山燈不熄

黃昏像一口慢慢被點亮的燈盞，先在屋脊邊緣亮了一道纖細的邊。

Dusk was like a lamp slowly kindled, first tracing a thin line of light along the eaves.

前庭的影子變長，風把竹葉翻成淡色的一面。灰貓挪到石階旁，伸了個懶腰，木魚聲在這個時辰止住，整座寺院像一起做了個深呼吸。

Shadows lengthened in the forecourt; the breeze flipped the bamboo leaves to their paler sides. The gray cat drifted to the steps and stretched. The wooden-fish rhythm ceased at this hour, as if the temple took a long breath together.

修遠起身沿著廊下緩緩走到山門。門檻外，一整排盞燈已先他一步亮著。燈焰不高，卻穩，像從很久以前就被請到這裡，安靜地守門。

Xiuyuan rose and walked beneath the corridor toward the gate. Just outside the threshold, a row of lamps had already been lit before him. Their flames weren’t tall, but steady—like guardians invited long ago to keep watch.

他下意識停在燈前。那是種熟悉的微光：不刺眼，不急促，像從心裡某個很久沒開啟的角落向外流。

He stopped before them instinctively. The glow felt familiar: not harsh, not hurried—more like something long unopened within him gently flowing outward.

「那裡的燈，一直都不會熄掉。」

“The lights there never go out.”

夢中的那句話像被燈焰輕輕碰了一下，又浮上來。

The words from his dream seemed to be touched by the flame and rose again.

他靠近其中一盞燈，站在燈下望著光明，聞到淡淡的酥油香，又混合著空氣中的竹葉氣味。他觀察到燈盞邊緣有細小的燻痕，像指紋一樣記錄了許多人替它添油的痕跡。

He stepped closer, catching a faint scent of butter oil mingled with bamboo in the air. Soot traced the rim of the lamp—records of many hands that had tended it, like fingerprints.

「這些燈……每天都在嗎？」

“Are these lamps… lit every day?”

他沒有回頭說話，只是對著燈，像對著一個可以回答的人。

He didn’t turn as he spoke, as if the lamp itself might answer.

「在。」

“Yes.”

聲音從身後響起。是那位年輕的沙彌。

A voice sounded behind him—it was the young novice.

修遠回過身，與他對望。火光在兩人的眼底各留了一點亮。

Xiuyuan turned; the flame’s reflection lingered in both their eyes.

「為什麼一直點著？」修遠問。

“Why keep them lit?” Xiuyuan asked.

慧本微微一笑，像在回答，又像在把答案留到明天：「為了讓某人找到來這裡的路。」

Huiben smiled faintly, answering and yet saving the rest for tomorrow. “To help someone find their way here.”

「是等著誰？又怎麼知道能不能找得到呢？」

“Waiting for whom? And how do you know they’ll find it?”

「那就得看，是燈能亮得久，還是那人的緣分已至。」

“That depends—whether the lamp can last long enough, or the person’s time has come.”

修遠愣了一下，慧本也沒有進一步解釋，只把視線移向燈盞，像對它行了一個很輕的禮。

Xiuyuan stared, unsure he understood. Huiben didn’t explain; he only glanced toward the lamp and offered it a slight bow.

「有什麼是我可以做的嗎？」修遠忽然開口。

“Is there anything I can do?” Xiuyuan asked suddenly.

慧本想了想，微笑著點點頭：「那就幫我遞一下油罐吧。」

Huiben thought for a moment, then smiled. “Then help me with the oil jar.”

他拿起一旁的小梯子，輕巧地靠在燈柱邊，攀上兩階。修遠在下方接過他遞下的空瓶，重新裝滿油，再交還上去。

He picked up a small ladder, set it gently beside the lamp post, and climbed two steps. From below, Xiuyuan took the empty flask he passed down, refilled it, and handed it back up.

慧本俐落地添油、修芯、擦去灰燼。火焰一度縮小，隨即更穩更亮。

Huiben worked deftly—adding oil, trimming the wick, wiping away soot. The flame shrank for a moment, then steadied and shone brighter.

修遠在旁安靜地看著，雙手微微沾了油香。他心裡不知為何，有種被溫柔捲入光裡的感覺。

Xiuyuan watched quietly beside him, the scent of oil clinging to his hands. Somehow, he felt gently drawn into the circle of light.

慧本下了梯，把銅鉗遞給他：「換你試試看吧，這盞燈還需要理一理。」

Huiben stepped down and handed him the brass tong. “Now you try. This lamp still needs a little care.”

修遠猶豫了一下，接過工具，深吸一口氣，小心踩上梯子。風從廊下掠過，吹動他的衣角。他屏息伸手去理燈芯。火光微微晃了一下，隨即穩住。

Xiuyuan hesitated, then took the tool and climbed. The corridor wind brushed past, stirring the hem of his coat. Holding his breath, he reached for the wick. The flame wavered briefly, then steadied again.

慧本抬頭看著，微笑道：「很好，燈記得你的手。」

Huiben looked up, smiling. “Good. The lamp remembers your hand.”

修遠下了梯，與慧本並肩而立。火光在他們之間一盞盞相續，串成一條柔和的金線。

Xiuyuan stepped down and stood beside Huiben. Between them, the row of lamps linked one to another, forming a soft golden line.

「你可以明天再來。」慧本在旁邊輕聲說，「我們每天都會點燈。」

“You can come again tomorrow,” Huiben said softly. “We light them every day.”

修遠點頭。

Xiuyuan nodded.

暮色更沉時，遠處的市聲傳到半山腰：一陣車鳴、有人呼喚誰回家、狗叫聲起又落。寺院裡，只有燈亮著，風從竹葉間穿過。

As dusk deepened, the city’s hum reached halfway up the hill: the honk of cars, someone calling another home, the rise and fall of a dog’s bark. Within the temple, only the lamps shone, and the wind whispered through the bamboo leaves.

修遠在階前停了一會兒，回望那排燈。光線在夜色裡並不耀眼，卻足以讓他找到下山的路。

Xiuyuan lingered at the steps, turning to look once more at the row of lamps. Their light was not dazzling, yet enough to show him the path down the mountain.

他合掌向慧本一禮，然後慢慢走下石階。

He pressed his palms together in thanks to Huiben, then slowly descended the stone steps.

山下的霧還未散盡，城市的燈光在霧裡化成柔和的點。

Mist still clung to the foothills; city lights glowed softly within it like scattered beads.

修遠忽然有一種感覺——小艾，彷彿不是被大雨帶走，更不在溝蓋之下。但此時的他，也還沒有清楚的答案。

Xiuyuan suddenly felt— Xiao Ai seemed not to have been taken by the rain, nor was she beneath the manhole. Yet, for now, he had no clear answer.

他抬起頭，微微一笑。那笑容裡，有光。

He lifted his head and smiled slightly. There was light in that smile.