Chapter 889: A Heavenly Omen Descends!

“He’s an assassin trying to kill the Prince! Beat him to death!”

It was shouted.

Shouted at the top of the old monk’s lungs.

The Daoist turned and looked at the old monk who had been standing behind him all this time, accompanying him out of the temple.

A man lives by his skin.

With skin wrapped around flesh and blood, a man can live.

With ritual, righteousness, integrity, and shame wrapped around his character like skin, a man can live like a human being.

It was difficult to imagine that the old monk who had traded Chan riddles and verbal feints with him inside, whose outer appearance was mad and disheveled, ought to have carried the bearing of some hidden master.

Yet the fellow had torn that skin off the instant he chose to.

Face.

Dignity.

Skin.

He could throw all of it away whenever he pleased, and you could not even call him shameless, because he had always looked half-mad in the first place.

“Hahahahaha...”

The Daoist laughed.

He laughed with genuine delight.

Only a very short span passed between the old monk shouting those words and the worshippers reacting.

Yet in that brief interval, one meeting of eyes and the smiles that followed were enough for the two men to collide once more over everything they had discussed inside.

You say the people of this world are ignorant.

Yes.

They are ignorant indeed. They believe blindly, follow blindly, and are driven by greed, anger, obsession, and hatred.

But the old monk remembered something Prince Pingxi had once told him during a conversation.

It was not some Chan riddle.

Yet it had struck his Buddhist heart like a mountain-boring chisel and left a mark that could never be erased.

The Prince had said:

“The eyes of the common people are bright.”

They might be ignorant.

But they still knew who treated them well.

No.

More accurately, they still knew who they depended upon to live.

Whether Yan, Jin, Chu, Barbarian, or Savage, no matter what station they occupied, every person in this land understood one thing:

The Prince was tied to their own life.

No.

To the survival of their entire household.

Across the whole Fengxin City region, there was only this one temple.

It did not issue ordination certificates.

Aside from the laborers and helpers, there were only two actual monks inside: the old mad monk and the young one.

Whenever ordinary households had some affair requiring a monk, they came here and invited one of them.

Over time, the Mad Monk seemed less mad.

The young monk’s rouge-like beauty no longer felt cloying either. Instead, people began to find it fragrant and pleasing.

Being allowed to operate the only temple in the entire region already meant their status was unusual.

Even if a pig sat in the only chair available, people would eventually grant that pig a certain authority.

So after the old monk shouted, after that brief meeting of eyes and the smile that followed, the worshippers around them surged forward almost instinctively.

Among them were Standard Household men who had served in camp and fought on battlefields and had brought their families to burn incense.

But most were still old people, women, and children.

Yet at this moment, every one of them was brave.

Every one of them was fearless.

The Daoist swept out his horsetail whisk and knocked down several people nearby.

But the instant they fell, those behind them rushed forward.

The Daoist was grabbed.

Hands began tearing at his robes, wrenching his arms and legs, dragging him down to the ground as though the crowd could not wait to grind him into meat paste beneath their feet.

Then, suddenly, wisps of blue smoke began seeping from the body beneath his Daoist robes.

Crack!

Crack!

His limbs were torn clean away.

But what spilled from the severed arms and legs was not flesh or bone.

They were stuffed entirely with straw.

The old monk slapped himself on the head.

“Aiya. Got carried away.”

...

A coffin shop in Fengxin City had recently received a new batch of fine coffins from the workshops outside the city.

Among them was one made of redwood.

It had been placed deep inside the storeroom and lay there quietly.

By all appearances, it should have remained there for a very long time.

But at this moment, its lid slid aside.

A Daoist sat up from inside.

Blue veins stood out across his face.

Blood leaked from his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose.

His nose in particular was bleeding with frightening intensity.

He wiped at it.

The more he wiped, the more blood came.

With no other choice, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and drove internal force inward.

His eyes rolled back for a moment.

At last, the bleeding stopped.

He sat there breathing through his mouth, his head somewhat muddled.

Then he rolled his neck.

A long string of crisp cracks came from his joints.

Finally, the Daoist climbed out of the coffin.

“The people do not fear, and so they gather. To see the great through the small... Fengxin City already possesses the atmosphere of a state being founded!”

The Daoist regarded himself as a man beyond the world.

Before he deliberately became involved in worldly matters, he could normally ensure no karma clung to him.

Or, more precisely, he knew exactly how many karmic threads still hung from his body.

Either way, he had a clear account in his heart.

And so long as that account remained clear, one could often avoid becoming the target of anything beyond one’s intentions.

He had gone to Gourd Temple.

He had met the Mad Monk.

The worshippers had torn his puppet apart with their bare hands.

There had been no cause.

Only an effect.

That was an omen.

A true whirlpool exists whether one approaches it or not.

It does not appear because you draw near.

Nor does it disappear because you move away.

Every person looks at the world from a different angle.

Naturally, each person sees a different landscape.

To outsiders, Prince Pingxi Residence in eastern Jin had long possessed the capital to establish itself independently.

Otherwise, the Regent of Chu would never have tried to win it over, nor would the Son of Heaven in the Yan imperial palace have nearly driven himself into isolation merely while trying to untie the knot inside his own heart.

But in the Daoist’s eyes... only an atmosphere such as this could truly be called the morning glow of a founding dynasty.

The same object.

Different angles.

The conclusion converged.

The path taken did not.

“Aiyo.”

The Daoist rubbed his nose.

Then he sat down cross-legged.

“The mountains know nothing of passing years. Yet in these ten years among men, it feels as though seas have turned into mulberry fields.”

His nose still seemed uncomfortable.

The Daoist reached up and tugged at his face.

A corner of his skin suddenly came loose.

Rip!

He peeled his own face away.

Beneath it was not some hideous visage.

It was still a gentle, jade-like face.

Only unnaturally pale.

The moment that delicate skin was exposed to the air, it seemed to sense a burning pain.

The Daoist’s expression tightened faintly.

After adjusting himself, he used the nail of his right hand to cut open his left palm, then pressed that hand flat against the floor tiles.

“A rootless infant. A rootless spirit. Is it some innate deficiency? No. No. It is not. There must first be something whole before something can be missing. Even rootless duckweed once had roots at the beginning. But this... this came from nothing. From nothing!”

In truth, the Daoist had genuinely come only to look.

The world was vast.

There had never been any shortage of strange men and hidden experts.

On Qian’s Back Mountain there had once been a plaque personally inscribed by Great Qian’s founding Emperor.

Because the practice of Qi Refining flourished throughout Qian lands, the founding Emperor had hoped, with imperial support, to use the Qi Refiner lineage to reinforce the Zhao imperial house and ensure its throne would never decline.

The imperial house and Qi Refiners could, to a certain extent, reinforce one another.

So when Back Mountain was first established, Qian originally intended to erect an “Ancestral Court of All Qi Refiners Beneath Heaven.”

But on the day the mountain gate opened, legend held that some great being manifested amid the sea of clouds and brought down divine lightning, splitting the plaque bearing the words “Ancestral Court.”

Because of that, although Back Mountain was in practice the orthodox center of Qi Refiners in the present age, nobody within its gates ever again mentioned those two words.

After all, Heaven alone knew what genuine great figure might still be hidden in some forgotten corner of the world.

The Sword Saint had once said something similar.

The so-called Four Great Swordsmen did not literally mean there were only four men in the world whose swordsmanship stood highest.

During half a lifetime wandering the jianghu, he had encountered two or three swordsmen whose talent and realm in the sword were no worse than his own, yet whose names were almost unknown.

The simplest example lay in the ranks themselves.

The Sword Saint opened the Second Grade by borrowing it.

From Ninth Grade through Third Grade, the grades served as a rough common standard across most cultivation paths.

The myriad methods beneath Heaven were all measured by them.

If Second Grade could only be “borrowed,” then what about First Grade?

Surely that rank did not exist merely to leave a blank space?

The Sword Saint had first forced open the Second Grade before Snowsea Pass years ago and nearly lost his life doing it.

Now, whenever he met an opponent too troublesome to bother wrestling with, he simply opened Second Grade.

There was also that other existence who understood a little of everything.

If one opened the Second Grade again and again, grew familiar with it again and again, who could say whether one day he might simply stand there permanently?

And once he stood there firmly... perhaps he could raise his head.

Look higher.

And discover something more.

The Daoist had long ceased caring about his original name.

Even whether he possessed a Daoist title made little difference.

But in the end... he belonged to the same generation as Master Cang.

He had come here simply because he was curious.

After leaving seclusion, he had originally wanted to find someone and chat.

He failed to find the person he sought.

So he went out for a walk.

And this walk truly was nothing more than a walk.

For an existence like him, even taking a drink of water might contain some trace of Dao intent or heavenly mystery.

He had long since slipped free of the ordinary chains of the mortal world.

His state of mind was approaching something ancient and simple.

What drew his curiosity was this “rootless spirit.”

When one comprehended the Heavenly Dao, the Heavenly Dao, in turn, was also “comprehending” you.

His way of thinking had gradually left the boundaries of ordinary men.

What the Heavenly Dao did not understand, he did not understand.

What the Heavenly Dao sought, he too wished to seek.

Years ago, Zheng Fan had thought practicing the saber was too tiring and the path of a Martial Artist too harsh.

He had looked with some envy at Prince Jingnan’s “arts,” and that drifting, immortal, mysterious style had suited his taste very well.

Prince Jingnan’s answer had been simple:

He merely understood a little.

He could not teach it.

It was just like later, when Zheng Fan asked how to practice the saber.

Practicing the saber... needed to be taught?

It was not that Old Tian had hidden his skills from Zheng Fan.

Tian Wujing had almost always granted whatever Zheng Fan asked.

But in matters of cultivation... there genuinely was no method of passing the thing over in neat steps.

Because for him it really was: do this, then do that, and it was done.

Zheng Fan’s skin had been very thick back then.

He had said he wanted to “understand a little” too.

Tian Wujing asked him:

“Do you know why this Prince only understands a little?”

Zheng Fan had been about to answer:

Because Your Highness is habitually modest.

But Old Tian gave the answer first.

“A little is enough. If you understand it all... there is nothing left.”

Perhaps Tian Wujing had not believed Zheng Fan would truly understand that sentence.

But Zheng Fan had.

That was not surprising.

Prince Pingxi’s theoretical knowledge was astonishingly rich.

Otherwise the Sword Saint could not possibly have experienced repeated moments of enlightenment while staying beside him.

And the Daoist here now... was already beginning to show signs of the same thing.

He understood perfectly well what kind of place Fengxin City was.

He understood perfectly well what danger a man beyond the world faced while standing inside a city surrounded by armies.

He had even told the old monk inside Gourd Temple, with no attempt to hide it, that he did not dare go directly to Prince Pingxi.

After all... unlike Swordsmen and Martial Artists, the grade of a man beyond the world did not correspond directly to his ability to fight within the mortal realm.

Yet he still could not suppress the desire to investigate.

That curiosity came partly from the bottom of his own heart.

And partly... from Heaven’s will in the unseen.

However, there was one thing he had failed to realize.

Back inside Gourd Temple, the old monk had already hinted that the answer lay with the child’s biological father.

But the Daoist simply never thought in that direction.

A rootless spirit was too rare.

An existence appearing from thin air with no karmic entanglements at all.

He simply never imagined that such a precious rootless spirit existed for no grander reason than this: the child’s father was not a native of this world.

“Heaven follows my intent. Let the spirit eye open!”

The Daoist closed his eyes.

The next instant... a blue bird appeared above Fengxin City.

The bird had no form.

Yet it seemed to possess form.

It circled overhead.

Then it found Prince Pingxi Residence.

But just as it prepared to dive and see what lay below... a bell rang from Gourd Temple outside the city.

In an instant, an invisible net spread outward and tangled the blue bird.

...

Old Monk Kongyuan was striking the bell.

With every strike... he coughed blood.

Young Monk Liaofan stood beside him watching.

“Disciple, do you think your master has taken a loss here?”

Liaofan fell silent for a moment.

Then he walked directly to the great bell.

And rammed his own head into it.

DOOOONG!

The sound was not especially loud.

Yet in a single instant, it sent a tremor through the human heart.

Old Monk Kongyuan sucked in a sharp breath.

He felt as though his entire body—no, the very marrow of his bones—had been washed clean by that one peal.

After striking the bell with his head, young Liaofan staggered three circles in place.

Blood ran down the side of his face from his scalp.

Yet at that moment, the seductive quality in his eyes deepened further.

Seduction pushed to its extreme became emptiness.

Desire pushed to its extreme became void.

The young monk pinched an orchid gesture with his left hand beside his body.

His right palm stood vertically before his chest in a one-handed Buddhist salute.

A compassionate smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

The old monk opened his mouth.

“What happened?”

“To answer.”

“How should one answer?”

“If I wish to do it, I do it. That is nature. Nature is Buddha-Dharma. For Buddha-Dharma was always natural.”

After saying this, the young monk closed his eyes.

Layer after layer of golden radiance rippled from his body.

Looking upward through emptiness, one could faintly discern the image of a Joyful Buddha.

Old Monk Kongyuan immediately laughed and cursed:

“Who says leaving the household means there are no longer family distinctions? Inside the household or outside it, it’s all the damned same. Man and man can’t be compared. Man and Buddha can’t be compared. Buddha and Buddha can’t be compared either.”

The old monk cultivated the Buddha of this present life.

That was equivalent to starting from nothing.

But from the moment he took in young Liaofan, he had understood the boy’s Buddhist nature.

The old monk himself had been born among the common people.

His disciple, however... had ancestors who had once been rich.

There was a corresponding Buddhist term for such a thing.

Reincarnation.

The old monk grew resentful.

Jealous.

Young Liaofan kept his eyes closed.

But he spoke:

“To see through is not necessarily to see through. To leave is not necessarily to enter. The equality of all beings was always an illusion. A man inside a house looks at a Buddha beyond the door and believes the Buddha stands outside. But the Buddha beyond the door raises his head and looks at Heaven. Is he not also inside a greater house?”

Old Monk Kongyuan continued striking the bell.

Continued coughing blood.

And cursed:

“Amitabha, you motherfucking Buddha! Your master thinks this deal—no, this Buddhist fate—has profited outrageously. What now? My little disciple has stirred a mortal heart too?”

The old monk understood that the one speaking with him now was not the disciple he usually knew.

At least... not at this moment.

Young Liaofan nodded.

“Indeed.”

The old monk continued striking the bell.

“Your master was thinking we could use this favor to expand Gourd Temple again. Perhaps the Residence could also grant us a few more ordination certificates. I become Grandmaster, you take disciples and become Master.”

Young Liaofan answered:

“A temple outside a village is called a village shrine: dead vines, broken willows, ruined walls. A temple outside a town is called a small temple: cheap candles, lamp oil, ragged robes. A temple outside a city is called a famous monastery: incense clouds, golden bodies, fat rats...”

Panting, the old monk hurriedly asked:

“What kind of temple do you want?”

The young monk answered:

“A temple outside the imperial capital... is called the State Religion. For ten thousand generations. All beneath Heaven. Unified as one!”

“Pah!”

The old monk spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm.

“Amitabha Buddha. How does cultivating Buddha to the end somehow turn you back into a human being?”

“Hahahahahahaha!”

Young Liaofan threw his head back and laughed.

“I came from among men. Naturally I return among men. I merely passed through one doorway. That doorway is called Buddhism.”

The old monk cursed again:

“Now I understand why, when the Three Marquises opened the frontiers back then, ancient auspicious beasts like Pixiu and Fire Phoenix manifested in the human world and begged to follow them. At bottom... you’re exactly the same!”

“Indeed!”

Young Liaofan faced Fengxin City.

A thousand-li rush to Snowsea Pass.

A flanking march into Chu.

Breaking armies.

Accumulating merit.

Rising in rank.

Then inheriting and receiving Prince Jingnan’s final legacy.

Land that had once been blank and barren already showed signs of becoming fertile country.

“The atmosphere is here. The atmosphere is here! Once the atmosphere exists... those who should come will gather. When a man is destitute, he begs in all directions merely to survive. When a man becomes glorious, offerings and followers arrive from all directions. Even if Prince Pingxi truly hardens his heart and insists upon remaining a loyal subject of Great Yan... what about his child? What about his successor? And besides... which part of Prince Pingxi’s conduct, arrangements, preparations, and security resembles a loyal general meekly stretching out his neck for the butcher’s blade? This time... the gamble can be made. The wager can be placed. It is worth it. Ami... tabha Buddha!”

The Buddha image in the void became considerably more solid.

Then... the Buddha extended one hand.

Toward the blue bird... its fingers closed.

BOOM!

...

Inside the coffin shop storeroom, the Daoist’s body twisted violently.

His face, which had been deathly pale, abruptly took on a waxen yellow cast.

“The countless common people beneath Heaven hang door gods, couplets, and Buddha images without number. Has that ever truly made you open your eyes and glance at them even once? The Prince here... does not even believe in Buddha! He isn’t even home... and still you shamelessly come to protect him of your own accord! Ridiculous. Truly ridiculous! Break... for this poor Daoist!”

...

The commotion in the sky was enormous.

Yet more than ninety-nine people out of every hundred in and around Fengxin City sensed absolutely nothing.

After all, matters beyond the world existed if one believed and vanished if one did not.

Mysterious beyond mystery.

But there would always be a tiny handful of people capable of sensing something.

Inside Fengxin City, on the Three Streets around Prince Pingxi Residence, there stood a courtyard with a plaque reading:

SECRET INTELLIGENCE DEPARTMENT LIAISON OFFICE.

A thin man sat there holding a teacup.

He had raised his head and was staring at the sky.

His name was Zhou Wang.

He was a eunuch.

One of Eunuch Wei’s adopted grandsons.

At present, however, he was an utterly insignificant figure.

Wei Zhonghe had served two generations of Emperors.

He possessed adopted sons and adopted grandsons by the sea-load.

Zhou Wang’s seniority was shallow.

His cultivation as a Qi Refiner was shallow too.

That was precisely why he had been sent here to sit in this yamen.

A spy office had hung a sign directly over its own front gate.

With that done, what work could it possibly still carry out?

What could it possibly do?

Drink tea.

Pass messages.

Hold meetings.

That was about it.

Today, Zhou Wang had been drinking tea as usual.

Then he looked up.

What he saw stunned him on the spot.

“I always thought all those records in the histories saying Heaven and Earth changed color and auspicious omens descended when some great person was born were shameless inventions by court historians trying to gild someone’s face. Who would have imagined... it was actually real!”

As the man nominally in charge of the Secret Intelligence Department’s presence in Fengxin City, Zhou Wang naturally knew what was about to happen here.

He immediately ran madly back to his study.

He spread open a secret memorial.

Picked up his brush.

His hand... was trembling.

He was terrified.

Terrified to his bones.

Because he knew what this one sentence meant.

He even understood that it might become a whirlpool capable of grinding him into dust.

Yet he could not conceal it.

He did not dare conceal it.

All he could do was write:

“At the moment Prince Pingxi’s heir is about to be born... a heavenly omen has descended!”

[End of Chapter 889]