THE SEARCH.

"Why haven't you found him yet?" His voice echoed through the halls like a full-on storm. 

The Master, who used to be all zen on his own and serene as a mountain lake, now raged like the God of War. His room had always remained a sanctuary, untouched by the outside world and none of the monks had ever seen him step beyond its threshold—until now. Lightning crackled in his eyes as he tore through the monastery, overturning every stone, peering under each bush. He was no longer the old sage of years past; he resembled a mischievous kid who had lost his dearest toy.

The monks? From the very beginning they were not on a quest—they were just curious. Previously, they had only tolerated this tramp because the Master was pleased with him. 

The tramp? A Tea-serving, Go-playing, cryptic-characters-scribbling servant. Monks were jealous, but when the tramp vanished, they thought they found peace eventually, and could try their luck with serving the Master themselves. But it was not so.

On the first day of the tramp's absence, the Master's fury remained contained within his chamber. Scrolls flew each time at the monks who dared to enter and bring food, clean or pass the letters.

By the second day, the Master sat on the porch, waiting for news from everyone passing him. When he didn't hear any, he hurled shoes, stones, and household items at the monks. 

By the third day, the monastery trembled. The Master upended its tranquility, berating each monk, kicking, throwing, and slapping with a strength that belied his frail form. His blows were those of a seasoned warrior, and the monks suffered, yearning for the tramp's return to quell their torment.

As evening of the forth day descended, some waded knee-deep into the pond, pitchforks and sticks in hand. None believed it might be of any use, but the pond remained the only place unsearched, so the monks decided to put on a show to escape beating.

"Ribbon! Tramp's ribbon!"

The cry echoed from the water, and with a gust of wind, the Master materialized by the pond's edge. A monk waved the found—a simple scrap of cloth—but no one knew that to the Master, it held the weight of the world.

"Give it to me!" he demanded, cradling the dirty fabric. He unfolded it carefully, as if revealing a cherished memory.

"Search the whole pond—even drain it!" 

The requirement seemed absurd to everyone, but they kept their mouths shut and continued searching. Yet, for Master, this demand gave a bit of a hope he could lean for. This tramp wasn't just a servant for him, he was more like a peace that held everything together.

*Thx for reading.