Page 7 of The Oni's Heart

The Dai-sozu rank was a marker of progress, strength, and mastery. But sometimes, I wondered if I was still as broken as the day I had first set foot in this temple. The past—the boy I had been—didn’t disappear just because I wore these robes, and I still couldn’t shed the weight of my imperfections. But I had to keep moving forward.I had to.To fall behind, to stagnate, would be to let that past consume me once again.

I often thought about the future—the next rank, the path that awaited me. Risshi, the rank above me, was the true test of everything I had been working for. Reaching that level meant mastery of the teachings, the rituals, and perhaps most daunting of all, the ability to lead others. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, but it was the direction my life had been set on from the moment I had taken the vow.

I couldn’t afford to falter. I had to keep my focus. The expectation weighed heavily on my shoulders, and I often wondered if I would be able to reach the pinnacle of what I had committed to so many years ago. Would I continue to rise, or would I remain trapped in my own flaws, my own doubts?

It was a question I had no answer to yet, but I couldn’t stop pushing forward. I hoped that, like the lotus, my flaws would eventually fade as I worked toward enlightenment. But for now, all I could do was keep moving—one step, one chant, one breath at a time.

"Ah, Tatsuya," a voice interrupted my thoughts.

I straightened up, setting my palms flat on the cool stone. It was my superior, an older monk whose face was etched with the wisdom and weariness of many years. His robes were a deep brown and mustard, the fabric heavy with the weight ofexperience. He stood there, watching me with those knowing eyes that always made me feel as though he saw through every façade I tried to maintain.

"How is the worship going today?" he asked, his tone light, but his question heavy with the weight of expectation.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to remain even. "The morning chants are complete. The temple is in order."

He nodded, his hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. "Good, good. We must keep the balance, as the lotus blooms only when the mud is tended to."

The old Buddhist idioms. They never ceased to remind me of my own imperfections. I nodded politely, not wanting to question his words, but internally I felt the familiar stir of discomfort. The lotus blooms only when the mud is tended to. It always seemed to imply that there was something beneath the surface that needed to be cleaned, to be fixed. But what if the mud never went away? What if there was no way to clear it from my own heart?

"I hope the young monks are learning the lessons well?" he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking out toward the small group of novices sweeping the outer courtyard.

"Yes," I said, forcing a smile. "They are diligent. It will take time, as always."

He studied me for a moment, and I could feel the weight of his gaze. His eyes were sharp, as though he could see the turmoil within me. "Remember, Tatsuya, patience is the path to enlightenment, not haste. You must let things unfold as they are meant to. The mountain does not rush to meet the sky."

His words were a balm, but they also stung. I had spent years in this temple, trying to embody patience, trying to walk the path without looking back. But the past followed me in the nature of shadows, no matter how far I ran.Iwas the mountain, I realized, and I had not yet learned how to meet the sky. I had not yetlearned how to reconcile the boy I had been with the monk I was supposed to be.

"Thank you, Dai-risshi," I said quietly, bowing my head. "I will reflect on your words."

He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod and, without another word, turned to leave. His footsteps echoed down the long hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to clear the weight from my chest. The quiet felt heavy now, the sounds of my own breathing filling the space around me. I swept the broom a few more times, my movements automatic, but my mind was elsewhere.

It had been a few days since I’d run into her—the girl. I didn’t catch her name, but her image still lingered in the back of my mind, a memory I couldn’t quite shake. I had only seen her for a brief moment or two—just long enough to catch the edge of somethingunsettlingin her eyes. There was a wildness to her, a sadness that radiated even through the briefest of interactions. The way she’d brushed past me, the way her eyes flicked over me as if she couldn’t quite decide whether to trust me or not—it unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

Who wouldn't trust a monk? I asked myself, trying to convince my thoughts. But beneath that fragile confidence, an old, serpentine voice slithered through my mind, whispering that she saw right through me.

Perhaps I was thinking too deeply into it. Old demons trying to pull me back into a world I no longer belonged to. I had been trying to ignore it, trying to focus on my duties, but I couldn’t help it. She haunted the corners of my thoughts. I wondered if she was in trouble and if that was the reason for her visit to the temple.

There had been something in her, a desperation or perhaps a kind of restlessness, that made me wonder if she needed help.I had seen many souls the same as hers pass through the city, people who tried to outrun their pasts, or their mistakes. They often found no solace, no place to hide. And it made me wonder if I could offer her something, if only for a moment.

I found myself turning toward the door of the temple, my hand lingering on the edge of it.

Don’t go looking for her,I told myself.Focus on your path. Let go of distractions.

But the thought of her sorrowful eyes lingered equivalent to a weight I couldn’t shake off, pressing down on me with every step. No matter how much I tried to push it away, it crept back, relentless, comparable to a losing battle I couldn’t win.

Without another word, I stepped out into the crisp morning air, the smell of incense still clinging to my robes, grounding me in the familiarity of the temple. For a brief moment, my mind felt clear—just the cool air and the soft rhythm of my footsteps. But then, like a persistent shadow, there was a pull in my chest. A gnawing feeling that Ihadto find her.

I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something deeper, a flicker of responsibility I couldn’t explain. But as I walked, the tug only grew stronger. She lingered in my thoughts, and I couldn’t shake the sense that there was something about her I needed to understand.

Maybe I was fooling myself. Her guarded eyes showed a glimpse of a past she couldn’t escape and it haunted me. I had seen that look before. I’d seen it in myself.

I was the son of a prostitute. My mother, who spent her nights with men who paid for her company, had never been able to protect herself—or me—from the darkness that consumed her life. My father was a drunkard, the type who never saw me as anything more than a mistake to be ignored or beaten into submission. When her life was stolen by the very man whoshould have protected us, I was left with nothing but the weight of a childhood soaked in blood and pain.

That was when I had been brought to the temple. I was just a boy, trembling and scared, too broken to know how to live and too lost to know how to survive. The monks took me in, and I began my new life, trying to escape the echoes of my past—the violence, the shame, the fear.

The temple offered me a sanctuary, but it didn’t erase the scars, the feelings of worthlessness that followed me with disconsolateness. I thought I could outrun it, that through prayer and discipline, I could bury it deep. But now, standing in the middle of the city, I could feel that same heaviness again.

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