All Schools of Thought: I Am a Confucian

When Master died, he stuffed a fragment of the Sutra into my arms. Seventeen knots, seventeen generations, three hundred years. He said: "Pass on our teachings." He doesn't know that I have five hundred things in my head. Later, I met the ruins of the tenth branch, the lonely old man of the fifteenth branch, and the man who diverted our pursuers and never came back. Only then did I realize that the most difficult thing about preaching is not memorizing it, but— Let the living be willing to continue walking. And those people are right behind me right now. Sixteen brothers, the oldest is nineteen and the youngest is fourteen. Go north. Go all the way north. It is said that there is a holy city there. It is said that there are still people there.