Chapter 911: Rage!

“Master, time to eat.”

Young Monk Liaofan set out the food and called to his master.

His master came over and sat down.

Most of the time, the old monk acted completely mad. There were only two occasions when he was reliably clear-headed.

The first was when he entered Prince Pingxi Residence. Then he would not drool or stare blankly into space. He would do his utmost to present a dignified Buddhist bearing.

The second was mealtime.

The moment his disciple called, he came at once. He would never keep leaning somewhere, his mind wandering beyond the heavens.

The madness was real.

The feigned madness was real too.

A man lived only one life. To be mad when madness suited him, and clear-headed when clarity was needed, could itself be a kind of carefree freedom.

The meal was generous.

It was vegetarian food, certainly, but not ascetic fare. There was plenty of oil, and some mixed dishes even contained shredded meat.

Master and disciple ate it without hesitation.

Strictly speaking, the only actual monks at Gourd Temple were the two of them. Several disabled veterans had also been settled there.

In the earliest plans for Gourd Temple, Prince Pingxi Residence had treated it mostly as a place to house severely disabled retired soldiers—men with no close family left and injuries too serious for them to take other jobs such as prison guards or beacon-fort keepers.

Gourd Temple suited them well.

Most days, all they had to do was fetch water and sweep the grounds.

The temple had considered taking in more monks to fill out its religious establishment.

Unfortunately, Prince Pingxi Residence had always managed such people extremely strictly.

Especially during the past two years, eastern Jin had practically become forbidden ground for all wandering religious practitioners.

At any time, most so-called people beyond the secular world were simply looking for free food and drink.

Truly capable ones did exist.

Qian’s Back Mountain had them.

The Directorates of Astronomy of the various states had plenty as well.

But people like that usually possessed their own foundations and had no need to wander around begging.

Ordinary wandering practitioners who entered eastern Jin and were discovered were immediately “invited” to undergo “ideological education.”

Afterward, they would be bundled up in batches and shipped into the snowfields, where they could enrich and elevate the spiritual and cultural life of the Savages.

Everyone was merely trying to make a living.

There was really no need to challenge the game at maximum difficulty.

Because of that, in a city as large as Fengxin, Gourd Temple was the only temple of its kind.

The workload of master and disciple was astonishing.

Fengxin City had dedicated drum-and-bugle groups—suona players, drummers, and the like.

Their predecessors had been military signalmen who sounded horns, beat drums, and rang gongs. In peacetime, they took on ceremonial work. During war, they were recalled to the army and returned to their old trade.

But when it came to religious rites, there were only two monks.

So everything had to be compressed as much as possible.

There were days when master and disciple had to visit more than a dozen households.

Blessings.

Funerals.

Anything that required monks.

They would arrive, chant a passage of scripture, then immediately rush to the next engagement.

Even the most popular girl in a red-curtained establishment did not switch stages as quickly as these two monks.

The temple’s daily food was supplied by believers.

Mostly vegetarian.

Occasionally mixed with some meat.

The cost was low.

Even so, households had to line up for the privilege of sending food.

As for incense money... yes, there was plenty.

But every month Gourd Temple handed a large sum to Prince Pingxi Residence’s treasury.

Publicly, of course, it could not be called a tax.

It was called: great compassion—taking from the believers and using it for the believers.

Under such a structure, Gourd Temple had no possibility of expanding the way temples elsewhere did by issuing usurious loans or swallowing up farmland.

Master and disciple did not mind.

Both genuinely possessed Buddhist affinity.

They actually looked down upon such methods.

Halfway through the meal... a figure walked over.

Its face was white.

Unnaturally white.

Yet beneath that white lay a deeply uncomfortable redness.

It was a paper man.

But this paper man clearly possessed some of the traits of a living person.

It had walked over by itself.

Monk Kongyuan was always lucid while eating.

He drank a large mouthful of soup and said:

“People from the Residence are coming to the temple this afternoon. Aren’t you afraid?”

The paper man sat down.

Liaofan immediately shouted:

“There’s water underneath!”

The paper man sprang back up.

Too late.

Its backside was already soaked.

Liaofan sighed.

“Now I have to paste new paper over you again.”

“For you to craft a body for me is your good fortune. Even if you really are the reincarnation of... whatever that thing was, that still makes you merely a Buddha returning through samsara. This poor Daoist, on the other hand, is the incarnation of the Heavenly Dao itself!”

“Tch.”

The old monk made no effort to hide his disdain.

“Listen to that bragging. You could blow thick cowhide into paper as thin as yours, and you still haven’t stopped?”

The paper man... was the Daoist.

The Daoist had died.

But he had not died completely.

At first, he had entered Gourd Temple through a straw-man puppet.

After trading riddles with the monk and disciple for a while, the old monk had pointed him out to the believers and shouted:

“Beat him to death!”

The puppet had been torn apart.

His true body, meanwhile, had quietly slipped into a coffin shop in Fengxin City.

He had intended merely to spy upon the “Rootless Person.”

Unfortunately... the moment his Azure Bird rose into the sky... he was dragged into something resembling a relay battle between men and Heaven.

First, the old monk rang the bell.

Then the young monk summoned the shadow of Buddha.

After that... the stars crashed down.

The Daoist had thought it was finally over and that he could slip away.

Who would have guessed that at the very last moment, the most terrifying hidden weapon inside Prince Pingxi Residence would act.

A single hand closed... and crushed the Daoist’s bird.

Prince Pingxi could be broad-minded.

He could also be utterly ruthless.

He could tolerate Xiao Yibo, the Sword Maid, and Qu Peiluo—people whose fathers, masters, or clans had died because of him—remaining active around him and even put them to use.

But anyone who tried to pry into his children... no matter how useful that person might be... would never be spared.

So Fan Li cut off the Daoist’s head.

The divine soul he had painstakingly cultivated was swallowed whole by Demon Child, who enjoyed a fine meal and indirectly promoted Zheng Lin’s development while the baby was still inside Siniang’s womb.

The Daoist had belonged among the very highest tier of people in the mortal world.

At his peak, he had stood on roughly the same level as Master Cang.

One could say that among the many reasons Zheng Lin was born already at Ninth Grade... the Daoist had contributed his share.

A nourishing supplement like that could not be purchased with mere status or wealth.

But a centipede remained twitching even after death.

The Daoist had been a genuine man beyond the secular world.

The Daoist path ultimately sought feathered ascension.

The fleshly shell was something to be discarded.

The true goal was a form of spiritual freedom beyond all restraint.

So a tiny part of the Daoist remained.

A very, very small part.

It had survived inside his final puppet avatar.

This paper man.

The paper man was now the Daoist.

But the true Daoist was already dead.

His cultivation.

His fleshly body.

All of it had been crushed cleanly beneath Prince Pingxi Residence.

Only this paper figure remained.

It inherited part of his will, but no longer possessed the ability to make even the smallest wave.

A child with a flint could burn the present him to ash.

He had lost the past.

It was already gone.

He had lost the future too.

He could not even touch water.

There was no possibility of cultivating again.

No possibility of recovery.

All he could do was continue using a paper man as his vessel.

Float.

Drift.

And stubbornly preserve that old arrogance and indulgence.

By ordinary logic, this paper figure should have been nothing more than a final toy.

Once the true body vanished, it should soon have dissipated as well.

Instead... it drifted back to Gourd Temple.

And the monk and disciple actually took him in.

They were not harboring an enemy of Prince Pingxi Residence out of malicious intent.

They simply knew the true Daoist was already gone.

Under that premise, allowing the remnant to stay was perhaps merely a gesture of fellowship between fellow men who had left the secular world.

Every half month, Liaofan personally chanted scriptures over the paper man and blessed it.

Without that... even this paper body would cease to exist.

The Daoist’s existence had already become that pitiful and helpless.

Yet... a leopard could not change its spots.

He still regarded himself as someone standing high above the world.

His inner state had not shifted merely because external circumstances had changed.

In that respect... the Daoist truly had achieved something.

“I’m very comfortable like this now. Truly. Old Monk, why don’t you join me?”

The old monk rolled his eyes and ignored him.

Master and disciple continued eating.

Liaofan finished first and put down his bowl and chopsticks.

The old monk kept leisurely eating rice soaked in soup.

Then he asked:

“Disciple, let’s think it over again. What sort of Buddha should we make Prince Pingxi into?”

Make him a Buddha.

They no longer meant merely keeping a statue of Prince Pingxi riding Pixiu.

They wanted to find him an identity in Buddhist scripture.

A “reincarnation of such-and-such Buddha.”

Since ancient times, practitioners outside the secular world had loved doing things like this.

It was the highest religious honor they could offer.

But every circle contained flatterers.

Naturally, it also contained straightforward people.

So the paper man beside the table cursed:

“Shameless!”

Master and disciple ignored the Daoist... who no longer possessed a literal face to speak of.

Liaofan suggested:

“Arhat?”

The old monk shook his head.

“Too low.”

Arhats generally appeared in the mortal world as martial figures.

Thunderous methods.

Wrathful Vajra faces.

Purging the filth of the world.

But Prince Pingxi’s current position and status had plainly risen beyond that level long ago.

“Bodhisattva?” Liaofan suggested again.

A Bodhisattva represented the teaching and transformation of the world, restoring order, often appearing as a great minister who assisted a ruler.

The old monk shook his head again.

“I’m afraid the Prince has no interest in becoming a Bodhisattva.”

In truth... the old monk badly wanted to tell his disciple:

You were the one who said you wanted to establish a state religion in the first place!

But the old monk understood.

The disciple who had spoken that day had not truly been his disciple.

So on the surface, the master was asking his disciple for ideas.

In reality, the master was following what his disciple had once demanded... without the disciple himself knowing it.

“He won’t accept it,” the paper man said. “That man does not revere ghosts or gods. Nor does he have any interest in becoming one. ‘Believe and it exists; disbelieve and it does not.’ Anyone can say those words. Very few people can truly live by them. He can. So stop wasting your effort. Be careful you don’t lift a rock only to smash your own feet.”

Liaofan nodded deeply.

The old monk hesitated.

He wanted to persist a little longer.

In the end... he tacitly agreed to put the idea aside for now.

...

That afternoon... the members of Prince Pingxi Residence, having already returned from their blessing ceremony at Mount Tai, arrived at Gourd Temple.

Today was the Grasping of Fortune ceremony for the Residence’s Princess and Heir Prince.

Naturally, the ritual side of things could not be neglected.

There was another reason as well.

When Big Girl had been born, the master and disciple from Gourd Temple had helped.

That favor needed to be repaid.

The Brocade-Clad personal guards cleared the temple in advance.

Gourd Temple was closed to outsiders today.

Even so, large numbers of commoners still knelt outside the temple walls.

In their eyes... once the Prince entered the temple, even the Buddha inside became a little more efficacious.

Zheng Fan walked into the temple and yawned.

He had always had this problem, even in his previous life.

The moment he entered a temple... he became sleepy.

Behind him...

Zheng Lin, held in the arms of the Princess Consort of Prince Fu, yawned as well.

He was sleepy too.

Father and son... one before, one behind... completed the exact same movement with the exact same expression.

When the Princess Consort of Prince Fu had first been handed His Highness the Heir Prince to raise, she had wondered whether it was some sort of test.

By now... she was beginning to accept the truth.

They genuinely wanted her to raise the child.

She was not displeased.

If anything... she felt almost overwhelmed by the trust.

In a great household, raising children was usually the duty of the principal wife.

Even within the imperial household, children born to other consorts were often sent to the Empress to be raised.

Naturally, the Empress herself did not need to personally care for them.

There were servants and matrons for that.

But a child who spent his childhood constantly before someone’s eyes... would naturally grow close to that person later.

Even so... the Princess Consort of Prince Fu could not help admiring the generosity of the true First Madam.

She had only been inside Prince Pingxi Residence’s rear household for one day, yet she had already seen clearly that the real person in charge there was Feng Siniang.

Even Xiong Liqing, born of the Great Chu imperial clan, was merely a younger sister before her.

In reality... the matter was not complicated at all.

Siniang was genuinely tired of her own son.

A mother certainly loved her child.

But even the most loving husband and wife still argued sometimes.

You could care about your child deeply... and still find him extremely annoying.

And once the little thing came out... you could not stuff him back inside.

Unlike the other Demon Kings, Siniang herself had carried and given birth to the child.

Perhaps that simply meant she possessed less of a sentimental filter.

Giving him to the Princess Consort of Prince Fu to raise was therefore the best choice.

Liu Ruqing’s courtyard should remain free, making it easier for Master to go listen to opera.

This new little sister might have entered the Residence as a widow, but she was young and knew proper etiquette. Surely they could not immediately chain a child to her feet there.

The Princess Consort of Prince Fu was newly arrived.

Naturally... this sort of job belonged to her.

The Prince and Liang Cheng sat down on two chairs and began discussing the eastern Jin military review planned for the New Year.

Xiong Liqing carried Big Girl.

The Princess Consort of Prince Fu carried Zheng Lin.

Accompanied by matrons, they began worshiping the Buddha statues in the temple.

Incense money was offered where incense money ought to be offered.

They bowed where bows ought to be given.

The children were too small to understand.

So the adults did the worshiping on their behalf.

This could not really be called feudal superstition.

Because the true feudal ruling class did not believe this sort of thing anyway.

Xiong Liqing herself certainly did not.

That did not stop her from respectfully bowing before every Buddha statue for Big Girl’s sake.

Treat it... as custom.

The Princess Consort of Prince Fu performed the bows in Siniang’s place for Zheng Lin.

Big Girl, lying in her mother’s arms, found the many Buddha statues interesting.

Every so often she giggled.

But the Princess Consort of Prince Fu noticed something else.

The Heir Prince in her arms showed none of the curiosity an ordinary child might display toward unusual statues.

Instead... his brows slowly knitted.

Yes.

The child’s eyebrows had not even finished growing.

Yet anyone looking at him could still tell unmistakably... that he was frowning.

And the expression on his face... was one of contempt.

As though being forced to worship these things inspired instinctive rejection in him.

Almost... torment.

The Princess Consort of Prince Fu assumed the child simply could not tolerate the thick incense smoke in the temple.

She thought no further.

After passing the Arhat Hall and continuing inward, they came upon an area stacked with paper figures.

Gourd Temple also made paper funerary figures.

Not many.

The monk and disciple, together with the disabled veterans helping around the temple, were already too busy.

Besides, Fengxin City’s coffin shops offered complete funeral services.

They had everything.

This worked much the same way as chanting sutras.

When a family had a funeral, they could come to Gourd Temple, offer incense money, and take away one paper figure as a symbolic representation.

So the workload remained manageable.

The previously listless Heir Prince suddenly became interested.

For once... he smiled on his own.

Then he began flailing his arms and legs, trying to wriggle free and move toward the paper figures.

Fortunately, the Princess Consort of Prince Fu held him tightly.

The commotion from her little brother drew Big Girl’s attention as well.

She looked toward the pile of paper figures with some confusion.

A moment later...

Big Girl became excited too.

To the adults, the two children merely found the colorful paper figures strange and amusing.

Still... it felt somewhat inauspicious.

Among adults, paper funeral figures inevitably carried dark associations.

But the adults had no idea... what these two spirit children were actually seeing.

“Come. Let’s go inside and collect the longevity tablets,” Xiong Liqing ordered.

“Yes,” the Princess Consort replied.

Every member of Prince Pingxi Residence’s household had a longevity tablet in Gourd Temple.

Even Tian Tian.

As the party continued inward... a gust of wind seemed to pass through the corridor.

One paper man trembled slightly.

Zheng Lin, carried away in the Princess Consort’s arms, rested his head against her shoulder.

His gaze remained fixed on one corner of the paper-figure pile behind them.

Something instinctive inside him seemed to urge him to break free of this woman... and tear apart the thing that was showing hostility toward him.

But at that moment... the red mole between his brows faintly lit.

The strength he had just gathered vanished instantly.

The seal had taken effect.

The child leaned back against the Princess Consort in exhaustion.

He stopped looking at the paper man.

The party from Prince Pingxi Residence did not remain in Gourd Temple long.

The old monk did not suddenly announce:

“This poor monk observed the heavens last night and received revelation from Buddha. Only then did I learn Prince Pingxi is actually the reincarnation of such-and-such Buddha.”

So after the worship concluded, the entire household soon returned to the Residence.

But the Grasping of Fortune ceremony had not yet begun.

And according to ordinary procedure... after worshiping gods and Buddhas... one still had to worship one’s ancestors.

At the very beginning... when Zheng Fan and Fatty Xu were still bragging together, Zheng Fan had claimed he came from a household-servant family of Marquis Zhenbei Residence.

His grandfather was Zheng Zhilong.

His father was Zheng Chenggong.

Later, Fatty Xu had investigated.

No such two men existed among Marquis Zhenbei Residence’s household servants.

Of course... by the time Zheng Fan began rising in the world, Prince Pingxi gradually became the representative example of a commoner ascending from nothing.

Much like Zhu Chongba in another time and space.

Low birth was no longer black history.

It had become glorious history.

Still... the Prince was not truly without an elder generation.

Beneath Prince Pingxi Residence... one such elder had existed from very early on.

Silently serving as a “family elder.”

Protecting Zheng Fan’s household through a combination of spirit-in-Heaven and spirit-in-the-ground.

There was simply no need to make a public spectacle of worshiping him.

Inside the underground passage...

Zheng Fan entered first.

He personally lit incense and arranged offerings.

The coffin rested quietly in its place.

Even now... when Zheng Fan possessed an army of a hundred thousand.

Even now... when the Sword Saint stood beside him.

Zheng Fan had never forgotten the existence inside that coffin.

Back when he had first arrived in this world... when he had been weakest and most endangered... this being had given him care and protection.

This time...

Siniang, who had not gone to Gourd Temple, came as well.

Demon Kings would never admit they belonged to a younger generation.

But as Zheng Fan’s wife...

Siniang needed to show proper courtesy at this moment.

It was the Princess Consort of Prince Fu’s first time here.

She quietly held Zheng Lin and said nothing.

“Your granddaughter and grandson came to see you. In the future, once they can walk, I’ll let them come down and play with you by themselves.”

That had been Tian Tian’s model growing up.

Now... it could be copied.

After all, both of Zheng Fan’s biological children were spirit children.

There was no need to worry about baleful energy harming them.

“Put them up there,” Zheng Fan said.

Xiong Liqing smiled and stepped forward first.

She placed Big Girl on top of the coffin lid.

When she had first entered Prince Pingxi Residence, she had already paid respects to this “father-in-law.”

As someone descended from the Great Chu imperial clan, with its long history of controlling beasts, she naturally felt close to the idea of a family guardian spirit.

The Princess Consort of Prince Fu froze at first.

Then, after hesitating, she placed Zheng Lin on the coffin lid as well.

Big Girl became extremely curious about her new surroundings.

And once again... her instincts awakened.

She patted the coffin lid with one little hand.

Then smiled down at the being underneath.

At that moment... something happened that made the Princess Consort of Prince Fu’s scalp go numb.

From inside the coffin came a faint scraping sound.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Like fingernails dragging across wood.

The Princess Consort looked at everyone around her.

Seeing them completely calm... she forced herself to remain calm too.

Zheng Lin was much more wooden.

He simply sat there.

Eyes open.

Motionless.

At that... his father could no longer tolerate him.

Zheng Fan lifted his son.

Then smacked his bare little bottom twice.

Zheng Lin had been hit.

He turned his head and looked at Zheng Fan.

His gaze darkened.

It resembled scolding a food-guarding puppy.

The puppy was adorable.

But sometimes... you could feel the anger inside it.

“Heh.”

Seeing that...

Zheng Fan smacked his bottom again with more force.

But perhaps a father’s spanking simply could not compare with his biological mother producing a needle.

After all, Prince Pingxi might be a peerless Fifth Grade Martial Artist, but he could hardly use killing force against his own son.

So Zheng Lin remained completely unmoved.

At that moment... the coffin seemed to respond.

The scratching sounds softened.

Almost as though the being inside were telling Zheng Fan:

There is no need.

Siniang silently produced a silver needle and prepared to step forward.

Far deeper underground... inside that prison... one eye of the black-armored captive slowly opened a narrow slit.

Ever since Xue San had once poured fresh blood over him in exchange for the captive crushing the Daoist’s bird... his vitality appeared to have recovered slightly.

At the very least, he no longer sank into endless deathlike stillness.

Occasionally... he could react on his own.

The black-armored man seemed able to sense what was happening above.

His lips parted faintly.

With unmistakable disdain... he silently mouthed:

“Trash...”

Naturally... the word referred to Prince Pingxi.

Everyone else around him carried some unusual aura.

Again and again... only the man standing at the center... was merely a Fifth Grade Martial Artist.

To the black-armored man... that level of cultivation was barely different from useless trash.

And then...

Zheng Lin, who was still being held up by his father after the spanking, suddenly exploded with fury.

He bared his gums.

Waved his limbs violently.

And began shrieking:

“Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!”

A child’s cry inevitably carried a milky softness.

So to outsiders... it simply looked as though the baby had been spanked by his father and started bawling.

But the father himself froze.

Because Zheng Fan could see clearly... the rage in his son’s eyes.

The near-hysterical fury.

Like a beast whose reverse scale had been touched... snarling and grinding its teeth at an enemy.

Not at the father who had just spanked him.

But toward the depths below.

Toward... that stone gate.

[End of Chapter 911]