Inside the meditation chamber, sandalwood incense curled upward as time slipped away amid the invisible exchange of words.
After a round of debate, Hii Kōri felt a sense of relief.
Vijñaptimātratā—meaning "consciousness-only"—was the foundation of Buddhism.
Sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell… the five senses allowed one's "consciousness" to recognize that one existed in this world.
The eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind were called the six roots—the six consciousnesses. The seventh consciousness, manas, was the "self" itself. And the eighth consciousness, ālaya-vijñāna, was the root and origin of all things.
Though the doctrine of consciousness—only had its limitations, Hii Kōri's adoption of the pseudonym "Araya Shūren"—a name heavy with symbolic meaning—did not mean he sought to pursue the origin of all things.
What he clung to was always the "self." For Hii Kōri, who possessed an intensely strong sense of self, "the three realms are but mind; all dharmas are but consciousness" was actually the most accurate and practical answer.
"Then, Master Chūkaku, what do you think of the theory of reincarnation?"
After finishing a cup of coarse tea, Hii Kōri naturally steered the topic toward another area that interested him more.
Regarding concepts like the Pure Land, the Shinigami, and the soul in the Naruto world—even having regained his memories of the original manga, and being himself a firsthand experiencer of reincarnation—Hii Kōri found it difficult to form a clear understanding from those scattered descriptions.
Rather, it was precisely because of those vague descriptions that he found them elusive, especially regarding the first two concepts.
Under these circumstances, Hii Kōri was genuinely curious about what "Buddhism"—born in this different world—had to say on the matter.
Hearing "Araya Shūren" bring up reincarnation, Chūkaku showed no surprise. It was a topic raised countless times; indeed, many believers—and even ninja—sought precisely that sense of reassurance.
But he felt that this guest, who had taken "Ālaya" as part of his name, wasn't looking for the same old platitudes.
He pondered for a moment, his withered fingers gently thumbing a string of dark prayer beads, before finally speaking slowly: "Does reincarnation truly matter? Regardless, even if a deceased person's soul can be reborn, that new life has no connection to the circumstances or position of the previous life."
This answer caught Hii Kōri somewhat off guard, but then a sense of release washed over him.
After all, all doctrines had contradictions; they all spoke to themselves. Religion itself was a product of thought born from different histories, cultures, and social environments. No matter how similar they might appear on the surface, between different worlds, there would naturally be fundamental differences.
"It's clear that you, Araya, have things you must do. Not burdens forced upon you, but things you yourself wish to do."
Having said this, Chūkaku's gaze fell back upon "Araya Shūren" with an almost cheerful tone: "Someone like you is destined never to 'attain sudden enlightenment.'"
"But there's nothing wrong with heavy desires. To clearly recognize and confront one's own desires—that in itself is a level of clarity most people can't reach."
"I imagine you find joy in it as well."
"Ha…" "Araya Shūren" let out a somber sigh. His weathered face and voice made it hard to imagine him smiling.
"That's truly an undeniable fact."
Just then, the sliding door of the meditation chamber was nudged open. More than a dozen monks tumbled in, clearly drawn by the debate between the two inside.
Seeing that Chūkaku showed no sign of reprimand, one young monk with an unseasoned face stepped forward, pressed his palms together, and asked with evident confusion: "Senior, since your understanding of consciousness-only is so profound, why do you still harbor such heavy desires?"
"Liking isn't the same as being good at something. Disliking isn't the same as hating. Understanding isn't the same as accepting. Asking a question like that shows you're still not mature enough."
"I'm not seeking 'answers that explain everything.' What I seek is the process of pursuing answers. It is 'I' who compels 'me' to do things."
"Araya Shūren" tilted his head slightly. The gray eyes hidden behind his somber, weathered face looked calmly at the questioning young monk as he responded frankly in that heavy voice—as if burdened by a century of weight:
"If I pursue desires to begin with, why would I speak of abandoning enlightenment suddenment? If all beings will eventually attain enlightenment together, what harm is there in taking a few detours along the way?"
His words were blunt, even sharp. The young monk's face flushed red. He stammered for a moment, then could only lower his head deeply.
Chūkaku watched from his cushion with an amused smile, neither stopping nor mediating. He wasn't at all worried about anyone being "enticed."
In his view, if someone could truly carry out their own self to this extent like "Araya Shūren," there was nothing wrong with it. Compared to staying in the temple as a monk, perhaps venturing out would lead to greater prospects.
But such a path was hardly easy to walk. These students probably didn't even know what they themselves wanted to do yet.
He waved his hand, signaling to a middle-aged monk who had been standing quietly outside, listening to the exchange: "Alright, alright. Haven't you finished your training for today? Go do what you're supposed to do."
"Kakunen, take the guest to the sutra repository. Let Master Araya browse and select any copies he wishes."
"Yes, Master Chūkaku." The monk named Kakunen responded respectfully, then pressed his palms together in salute to Hii Kōri. "Please, follow me."
Hii Kōri stood, and bowed to Chūkaku, who had already closed his eyes again to chant: "I have benefited greatly from today's debate."
Chūkaku didn't open his eyes, simply raising a hand to wave in farewell.
Without another word, Hii Kōri donned his large tengai hat and followed Kakunen out of the meditation chamber.
The crisp air, carrying the distinct chill of the winter mountains, enveloped him at once—refreshingly clear.
This debate, rather than seeking answers, felt more like wiping the condensation from a winter windowpane.
People often said that traveling to high-altitude regions could cleanse the spirit, but that was likely an illusion.
Because at high altitudes, oxygen levels dropped, causing mild hypoxia. Attention waned, thinking slowed, and distracting thoughts—along with worldly concerns—naturally diminished.
Dharma debate was the opposite: focused on untangling complex principles, there was no mental room left for anything else. Unfortunately for Hii Kōri, the latter effect was far less effective than the former.
Given his current constitution, hypoxia was hardly a concern.
"Whether it's the Buddha or some other great existence, this world has all kinds of gods. But no god will save humanity—because the image of gods is forged by humanity itself."
Walking through the corridor, he gazed at the pale winter sun, slowly raised his hand as if to grasp it, and spoke softly:
"I am my own god."
"I am my own doctrine."
***
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