stroking his relatives, with joy flashing.

...

Time passed, and the originally peaceful life was broken by artillery fire again.

A team of Japanese soldiers occupied the temple. The young monk was beaten to the point of bruising and swollen face. He vomited blood in his mouth and had to hide his precious Buddhist scriptures in the cave again. Unfortunately, the original three thousand volumes of Buddhist scriptures were only hidden in more than two thousand volumes, and the rest were found by the Japanese and snatched away.

Darkness, darkness again.

Darkness will eventually pass.

When the light came again, the original little monk had become a middle-aged man. The Buddhist scriptures were transported out of the cave again, returned to the Sutra Library again, and placed on the bookshelf again.

...

Times have changed and a new society has arrived. He thought everything would be quiet and the temples were rebuilt. The artillery fire in the past was no longer there, and the swords and weapons were no longer there. All the only things were the loneliness of the ancient temples in the mountain. There were not many monks in the temple, but they recited these Buddhist scriptures very seriously. The sound of the Buddha was curling, like smoke from a chimney, floating into the mountains and forests.

This peaceful and beautiful life did not last long. To be precise, the world changed again in just over a dozen years. Teams of Red Guards broke into this century-old ancient temple with great courage and entered the Sutra Library. They piled up all the scriptures they could find together, shouted the slogan of "breaking the four olds", and continued to set off, and the fire burned down these precious books.

The Buddhist scriptures were crying, and they were wailing in the fire. At this time, the little monk had become an old monk. He was hunched on his back, with turbid tears, and could only look at the Buddhist scriptures one by one and a book of them buried in the fire.

These Buddhist scriptures he had touched and read were burning page by page, sizzling, and the air was filled with the smell of burning books, and a scent of indescribable sorrow.

The old monk wanted to cry, but found that he could never shed any more. His eyes were dry and everything he saw was darkness and endless darkness.

There are more than two thousand Buddhist scriptures, but only more than three hundred are left. These are hidden by the monks in temples. They hide these Buddhist scriptures in tree pits, hidden in cracks of walls, hidden under stoves, and hidden in bird nests... Some even hide at their waists, like children and treasures. For others, they only hide Buddhist scriptures, but for themselves, they hide a kind of faith.

People can be destroyed, books can be destroyed, and faith cannot be lost!

...

Times change----

The old monk was in his twilight years and could not even walk the road. The turbulent world became quiet again, and the remaining Buddhist scriptures were put together again. The old monk did not call on the person next to him, but instead took the Buddhist scriptures back on the bookshelf by himself, with his movements gentle and gentle, like treating his closest child... When he coughed blood while watching the scriptures placed on the bookshelf, his eyes were bright, exactly the same as the young monk before.

The world has become peaceful and prosperous, and the temples have been renovated. All the originally dilapidated things have been vacated and thrown into the garbage dump. These dusty and musty scriptures have become scraps, put into sacks, and discarded in the garbage dump that no one cares about...

...

Lin Yi's breathing became heavy. His eyes were closed, and his mind was condensed in the stories of these Buddhist scriptures. But from his nose, two streams of blue smoke came leisurely. The blue smoke was like two lively little snakes, surrounding the broken Buddhist scriptures, turning into gentle hands, gently stroking them and comforting them. The broken Buddhist scriptures were slowly repairing, healing, and slowly rejuvenating new life...

The spiritual energy emitted by Lin Yi absorbs the essence of these Buddhist scriptures and also cleanses the essence of these broken Buddhist scriptures. Everything looks so peaceful, so harmonious, so incredible.

...

I don’t know how long it took, but Lin Yi opened his eyes and felt his whole body full of indescribable comfort and his spirit was extremely abundant. But when he saw a ray of light coming from outside the window, the sun came and dawn came. Looking at the broken Buddhist scriptures in front of him, all of them were completely renewed.
Chapter completed!