The Mahayan left the glade, and Morris and Voss continued West along the path.  Morris said, “Juéxǐng doesn’t seem like the best ambassador for Buddhism.”

“We’re studying humanity, not ideal Buddhism,” said Voss.

Morris grunted.  “What’s the difference between the Mahayan and Theravids?  Are they at war over that strange tree?  Is the tree actually holy?”

Voss laughed.  “The universe’s physical guidelines don’t allow for magical trees.  You can’t create a universe that doesn’t make sense.”

Morris thought creating universes didn’t make sense.

Voss continued.  “I visited the Theravids while you were sleeping.  It seems the core difference is that they believe humans should strive always to attain wisdom while the Mahayan instead prioritize compassion.”

Morris scoffed.  “They’re both wrong.”  

“Why?”

Morris collected his thoughts.  “Wisdom and compassion are each important, and each feeds the other.  Wisdom helps compassion achieve results.  Compassion gives wisdom meaning.  Why must one come before the other?”

“Maybe they find it useful having a clear hierarchy of principles?”

Morris shrugged.  “The point is, I’m tired of meaningless maxims.  Philosophical-sounding nonsense.  The fart jokes of profundity.  Do opposites attract, or do birds of a feather flock together?  Do good things come to those who wait, or do time and tide wait for no man?  Is less more, or if I’m not going big should I just go home?  None of it holds up under scrutiny, but people don’t scrutinize what supports their position.”

“Some maxims must be right,” said Voss.  “There’s no use crying over spilled milk.”

“A woman’s place is in the home; spare the rod and spoil the child… popular maxims are as likely to be wrong as right.”

“You’re a young species, lacking guidance.”

Breezes and fluttering birds animated the canopy.  Again Morris felt like they were walking in circles, but eventually the forest gave way to green hills, behind which towered craggy mountains.  Morris realized this must be the same range he spotted from the Buddha Palm.  They reached the mountain range, whose ridges and slopes converged and pointed skyward like a thousand overlapping arrowheads, and they walked toward a low point in the lip.  The sun, artificial or not, was really hot, and Morris baked inside and out as he climbed.

Near the lip a chasm split the mountainside.  A single lowered drawbridge, guarded by a gray-robed monk, enabled passage.  The ropes which raised and lowered the drawbridge were severed, with frayed ends.  The monk gestured; Morris and Voss crossed.  Morris reached the crest and stared in disbelief at the valley ahead.  Twinkling waterfalls cascaded from an oblong bowl of mountains, spawning a river which wound down to the sea.  Trees dotted sloped fields of lush grass.  Though the valley’s incredible beauty would steal a normal man’s breath, it was not the cause of Morris’s disbelief.  “It… it looks like…”

“Rivendell?”  Voss said.  “I watched Lord of the Rings when researching humanity -- strangely, movies were more useful to my understanding than were human nonfiction works.  The universe machine must have pulled Rivendell from my mind as an Earthlike location.”

Morris closed his eyes and shook his head.  “How does your universe machine work, anyway?”

“I input various ideas and physical guidelines, and if they make sense the machine generates a convincing but fleeting universe.”

“How do you input ideas?”

Voss looked at him like he was an idiot.  “It scans my mind.”

“Oh, of course!  I should have known!”  said Morris, sarcastically.  “Along that same vein, how can the machine generate sentient beings with memories and traditions?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that question.”

Morris smiled wryly.  “Secret alien technology?”

“Nope; it’s beyond my understanding.  I’m an operator, not an engineer.”

They crested a hill and saw a modest wooden monastery tucked into a bend of the river some hundred feet away, as well as a small courtyard containing several dozen huts and a low brick wall.  A gray-robed monk in the courtyard seemed to be cooking some sort of stew over a fire pit.

They entered the monastery.  Rays of sunlight illuminated a smooth wood floor, a circle of furs, and four meditating, gray-robed monks.  The monks rose to greet them.

“Welcome Morris, and welcome back, Voss,” said an elderly woman with clouded eyes.  “My name is Kōng Fú; I am the leader of our order.  Morris -- I hear you intend to learn our ways?”

“That would certainly seem to be the case,” said Morris.  “I have just today heard the story of the Buddha.”

“An excellent start.”  Kōng Fú gestured to the door outside.  “Voss says the pair of you have traveled an unfathomable distance; you must be famished.  Please, enjoy some boiled seaweed.  Once you’re satisfied, rested, and refreshed, our monastery’s four elders will guide you through the steps of Buddha’s Eightfold Path.”

“Thank you, but we can begin my education immediately, if not sooner.  I am an eager student.”  Morris gave Voss a look.  Voss didn’t seem to mind.  

Morris turned back to the monks.  “I’m almost surprised to find myself welcomed so warmly.  Juéxǐng De Lóng spoke of you as monsters.”

One of the monks -- an aging man with a hard-edged face -- winced.  Kōng Fú said, “The version of us he describes to the Mahayan is a complete straw-man.  He knows the people will only accept his tyranny if they see his rule as preferable to some fictional evil.”  Kōng Fú gestured at a bearded, middle-aged monk beside him.  “When Niǎn joined our order, Juéxǐng poisoned his wife and children then attributed their deaths to divine retribution for Niǎn’s conversion.”  He shook his head sadly.  “Still, Niǎn’s thoughts are focused not on revenge but on healing.”

Morris stared at Niǎn, wondering how he could just move past something like that.

“Juéxǐng has repeatedly begged us for our ships, but of course we cannot give them to him, nor are we obligated to do so,” continued Kōng Fú.  “His people can design their own vessels if they choose to leave the island.”

Morris didn’t know where to stand in this conflict.  “If I’m not mistaken, he seems interested in leaving the island as soon as the Buddha Palm hatches its seed.  He may not have time to construct vessels suitable for an overseas voyage.”

“The Mahayan and their trees…  The sea nurtures us Theravids, yet we do not plant and nurture seas every few years.  Nor do we worship the sea.  Those things which sustain us are good, but everything is good; the Mahayan seem to value things which enrich them personally.  The Buddha’s wisdom cautions against such selfishness; unfortunately, most people seem more inclined to bend scripture to their will than to bend themselves to uphold scripture.”

This seemed beside the point to Morris.  “You may want to prepare for conflict.  Voss killed Juéxǐng’s men, Chúndù and Qīngbái, this morning.”

The monks looked shocked.  “Why?” said Kōng Fú.

“I acted to save Morris from execution after Juéxǐng accused him of desecrating their holy tree,” said Voss.

Why had Voss killed Chúndù and Qīngbái?  Morris had been given so much to think about he’d hardly considered it.  Voss could have asked them politely to let Morris go; then, if that didn’t work, demanded they free Morris; then, tried intimidation; and then, physically overpowered them.  But even in the latter case, murder seemed excessive.

Kōng Fú sighed.  “Let us not ponder Juéxǐng’s lost comrades.  He is a Buddhist.  One day he will learn to forgive.”