The cicadas fade as golden leaves take flight,
The bicycle glides through the fading light.
To guard pure thoughts with sincerity and grace,
The boundless Dao protects the mortal space.
The Fading Symphony of Summer
Hoa Long realized that if he wished to meet more fated souls, moving through the city on a motorcycle was not the ideal way. A motorcycle carried him rapidly from one destination to another, blurring the faces along the road. A bicycle, however, granted him the gift of slowness.
He visited a secondhand shop and purchased an aging bicycle—a modest vehicle with scratched paint, worn pedals, and a humming chain. It possessed no grandeur, yet to Hoa Long, it was more than enough. He wanted to move at a human pace, to observe the people along the avenues, and to retain the freedom to halt whenever a spiritual connection called to him.
Late summer arrived, slanting sunlight stretching across the lanes like a veil of shimmering dust. The relentless drone of cicadas no longer formed the roaring overture of midsummer; it softened into a fading melody, whispering its final notes before surrendering to the stillness of autumn.
Amidst this quiet transition, Hoa Long pedaled through the streets. Dressed simply, he appeared as an ordinary middle-aged man making his way through the bustling city. Yet a quiet purpose directed every turn of his wheels.
That morning, Hoa Long had withdrawn nearly all of his modest savings. He was not investing in gold for profit, nor was he attempting to hoard secular wealth. In his spiritual understanding, those who worked with precious metals often possessed ancient ties with the Buddha Fa. Gold reflected the radiance and absolute purity of the Tathagata realm, while silver held the profound compassion of the Bodhisattva realm.
To ordinary eyes, they were merely commodities. To Hoa Long, each shop was a portal to awaken a slumbering spirit.
The Grand Goldsmith
Near midday, Hoa Long stopped before a prominent, well-established gold hall. He parked his bicycle outside and stepped inside.
The security guard at the entrance glanced at his simple attire, his eyes drifting toward the worn bicycle leaning against the curb. The look was not openly hostile, merely cautious—wondering what a man riding a rusty bicycle intended to buy in a luxury hall. Hoa Long perceived the glance but held no human attachment to pride.
A young saleswoman approached with a professional smile: “How may I assist you today, sir?”
“One mace of gold, please.”
She checked the display counters and shook her head apologetically: “I’m sorry, sir. We are out of one-mace pieces. We currently only have five-mace bars and one-tael ingots.”
Hoa Long paused, then smiled warmly: “Then I shall take five maces.”
The saleswoman blinked in surprise. The man who arrived on a bicycle had effortlessly scaled his purchase fivefold without a second thought.
While she prepared the gold, Hoa Long looked around at the anxious faces of the patrons. The shadow of the pandemic hung heavily over the room.
“In these times, everyone carries fear,” Hoa Long remarked gently. “Not merely for themselves, but for their aging parents and young children. A single infection disrupts entire families and turns daily life upside down.”
The saleswoman sighed, nodding in agreement.
“I studied pharmacy in my youth,” Hoa Long continued, his tone conversational rather than preachy. “The mind and body share an intricate bond. When a soul remains trapped in constant anxiety and resentment, the physical frame carries that heavy burden. Yet when the heart stabilizes into calm, the body recovers far better. Sincerity, compassion, and tolerance are the true shields during a crisis.”
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He then gently touched upon the deeper cause of tribulation—how turning away from truth and suppressing righteousness inevitably brought cosmic consequences upon human society.
The saleswoman processed the transaction and announced the total cost. Hoa Long handed over the exact amount of cash, which was then passed to the young female accountant at the inner counter to issue the official invoice.
The accountant had been listening attentively to every word Hoa Long shared about moral elevation, inner peace, and the spiritual roots of health. As she stamped the receipt, she looked at Hoa Long, her voice carrying deep, genuine sincerity:
“In a time when moral values are declining so rapidly, hearing these words today makes me feel truly fortunate.”
She then handed him the receipt alongside two hundred thousand VND in cash, adding with an honest smile:
“Sir, the sales clerk miscalculated the initial total. Here is your change.”
Hoa Long accepted the money, a subtle, profound warmth filling his heart. He rejoiced not for the returned currency, but for the soul standing before him—a spirit that had chosen honesty and virtue over quiet gain the moment the Truth touched her conscience.
Nearby, two young women selecting gold jewelry had also been quietly listening to the exchange. As Hoa Long spoke of maintaining a serene, compassionate heart, the visible anxiety in their expressions dissolved, replaced by a sense of quiet relief and hope.
The saleswoman looked at him, her eyes softening: “What you say... somehow makes the fear lift from my chest.”
Hoa Long offered a gentle smile: “Keep a calm mind and cherish goodness. That is enough.”
Dissolving the Unseen Pain
At another gold shop down the avenue, the encounter unfolded differently.
The shop owner, a middle-aged woman, walked out from the back room clutching her arm in discomfort. Having recently received a vaccine, she was experiencing severe, distressing side effects.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Hoa Long inquired with genuine care.
“My whole body feels heavy and sore,” she replied tiredly.
Hoa Long offered no medical claims or grand promises. He simply spoke with profound warmth: “Do not let fear magnify the sensation. When fear takes hold, the burden doubles. Rest your mind, keep your thoughts peaceful, and let your body settle.”
While she weighed his small purchase of gold, they continued speaking quietly of spiritual resilience and moral peace. Little by little, the tension drained from her brow. She took a deep breath, stretching her shoulders in wonder:
“Strange... the burning pain seems to have vanished.”
Hoa Long smiled softly: “Perhaps your heart has simply found its rest.”
Clear Words for an Ancient Soul
Inside a smaller shop, a silver-haired elder stood behind the glass counter. As he weighed a small piece of silver, he murmured in a low, exhausted voice: “These past months, sleep completely eludes me.”
Hoa Long listened patiently before speaking to the elder’s deepest conscience:
“When we were young and lacked true understanding, we often swore oaths and aligned ourselves with worldly movements without knowing their spiritual cost. But when the Truth manifests, a noble soul must possess the courage to clarify their stance once more—to sever old ties with the dark.”
The elder looked up, a sudden spark of awakening illuminating his weathered eyes: “Yes... to clarify our stance once more.”
No further words were necessary. The seed had struck fertile soil.
The Dao Embodied Amidst Daily Survival
Hoa Long tracked no metrics. He kept no tally of how many souls listened, how many accepted his words, or how many materials were distributed.
Some days he pedaled for hours and spoke to only one soul; on other days, every door he entered held someone waiting for his arrival. He chased no secular success and sought no recognition.
By twilight, the first yellow leaves scattered across the narrow lanes as the cicadas fell completely silent.
Hoa Long pedaled slowly toward home, the cool autumn breeze brushing against his face. His pockets were lighter, yet his heart was immensely rich. Money had turned to gold, gold had forged encounters, and encounters had yielded eternal fated ties.
No crowds had gathered, and no applause echoed through the streets. Yet behind the counters of those quiet shops, fearful hearts had found peace, heavy spirits had been lightened, and ancient vows had been remembered.
Beneath the steady turning of his bicycle wheels, the Dao was not distant or abstract. It lived in the quiet streets, in humble conversations, and in the unyielding choice to offer compassion to a world consumed by fear.
Canto LXXIV — The Transition of Seasons
The cicadas fade as golden leaves take flight,
The bicycle glides through the fading light.
To guard pure thoughts with sincerity and grace,
The boundless Dao protects the mortal space.
No metrics chased, the fated ties expand,
One golden vow illuminates the land.
As summer yields to autumn's steady light,
The path of Fa-Rectification shines bright.