THE TEMPEST.

The moon hung low, casting its silver veil upon the tranquil pond, while monks, torches clutched in hands and their robes damp, were sifting through mud pulling forth lilies. The tramp's ribbon, discovered earlier, had kept them from their beds, but they couldn't say anything and were just stealing glances at their Master.

Seated on the shore, the Master dipped his feet into the water, winding the ribbon around his wrist with deliberate care, when a distant cry shattered the stillness: "Report from the palace! Report from the palace!"

Breathless, a monk thrust a letter—a golden envelope cradled in trembling hands. But the Master dismissed it with a wave, the letter grazing his palm and tumbled into the pond. The monk's eyes widened; this missive might hold life or death secrets.

"Master," he implored, reaching back to the golden envelope slowly sinking beneath the ripples. "Forgive my intrusion. Will you accept this message?"

But the Master's indifference persisted. His hands reached the wet envelope, and instead of reading it, he tore it open.

"What have you done?" The monk's voice quavered, watching Master throwing the golden pieces back into the pond. "We face execution if we remain ignorant towards anything it says!"

More monks gathered around watching them, suspended in anticipation. Then, unexpectedly, the Master's wrath flared.

"Ungrateful dogs!" His words lashed out. "Whose servants are you? Who gives you food and clothes? Palace?"

"Servants?!…" Suddenly, someone hurled the bucket into the water near the brink and splashes reached the Master's face. Shock rippled through the crowd; but they all remained on their places.

"You insolent old man!" The monk's rage echoed from the other side of the pond. "Think you can command us at will? And insult us too? We are not servants!"

"Really? Not servants? Well, that's bold!"

The monastery held its breath—they hardly were seeking entertainment right now, more praying to overcome the coming demise.

"Stay put," the Master warned, "unless you wish to forfeit your life. I make no promises."

Skepticism in the monk's eyes met his threat; an old man's frailty surely couldn't match a youngster's vigor. But as the monk advanced, the Master rose his palm slicing the air.

A tempest erupted—a surge of wind and water mixed with pink lotuses and struggling fish raised out of the pond. The sudden wave covered the monk and he vanished swept away but the falling water. Then pond settled back, and the Master's gaze examined over the stunned assembly.

"Another dog emerges," he declared, "and other creatures shall gnaw your bones. Now continue!"

*Thx for reading.