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At its deepest point, it was heartrending and distressing; as the passion surged, it took on the poignant bitterness of righteous indignation. In the end, everything settled down into tranquil calm, accompanied by a wider understanding of life and fate’s playful hand. Destiny hit me with suffering, yet I answered with a song.

The experiences that truly touch the soul are personal ones. Those times of weeping, struggling, and being tormented through sleepless nights—these too are smoothed over with time. Only now do I sit here, telling my tale as carefree as a gentle breeze.

The listeners might be reminded of their own lives, might empathize, or feel as if they were there. However, the originator of these stories now sits calm and composed, like a peaceful spring.

The final note dissipates, and sobs rise around the room. The old man opens his eyes. His pupils are pallid and focus on nothing, creating an unnerving sight against the darkness of the night.

A gasp passes through the crowd. He appears to be blind.

Pity swells in their hearts.

At this point, even the most heartless wouldn’t simply turn their backs and leave. But in today’s society, who carries physical cash anymore? Not a single cent is found after patting down their pockets. The thought of mobile payment crossed their minds, but the blind man doesn’t have a QR code. As their sympathy gradually waned, so too did the impulse to donate.

Eventually, a few older people threw whatever change they had into his open case.

In the frenetic society of today, emotions arrive swiftly before departing just as abruptly. Soon, the crowd disperses until there are none left.

Only two figures remain, stark against the surroundings.

An old erhu player and a tall, slender young man. One is standing, the other seated, their silhouettes elongated on the ground by the streetlights above. Ming Jing crosses the street to a convenience store and returns with a bag in her hand.

The old man fumbles to his feet, packs away his erhu, and starts to leave.

The blind man’s hearing far surpasses the ordinary. He hears footsteps drawing near and stops to listen attentively.

He hears the rustle of a plastic bag set beside him.

A gentle, youthful female voice murmurs into his ear. “To understand what caused this life, look at who suffers in it. To predict the fruit of the next life, examine the actions of this one.”

What ultimately decides a person’s destiny?

Even Buddha himself might not comprehend it fully.

Buddhism proposes the concept of karma and the cycle of reincarnation, attributing the suffering in your life to deeds from a past one. You can be liberated from this cycle through devotion and enlightenment.

But for those struggling desperately at the bottom of society, these concepts feel too distant. Meeting the immediate need for food is what really matters.

The old man’s lips quivered. After some time, he croaked, “I don’t understand these grand principles. I’ve lived a whole lifetime, seen the ups and downs of life, tasted the sweet, sour, bitter, and spicy. I do not believe in reincarnation; all I want is to live well. To have food each day, a bed to sleep in, sunshine to bask in, an erhu to play, that’s enough for me.”

A childlike grin spread across his wrinkled face.

“Many pity me, despise me, see me as a wretched old blind man who would be better off dead than alive. But I think, if the heavens will have me live, there must be a reason. Whether living or dying, we all need to breathe, so might as well live and see what else the heavens throw at me.”

With a smile, the old man shouldered his erhu and bent down to lift the bag. “Thank you, young lady. I won’t hold back, now it seems I won’t go hungry these next few days.”

With that, he turned and ambled off, moving slowly but purposefully with each step.

Ming Jing stood alone in the night air for a long time.

Was her past life filled with sufferinq?

So much so that it could be likened to hell.

She clawed her way out of that hell and at the moment she opened her eyes, she saw the Buddha.

Buddha said her life was sinful and that she needed to spend it atoning for those sins.

She was confused. While Buddha preached equality among all beings, why was she born sinful?

Was it simply because her hands were once coated in blood? But for that, she had already paid a terrible price.

After twelve years of devotion and contemplation, she found greater peace, her nightmares grew more infrequent, but her confusion never disappeared.

Unconsciously, she continued walking. The streets grew emptier, the cars fewer, only the streetlights kept her company. She walked alone, through the desolate streets of late-night.

Madam Zhou called, asking why she hadn’t returned home yet, had something happened?

Against the desolate backdrop of Ming Jing’s heart ran a faint current of warmth. She responded with a smile, “I’m on the way, tell grandma to get some sleep.”

“Please, stay safe on your way home, miss.”

After the call with Madam Zhou, several men appeared around a corner ahead, cigarettes hanging from their lips, leering at Ming Jing.

“Hey sweetheart, why are you wandering the streets this late? Are you feeling lonely? Do you want the company of us ‘big brothers’?” The man’s lewd expressions were mirrored by his companions around him, not even bothering to hide the malicious intent in their gazes..