Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2822: A Humble Gift And The Lotus Valley

The Abbot raised his hand—and from his sleeve, drew out a single bead. It was round, dark wood polished with age, simple yet impossibly old. Lin Mu sensed a depth in it, like the memory of ten thousand prayers.

”This was once part of my own mala,” the Abbot said. ”It has no power. It grants no strength. But it will remind you.”

He held it out.

Lin Mu accepted it with both hands, bowing his head.

It was a precious gift that no one had received before and it was a great privilege to get one.

The old men in the hall returned to their solemn meditation, having no more words for Lin Mu.

”Letʼs go, Iʼll show you around the temple.” Monk Hushu said, knowing their time here was over.

As Lin Mu left the grand temple, the prayer bells faded behind him, but their soft tones lingered in Lin Muʼs heart like echoes in a still cavern.

He descended the mountain quietly, accompanied by Monk Hushu. The stone steps curved gently downward, flanked by tall, wind-whispering pines and delicate snow-kissed shrubs. The world seemed to hold its breath in reverence with each step he took.

As they reached the halfway mark, the forest thinned out into rolling slopes and serene meadows dotted with wild saffron and blue poppies. The mountainʼs base, unlike the icy solemnity above, cradled a vibrant valley full of life.

And at its heart, nestled between the arms of gentle hills, shimmered the Lotus Valley.

A holy sanctuary within the already sacred lands of the Green Lotus Temple.

Mist floated low over the grass, curling around stone lanterns and wooden archways that led to small shrines scattered across the landscape. Flocks of golden-feathered birds drifted lazily in the air, chirping soft, rhythmic notes as though mimicking the chants heard above.

But what drew Lin Muʼs eye was the lakes.

There were seven in total, spread like polished mirrors across the valley. Each one was shaped slightly differently—circular, crescent, teardrop, and more—but they all shared the same characteristic: perfectly still surfaces and a soft violet glow rising from their centers.

And from within that glow bloomed the treasures of the temple: Urim Violet Petal Lotuses.

Lin Mu stepped closer to the edge of the first lake.

The water was unnaturally clear. So clear, in fact, that the bottom could be seen dozens of meters down—revealing beds of pale sand and smooth jade-like stones. But the true marvel floated upon the surface.

The Urim Violet Petal Lotus.

Unlike any other flower Lin Mu had seen, each lotus had nine petals, rather than the usual eight or ten. The petals shimmered with translucent light, as if woven from the very twilight sky. At their center glowed its pistils, like a heart of amethyst, pulsing gently with spiritual energy. Faint trails of Qi rose from them like threads of incense smoke, dancing upward and fading into the breeze.

”These are… magnificent,” Lin Mu whispered.

”They are sacred,” Monk Hushu replied, standing beside him with hands folded. ”Each lake holds a different generation of the Urim Violet Petal Lotus. They bloom once every seventy years. Some of these blooms have not been seen since before I or even some of the elders were born.”

Lin Muʼs gaze swept across the lakes. ”Seven generations?”

”Yes,” Hushu said, nodding. ”This valley is one of the most spiritually fertile places in the Green Lotus Templeʼs territory. The lotuses choose where to bloom. We do not plant them. We simply protect and observe.”

As they walked along a winding stone path, Lin Mu began to feel the Qi in the air thickening—not in pressure, but in purity. It was like breathing in moonlight.

”The Urim Lotus isnʼt just beautiful,” Hushu continued. ”It is said to reflect the state of oneʼs soul. If you gaze into the heart of the lotus, and the lotus does not reject you… it will show you a glimpse of yourself beyond the material.”

”Beyond the material?” Lin Mu repeated, intrigued.

Hushu gestured to a wide platform that overlooked the fourth lake—an elongated oval pool with dozens of blooming lotuses. A small pavilion stood at the center, accessible by a narrow wooden bridge adorned with chimes.

”The fourth lake,” Hushu explained, ”is the Lake of Quiet Reflection. Many monks meditate here. Some enter trance states that last months. It is not a place for training the body, but the spirit.”

”Have any ever seen their true self?” Lin Mu asked, eyeing the luminous blossoms.

”Some claim they have,” Hushu said. ”But words fall short when one tries to describe the infinite. The lotus doesnʼt show a face or a memory. It shows… a feeling. A knowing. Something deep and impossible to quantify.”

Lin Mu crossed the bridge slowly, feeling as if each step pushed deeper into his own psyche.

He reached the pavilion, knelt down, and looked into the nearest Urim Lotus.

Its petals quivered—not from the wind, but as if reacting to his presence.

Then, the heart of the lotus began to pulse brighter. Lin Muʼs breath caught in his throat as the world around him dimmed, and the center of the flower drew his vision inward. He didnʼt see visions or dreams. He felt presence.

A moment later, a single word resonated within him, like a chime struck in his chest.

”Anchor.”

Lin Muʼs eyes fluttered open. He hadnʼt realized he had closed them. The lotus before him had returned to stillness, but the word remained embedded in his thoughts.

ʼAnchor?ʼ

Before he could ponder further, Monk Hushuʼs voice drifted over.

”Did it speak?”

Lin Mu turned, still kneeling. ”It didnʼt use words, exactly. But I heard… Anchor.”

Monk Hushuʼs eyes widened slightly, but he gave a slow, knowing nod. ”The lotus never lies. You carry burdens, Lin Mu. Anchors—perhaps to this world, to the people in it. But an anchor also keeps a ship steady during the storm.”

Lin Mu stood slowly, his mind awash with quiet understanding.