“Amitabha… hurry…” From the depths of a narrow passage came Xuanzang’s urgent call.

The two were crouched over, running at full speed through the tight confines of the tunnel — not inward, but outward.

Half an hour earlier, they had slipped through this hidden passage into the inner quarters of the county office. The passage was extremely well concealed, emerging from within the foundation of the outer wall. That kind of outer wall is a load-bearing structure and is typically thick — yet this particular outer wall, at a section one foot above the floor, had a movable panel. On the interior side, a mechanism could be activated by pulling a handle, causing the one-foot-high, one-and-a-half-foot-wide section of wall to sink silently into the ground, opening the way.

But Xuanzang had not dared to pull it. He had not expected that the far end of the passage would open directly into the bedchamber of the county magistrate’s inner quarters. Listening to the startling, deeply unsettling conversation within the room, Xuanzang was suddenly drenched in cold sweat. The hand gripping the handle trembled ever so slightly. Scenes from the distant past drifted before his eyes like wisps of smoke, and in an instant he understood the source of everything that had been happening…

“Master,” Boluoye also broke into a cold sweat, murmuring, “the room, is empty now. Shall we, go in?”

Xuanzang shook his head silently. “Go back.”

“What?” Boluoye thought he had misheard.

“Go back. Go back to Xingtang Temple.” Xuanzang murmured. “All the answers are in Xingtang Temple. No wonder, ever since this poor monk first arrived in Huoyi, Lady Li has repeatedly urged me to leave. The scale of this conspiracy is beyond what you and I can imagine.”

“What, conspiracy, exactly?” Boluoye could not help asking. “Master, have you, figured it out?”

In the darkness, Boluoye could not see Xuanzang’s face — yet he could feel that the eyes before him burned with a heat that seemed to scorch his own skin. He felt as though he were sinking deeper into a fog — the closer he got, the less he could make out. But the vast and terrifying pressure of what surrounded them made his entire body burn.

“Within Xingtang Temple — mechanisms, mists, and traps everywhere. And if the Emperor were to take up residence there…” Xuanzang’s body could not help but tremble. “The consequences would be beyond what Guo Zai could bear, beyond what our Buddhist order could bear, and beyond what the Great Tang itself could bear.”

Boluoye’s body also began to tremble. In the silence of the passage, the only sound was the two men’s labored breathing, heavy as a bellows.

“Go! Back to Xingtang Temple!” Xuanzang said through gritted teeth. “We must uncover the core secrets of this conspiracy and stop them!”

The two dared delay no further. They turned and ran back the way they had come at full speed — nearly all four limbs employed — and crawled for half an hour before finally emerging through the well shaft of the earth god temple back to the surface. The moment they were above ground, they untied the horses, pressed their heels to the animals’ flanks, and the dull thunder of hooves rose up in the dark of night. They turned and galloped back the way they had come.

Through the whole journey they were silent, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

“Master,” Boluoye finally could not hold it in any longer, and rode up alongside him, saying with hesitation, “If… what I mean is, if, Kong Cheng’s, conspiracy is against, the Emperor — what, punishment, would he face?”

“What punishment…” Xuanzang could only smile bitterly. “In our dynasty, this would be little short of treason. What punishment is there for that? How far the investigation reaches actually depends on the Emperor’s mood. At the least, the principal offender is beheaded; at the most, the entire family is condemned and nine generations of relatives are implicated… And the Buddhist order would face a great catastrophe.”

“Then… your brother, is caught up in this — since you left the monkhood, does that count, as being, part of his, family?” Boluoye asked.

Xuanzang froze. According to Buddhist teaching, a monk who enters religious life severs ties with the mundane world, and his relationship with his secular family ceases to exist. The Tang legal code explicitly stated: “Upon entering the Way — that is, upon becoming a Daoist, nun, monk, or female official — if one commits an offense of treason or great sedition, the other family members are not implicated, hence only the perpetrator is punished.” In other words, if a member of one’s family committed a crime, monks and nuns were exempt from collective punishment.

But the problem was that since the Sui and Tang dynasties, monks had promoted filial piety and in practice their ties to their original families had often not been fully severed — sometimes they remained quite close. This created a contradiction, and how it was handled in practice varied enormously.

Xuanzang sighed quietly and said nothing. Boluoye knew he had raised something troubling and could not help feeling sheepish himself. The two spoke no more, pressing their horses forward, hooves thundering. They returned to the Flying Feather Courtyard below the cliff.

“Master, are we, going back up, this way?” Boluoye asked.

Xuanzang nodded. “The monastery gate is already shut. There is no other way in. And we must return the horses.”

“Those two men, what about them?” Boluoye said quietly. “Although you warned them, not to reveal anything — if there is even, a small slip, our identities, will be exposed.”

Xuanzang’s brow furrowed. After a long moment, he said, “We must take the risk.”

The Flying Feather Courtyard remained in complete silence, with no one moving about. The two led the horses into the compound, and Boluoye took the horses to the stable and tethered them. Then a gleam flashed in his eye and he said in a low voice, “Master, I still feel, uneasy. What we are about, to do is of such, great importance — how can we risk a slip, like this, and let all our efforts, come to nothing?”

“What is your suggestion?” Xuanzang looked at him calmly.

Boluoye extended his hand and made a sharp downward chopping motion. Xuanzang said coolly, “Taking life is the foremost precept of Buddhism. I am a monk — if I were to break this vow, I would descend into the Avici Hell after death!”

“But…” Boluoye was anxious. “We are doing this, to save, the Buddhist order, to save countless lives! Even, to save, the Emperor!”

Xuanzang remained unmoved. “To kill one person and save ten thousand — a hero may do this. This poor monk will not. As for the Emperor and the servants — in this poor monk’s eyes, there is no difference between them. This matter is thirty percent in human hands and seventy percent in heaven’s. If you commit the sin of killing, the gods and Buddhas will not look upon you with favor — how then can you break open this catastrophic scheme?”

Boluoye, having no choice, thought for a moment and muttered, “Then let me, go to, the room, and check on them. And deal out, another palm strike, so they, sleep longer.”

Xuanzang looked at him steadily. “People act, and heaven watches. Do not even think of killing in this poor monk’s presence!”

Boluoye was brought up short. A helpless sense of defeat washed over him — this monk, how could he be so shrewdly perceptive? He seemed capable of seeing directly into one’s innermost thoughts. Every small cleverness and every small scheme simply fell apart in his presence at the first touch.

He had no choice but to follow Xuanzang back to the rear courtyard, where the suspended cage still stood. The two climbed in, and Xuanzang felt around for a moment, finding a crossbar beside where the cage was docked. He pressed it, the cage gave a slight shudder, and the frame let out a creaking sound. Two enormous gears above meshed together and began to turn steadily. The cage began slowly to rise, driven upward along the cables overhead.

“This kind of mechanism is truly extraordinary craftsmanship!” Xuanzang murmured in admiration. “To be able to lift a cage this heavy all the way to a mountaintop hundreds of feet high.”

“The power must be coming from, windmills, at the summit?” Boluoye was equally full of wonder.

Xuanzang nodded. “And from the torrents in the mountain streams. When this poor monk first heard from the monk in the Scripture Tower that those great windmills only served to grind grain in the kitchen — this poor monk found that puzzling. Now it becomes clear why — in secret, they have all along been providing power for this suspended cage. A scheme of such scale, a stratagem of such depth — it is evident that Kong Cheng’s ambitions are not small!”

“Are they planning, to assassinate, the Emperor?” Boluoye asked.

Xuanzang shook his head slowly. “It is hard to say. This is precisely something we need to clarify — what their goal is, what arrangements they have made — and then we can act as the moment demands. But one thing is certain.” Xuanzang fixed his gaze on Boluoye, his eyes full of gravity. “This poor monk cares not who you are, or what purpose you carry. There is one precept you must remember — no killing.”

“Mas… Master…” Boluoye was thunderstruck. His broad lips hung open, unable to close.

“Amitabha,” Xuanzang said lightly. “The Diamond Sutra says that worldly dust is like a blade. No matter what you have been tainted with in this mortal world — it does not matter. No matter what purpose brought you to follow this poor monk a year ago — it does not matter. But do not kill. That is this poor monk’s bottom line.”

The perspiration broke out on Boluoye’s forehead — not from the terror of hanging in midair, and not from the long, dark journey up the cliff, but from the monk before him, whose gaze was utterly clear and whose bearing was utterly peaceful.

“When did the Master discover my secret?” Boluoye’s composure gradually settled over him. The good-natured and honest look on his face gave way, unexpectedly, to a trace of cold sharpness — and his speech was no longer halting at all, but smooth and flowing.

“Very early,” Xuanzang smiled slightly. “From the very beginning, when you started following me, this poor monk already had suspicions. In Tianzhu, among the four great castes, the Shudra are so low in status that they are virtually no different from slaves. Tianzhu is not so wealthy or enlightened a land that even slaves read and study, know the classical texts, and are capable of practicing advanced yoga techniques. You recited passages of the Kama Sutra for Lu Luo — even text so complex and abstruse, you had committed to memory. Alas — you were not careful enough with yourself.”

Boluoye’s thick lips gave a twitch, and a rueful smile showed through. “Nothing escapes the Master’s discerning eye. But what could I do? You needed to follow me in order to learn Sanskrit. I had no way to pretend — if I knew nothing at all, how would you have kept me on?”

Xuanzang burst into helpless laughter. “That is true — this was indeed a very troubling dilemma for you.”

“What else?” Boluoye said coolly.

“There was also the time in the Magistrate’s Temple, when we fell from the cliff. You called out to me — for a single sentence your speech was perfectly fluent.” Xuanzang said carefully. “Even though you returned immediately to your halting manner, that one sentence was already enough to give you away.”

Boluoye thought back and shook his head again and again. “I can’t believe the Master even noticed that small detail in that moment of crisis. Is there more?”

“There is. That narcotic incense was so extraordinarily potent. This poor monk at the time felt as though ascending into paradise. Yet you were able to break free of it — and moreover, you were able to identify the datura and hemp components within it. What kind of person could do that? Hardly a runaway slave.” Xuanzang smiled slightly. “The greatest giveaway was at the tea house at the foot of Huo Mountain. Upon hearing that Xingtang Temple had cost thirty thousand strings of cash to build, you told me that thirty thousand strings would be equivalent to the full annual tax revenue of all eight counties of Jinzhou combined. Did it not occur to you? A Tianzhu runaway slave, wandering on Tang soil — how could he possibly know what a single prefecture’s annual tax amounted to? You also told me precisely that County Magistrate Cui Jue’s monthly salary was two strings and one hundred coins — if you had not heard it from Lady Li, even this poor monk would not know that clearly.”

Boluoye stared with his mouth hanging open for a long while before murmuring, “It seems being too thorough in one’s preparations is not always a good thing either. I made my background knowledge far too detailed…”

“In truth, your slip-ups were many,” Xuanzang said. “For example, you went out secretly every night — you told me it was to keep watch on Kong Cheng. But this simply does not fit your supposed identity. You were just a wandering Tianzhu runaway looking for a meal. No matter how suspicious Kong Cheng seemed, what concern was it of yours?”

“But I always appeared very curious!” Boluoye argued, not willing to concede.

“Yet there were evenings when Kong Cheng was sitting in my room discussing Chan,” Xuanzang said.

Boluoye fell silent.

The cage creaked and groaned, rising through the dark along the cliff face. From time to time a cold draft swept up through the mountain valley, and the cage swayed alarmingly, nearly grazing the cliff wall. If the wooden cage were to strike rock, it would shatter in splinters, and the two would fall with the scattered fragments into the darkness without end. Yet neither of them paid it any mind. They held the handrails on all four sides firmly and fixed each other with burning eyes.

“Now will you say?” Xuanzang asked. “Who are you exactly? What mission do you carry? Why have you been following me?”

Boluoye was silent for a long while, and then instead asked a question in return. “Master, may I ask you something first? Knowing that my identity was complex and my purpose unclear — why did you still allow me to follow you?”

“The smoke of passing years, grief on grief.” Xuanzang sighed. “Living in this world, who has no purpose? Who has no affairs they cannot speak to others? This poor monk himself has — my elder brother Chang Jie is a demon in my heart. I have come to find him, yet how could I tell this to anyone else? A mountain spring gushes down from the heights and rushes into the rivers — its purpose is the great oceans, yet it does not begrudge along the way watering the earth it flows through, and the insects and small creatures that live because of it.”

A trace of unexpected emotion stirred in Boluoye’s heart. He murmured, “But, Master — were you not afraid that I might harm you?”

“This poor monk considered it. But I have no wealth and have committed no wrong. I had no reason to fear you,” Xuanzang said openly. “What I suspected most was that your purpose too was to find Chang Jie — whether from private enmity or by official order. If private enmity — this poor monk could not prevent it. Cause and effect cycle through, and recompense is sure. Chang Jie must face that himself. If by official order — then all the less to worry about. Chang Jie has sinned, and naturally he must face the punishment of human law. This poor monk would not dare let private feeling destroy the way of heaven and human virtue.”

Boluoye’s expression became solemn, and he pressed his palms together. “The Master’s heart is as clear as the radiant wind and the pure moon — transparent and magnanimous. This small man is put to shame. I do indeed carry a mission, and my identity truly has another secret — but… it cannot be spoken of to the Master right now. When the mission is complete, I will hold nothing back, and will conceal nothing.”

Xuanzang gave a nod. “Very well, then this poor monk will press you no further. And — do you no longer wish to kill this poor monk?”

“How could I?” Boluoye’s eyes went wide.

“Your scabbard is half-drawn. Be careful not to cut yourself.” Xuanzang pointed at his chest.

Boluoye turned his head — and immediately went red with embarrassment. In his tension just now, his hand had unconsciously half-drawn the short blade he kept tucked in his robe. He hastily shoved it back — but made too large a movement, and a gust of wind struck the cage just then, sending it swaying. The two collapsed in a heap.

Boluoye clambered up awkwardly. The two looked at each other and smiled, then without any signal shook their heads in unison and sighed.

“Master,” Boluoye said gravely, “I give you my word — I will not kill a single person!”

“I trust you,” Xuanzang said simply.

The cage came to a smooth stop at the edge of Kong Cheng’s courtyard. It was already past the third hour of the Ox watch, heading into the fourth. The crescent moon had gone further west, hidden in cloud and mountain ridge, and all around was darker and more desolate than before. The courtyard was utterly silent. Kong Cheng had not returned, and the disciples were all deeply asleep — through the walls could be heard the faint, muffled sound of their snoring.

“Master, while Kong Cheng is away — shall we explore his room?” Boluoye suddenly had a bold idea.

Xuanzang looked at him, quite tempted. Kong Cheng’s meditation chamber was surely where the innermost secrets were kept — perhaps it held a detailed account of the entire conspiracy. The two conversed in low voices for a moment, then slipped along the outer edge of the side rooms to Kong Cheng’s meditation chamber. By the sound of breathing, four disciples were sleeping in the two flanking rooms, but the main room was utterly still.

The room was empty — yet the bolt had been slid from within. Boluoye drew out his short blade — its surface patterned like flowing silk, the blade thin as paper. He slipped it into the door crack, gave a gentle push, and the bolt clicked free. He eased the door open a crack and slipped through sideways. Xuanzang followed.

The two quietly pulled the door shut behind them. Inside it was utterly black. They dared not light the fire-starter, so they felt their way in the dark. Fortunately, the layout of this meditation hall was much the same as the Bodhi Courtyard — a central Buddha hall with a statue of Shakyamuni, a study area screened off to the right by a partition and piled with countless scrolls of scripture, and Kong Cheng’s sleeping quarters to the left, with simple furnishings — a bed with a drawn curtain at the inner end.

Xuanzang signaled to Boluoye to go to the sleeping quarters while he worked the study. Boluoye nodded and went. Xuanzang turned over the study shelves for a while, and felt a sense of despair — the shelves were piled high with cloth-cased scroll after scroll, probably more than a thousand in all. And nearly all the scrolls were hand-copied, the characters somewhat hurried. The room was extremely dark, and he could not make out any of the writing.

Xuanzang went through the scrolls one by one. Suddenly he noticed a cloth scroll case on which could be faintly read the characters “Xingtang Temple.” His heart gave a jolt. He snatched it up and brought it to the window, squinting to read what he could. A line of large characters was just visible: Record of the Imperial Construction of Xingtang Temple. He undid the case. Inside was a hand-copied scroll document on fine Yizhou hemp paper — white, smooth, thin, and strong — a texture Xuanzang knew well at a touch.

But the room was far too dark. He could not make out a single character — only a series of dark vertical lines. Xuanzang felt a flash of frustration, and then, as he casually unrolled the scroll, his heart gave another sudden leap — tucked within the scroll was an additional sheet of paper!

He quickly drew it out. The paper was about two feet in length, covered with dense lines of diagrams. There were lines, squares, dotted lines, and round dots, the structure complex and elaborate.

“Could this be the complete diagram of Xingtang Temple?” His heart was suddenly pounding — he thought of the hidden passages Lu Luo had described.

At that moment Boluoye’s voice came from the sleeping quarters, hushed but trembling: “Master, I have found something!”

Xuanzang did not wait to think further. He rolled the paper, tucked it into his robe, then rolled the scroll back into its case and replaced it. He made his way quietly to the sleeping quarters. “What have you found?”

Boluoye’s body emerged from within Kong Cheng’s bed. His wide eyes were full of fright. “I accidentally opened a hidden panel. The inner side of the wall behind the bed is movable — there is a hidden chamber.”

Xuanzang started, then stepped up onto the bed. Sure enough, at the inner wall where the bed stood, a gap had appeared, revealing a dark passage. Boluoye led him inside. “It is not deep — it should go further, but I cannot find the mechanism.”

The two descended stone steps and shortly reached the bottom. All around was pitch black — not even a hand held before the face was visible, which was why Boluoye had been unable to find the mechanism. They felt along the walls in a full circle, and Xuanzang was about to speak when his foot caught on something, and he pitched forward, stumbling onto — and landing on top of — a person.

“Master—” Boluoye’s startled cry came from the opposite direction.

There was someone here!

Xuanzang went cold all over, every hair on his body standing on end, a cold sweat erupting from every pore. He scrambled off the person in a panic, and called out, “Who is there?”

Boluoye was equally frightened. Both of them held their breath, and for a long moment there was no reply.

“Light the fire-starter,” Xuanzang said firmly. “We are in a passage — no light can be seen from outside.”

Boluoye drew out the fire-starter, struck it alight, and in its faint glow the four walls came into view. Both men looked down — and their bodies gave a violent shudder, both nearly falling — for on the ground, there was indeed a person lying there!

This person wore monk’s robes, with a shaved head. Boluoye steeled himself and gave a light kick. The person did not respond at all. Xuanzang crouched down, gripped the shoulder, and turned the body over. It felt rigid to the touch — cold as stone. The body turned over and revealed a face — gaunt and lean, deeply lined with age — it was the abbot of Xingtang Temple, Kong Cheng!

Both of them had heard from Lu Luo that she had stabbed Kong Cheng — yet the one they called Kong Cheng had been with them day after day since then, eating, discussing Chan, presiding over the dharma assembly. The doubt had quietly grown in their minds. Now, in this sudden moment, finding this old monk they had spent time with just that very day lying here rigid with death in a hidden chamber — the shock was beyond words.

On instinct they both looked. Kong Cheng’s chest was stained deep crimson — sure enough, he had been stabbed by Lu Luo. Xuanzang touched his cheek — icy cold — and pulled at the skin: no mask of any kind. This was unmistakably the real Kong Cheng.

But then who was the Kong Cheng who had been with them every day?

The moment this thought rose to the surface, both of them felt a shudder pass through them.

At precisely that moment, a faint creaking sound drifted in from the quiet courtyard. Xuanzang’s expression changed. “Trouble — the suspended cage has started again. That person is returning!”

The two hastily arranged Kong Cheng’s body back into its original position, extinguished the fire-starter, emerged from the passage, and Boluoye activated the mechanism of the hidden chamber. A panel of wall slowly rose from the ground, fitting seamlessly back into place. Xuanzang tidied the bed with care, and the two slipped silently out of the meditation chamber and retreated along the way they had come, climbing back over the wall.

Only then did their hearts settle back into place.

In the Bodhi Courtyard, the moon had set, the shadows deepened, and the trees swayed. The hot spring burbled and gushed, adding a note of quiet solitude.

That night, the two had first endured the thrilling and harrowing journey down the cliff, then a moonlit pursuit through the dark, and then had crept through a winding secret passage into the inner quarters of Huoyi County’s magistrate office. Their emotions had surged and plunged across countless turns, all manner of strange and sinister things crowded into a matter of hours. The moment the tension released, they felt utterly exhausted to the bone.

They rested for half an hour before recovering somewhat, and by then the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Boluoye went and boiled some water and brewed tea for Xuanzang. He had once drunk nothing but unboiled water in Tianzhu, but had by now grown accustomed to the pleasures of the Tang way of living. He sat on the meditation cushion with his legs stretched out and asked, “Master, did you find anything in the study?”

Xuanzang nodded and drew out the rolled diagram from his robe. Boluoye’s spirits rose at once. He leaned over to look. The diagram lines were dense and intricate, covering the full length of the two-foot paper. At the left side was a line of characters: Xingtang Temple Engineering Method Record.

Below were several hundred characters of annotation — pivot, hub, mechanism, trigger, linkage, chain, and so on, each illustrated and labeled. At the center of the entire diagram was a cogwheel-shaped element, with eighteen irregular circles surrounding it on all sides, connected by solid lines, dotted lines, and jagged lines. Radiating outward from these were countless additional lines, each marked with lengths and heights.

Constrained by the size of the paper, these diagrams contained almost no descriptive names — only designations using the heavenly stems and earthly branches: first through tenth, the twelve earthly branches. The two stared in bewilderment. It was clear that there must be a corresponding reference document — and at that moment Xuanzang felt deep regret. He should have brought the Record of the Imperial Construction of Xingtang Temple as well.

Just then, a cold laugh sounded from outside the door. “How unexpected — the venerable Master Xuanzang has taken to the conduct of a thief!”

Both were greatly alarmed. They turned to look, and there in the doorway stood an old monk with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at them with a cold smile — it was Kong Cheng!

Both knew the real Kong Cheng was already dead. This was an impostor. The question was — in the nearly half a month since Lu Luo had stabbed him, the two of them had not detected so much as a single flaw. Whatever the posture, the gait, the voice — this person’s imitation was vivid and precise. Even the profound depth of Chan teaching that Kong Cheng displayed when conversing on the dharma was seamlessly replicated. They had been sitting together with the man for days.

To think of it — imitating Kong Cheng’s speech and movements was one thing. Given enough time in close proximity, one of talent could learn to be indistinguishable. But the depth of doctrinal learning — Kong Cheng’s Buddhist scholarship had been cultivated over decades. His mastery was genuine and hard-won. Yet this person had been able to speak fluently on Chan matters in Xuanzang’s presence, and to preside over the dharma assembly for the past several days — this ability was something to truly fear.

Who was this person?

Xuanzang remained utterly composed. He calmly rolled the diagram back up and tucked it into his sleeve, rose, and pressed his palms together. “Amitabha. So it is Elder Brother. Why has Elder Brother come to find this poor monk so early?”

Boluoye’s face tensed. His right hand moved into his robe and gripped the knife handle, his eyes scanning the doorway. Kong Cheng looked at him with disdain. “There is no one outside. Does this poor monk need a retinue to visit his junior brother?”

Boluoye let out a breath of relief and loosened his hand with a sheepish air.

Kong Cheng stepped into the room with an air of complete assurance and walked up to the two of them, sitting cross-legged on the meditation cushion. The three formed a triangle in their seats.

“Junior Brother — since your arrival at Xingtang Temple, how has this old monk treated you?” Kong Cheng said coldly. “With all the respect and honor befitting a great monk of the dharma, surely? And in order to spread your reputation, this old monk arranged a great debate assembly, gathering the eminent monks of the three Jin regions to compete. Within days, which Buddhist monastery throughout the three Jin regions has not heard the name of Master Xuanzang? And what about you? How have you repaid this old monk? Prying about in the night, then riding the old monk’s suspended cage to go sightseeing, tracking the old monk all the way to the county town, and returning to help yourself to this roll of the Engineering Method Record from the old monk’s room! Five precepts and ten virtues — no stealing is among the most essential. Junior Brother, you have greatly disappointed this old monk!”

Xuanzang turned the prayer beads in his hands with a quiet click, and sighed. “Elder Brother — at this point in things, what is the use of further deception? Dust accumulates in the world, and then there is something to wipe away; when one’s attachments to the outside world accumulate, there is loss. This poor monk took your diagram because he needed to investigate the sin you have been building. And now, with all five precepts broken — can you still call yourself a man of Buddhism?”

“Oh?” Kong Cheng said through clenched teeth, with a faint and ominous smile. “This old monk has broken all five precepts? Tell me how!”

“The first precept — no killing. Has Elder Brother kept it?” Xuanzang fixed his burning gaze on the man. “The Zhou family — all one hundred and twenty-three of them — at whose hands did they die? Need this poor monk spell it out?”

Boluoye was deeply shocked. The total destruction of the Zhou family had been an unsolved mystery — could it truly have been this old monk’s doing? But seeing Kong Cheng’s silence, it seemed Xuanzang’s words were not unfounded.

“The second precept — no stealing. This Xingtang Temple, the funds required for its construction — surely more than thirty thousand strings of cash? Where the money came from, this poor monk dares not say rashly. But that you slip into other people’s private quarters — what you do there, need this poor monk say?” Xuanzang fixed his gaze on him. “As for the third precept — no sexual misconduct — you know this in your own heart. The fourth — no false speech. You walk in this mask beneath the daylight, day after day presenting yourself as Kong Cheng. Are you not afraid that the Buddha’s light of a hundred zhang will illuminate your corruption?”

Kong Cheng looked at him in silence, and slowly nodded. “It seems Junior Brother has understood things quite thoroughly. Heh — and the fifth precept? This old monk never drinks wine.”

“Elder Brother has taken a narrow view,” Xuanzang smiled. “Why is wine forbidden? Because wine stimulates the mind and throws the spirit into disorder — for this reason, in the Buddhist tradition, anything that causes a person to lose their reason and ruin their virtue is among the forbidden. Elder Brother uses hemp and datura to create a narcotic incense, deceiving people’s minds and using it to commit all manner of evil acts — and yet you do not know you have broken your vow?”

Kong Cheng was left speechless.

Boluoye knew that by now both parties had reached the point where the diagram is unrolled and the blade appears — one wrong word, and blood would spray three feet and bodies would fall to the floor. Yet these two monks with their blades of speech and parries of language — attack and defense, thrust and counterthrust — did it all without the smallest trace of heat or fire. They looked for all the world like two old friends sitting and savoring tea together in quiet ease.

“So this is what the real contest between the greatest figures of the Great Tang looks like,” Boluoye thought to himself. “Far more refined than anything we do in Tianzhu — we just hack and slash at each other.”

“So you know I am not Kong Cheng?” the old monk gave a long and quiet sigh.

Xuanzang silently nodded.

“Then who am I, this old monk?” Kong Cheng’s eyes held a mischievous gleam. “Guess!”

“County Magistrate Cui — why must you keep wearing that expression of a man who holds the entire world in the palm of his hand?” Xuanzang’s face remained composed. “The brilliant talent of the three Jin regions, once a county magistrate of Huoyi, now a judge of the Ni Li Yu — what a sweeping gesture indeed!”

“What? He is Cui Jue?” Boluoye was struck dumb.

“Yes — he is Cui Jue!” Xuanzang said, fixing him with an unblinking gaze.

Kong Cheng was frozen for a long moment before breaking into a great laugh. “Truly worthy of the Buddhist world’s thoroughbred — a gaze like a torch! Sometimes this old monk has actually wondered whether you have opened the heavenly eye.”

With that, both hands slowly moved to the sides of his own neck, and he began working them around the nape. He gripped a patch of skin and began slowly peeling it up. Both men stared in astonishment. Even Xuanzang, who had anticipated who this man was, had not imagined that the world could contain so exquisitely crafted a disguise — or more precisely, a mask.

From the back of the neck to the top of the head, the entire skin was lifted off in one continuous piece — thin as a cicada’s wing, supple as soft glue — covering the whole head and face, with only the ears left with openings at the roots. In the chill of the dark night, watching a person slowly peel away their entire face — the sight was staggering, terrifying to the core.

But the man did it with elegance, lightly and gently, as though drawing his beloved wife’s eyebrows. The skin came away to reveal a face of rich and luminous beauty — though his head was bare and shaved, and bore the tattoos of full ordination — the features were handsome, the bearing dignified. He was, in truth, an exceptionally fine-looking man. Above all, his gaze — freed now from the old and murky eyes he had been wearing — was bright and penetrating, deep as a still pool of water. Only his complexion was extraordinarily pallid, as though he had not seen sunlight in years.

“County Magistrate Cui.” Xuanzang bowed his head in a gesture of greeting.

“Master Xuanzang’s reputation is well deserved.” Cui Jue said with a warm smile. His voice too was entirely unlike Kong Cheng’s — rich with resonance, capable of reaching the ear without effort. “This humble one has concealed himself with a disguise for seven full years without a single slip. Yet in just a few days, the Master has seen through it. Remarkable.”

“The world is in truth empty illusion, and the County Magistrate has lost himself in this material dust. No matter how cleverly you conceal yourself, you are still only a grain of dust in the mortal world.” Xuanzang said.

“A grain of dust…” Cui Jue seemed to lose himself for a moment. He gazed out the window, murmuring, “Dawn has come. Yesterday the red dust clung to the trees — yet the leaves have fallen. In the next moment, the wind will carry me — where will I drift to?”

“I sigh, for this place is not my native earth — I cannot see those flowers, year after year.” Xuanzang astonished him by reciting a line of Cui Jue’s own poetry. “Where does a grain of dust ultimately fall? It falls where its fate ordains. If you cling to the branches and struggle not to go — even if you manage to see those flowers for one more moment, how long can you linger?”

Cui Jue’s gaze shimmered, a look of dreamlike melancholy crossing his face. In a low voice he recited: “‘Brocade lanes of fragrance rare as the orchid-bearing — full of elegance, hard to match as you.’ ‘My heart, lost in the morning dream, the window still dark — powder fallen from soft skin, sweat not yet dry.’ ‘On two faces of peach-blossom rouge, from the mirror rising — one glance of spring water, cold as a gaze.’ Seven years have passed, and this is the first time I have heard anyone recite my poems. In my youth, I brought my young bride beside me and retreated to Dragon Mountain in Jinyang. I fancied myself the Phoenix — and with my poet friends and companions I would sing and answer verse after verse. Every day, drunk on wine, I would tuck a jug under my arm, climb through snow and wind to the summit of Dragon Mountain, and pour a bowl for heaven, a bowl for earth, and a bowl for myself. Ha ha — that kind of elation! It was truly as the Tathagata Buddha is said to have declared — in the heavens above and the earth below, I alone am sovereign. Every person is a Buddha — and I was the Buddha of myself, the god of myself…”

He murmured as he spoke, then suddenly knocked on a teacup and began to sing: “My three hundred poems overflow this world — riding the wind into the clouds above… everywhere starlight is all writing — of the world’s ten measures I claim three…”

The singing was mournful and beautiful, this master of literature given also a magnificent voice. Beating time on the teacup, he sang of how all things in this life are transient, and how joy and sorrow melt like a dream. As he sang, tears welled in Cui Jue’s eyes and streamed down his handsome face, in an expression of infinite desolation.

Boluoye was long since watching in blank amazement. Xuanzang gave a quiet sigh. “Lady Youniang once sent me a poem: ‘What is there in the mountains — on the ridges, much white cloud. Only these clouds I can delight in — they cannot be sent to you.’ If the County Magistrate were wise, he might do as the mountain sage did. Why entangle himself in these ten thousand feet of red dust and seek his own suffering?”

“Mountain sage?” Cui Jue’s expression turned cold, and a look of sudden violence flooded his face. “I, Cui Jue, a man of boundless talent — twenty years of painstaking study — could I truly have spent it all only to die forgotten in the mountains? In former times, only Xie Lingyun was admired. Had he not been of the Wang and Xie families, even his finest poems would have served only to feed the cooking fires! I am Cui Jue, of the Cui clan of Hedong — a branch line, and impoverished — yet the heavens gave me talent. If I cannot leave my name on this earth, then even after death, cast into this Ni Li purgatory for eternity, I would still clench my teeth and curse the injustice of heaven!”

Xuanzang had not expected the bitterness and resentment in Cui Jue’s heart to be so fierce and so deep, and felt a pang of great sadness. This man’s talent was beyond compare. Yet once a mind of such gifts falls into the demonic path, the evil it can do is far more terrible than that of an ordinary person. He recited slowly: “‘Smoke divides into three layers of green at the mountaintop — sword-light cuts a single inch of radiance in the eye.’ A metaphor so strange it is heaven-born. ‘The pine wind sweeps a thousand li without ceasing — bamboo spring pours into the monastic kitchen.’ A realm clear and empty as Buddha-nature. ‘From ancient times to now the earth is full of people — life’s toil unfinished, they return to barrow and mound.’ To see through a hundred feet of red dust — a gaze of true insight. ‘The silver vase stores spring water, a handful scooped — the sound of pine-rain comes, and the flower on the cream ripens. When vermilion lips sip and break the jade-green cloud — the fragrance swallows into the sweet throat, refreshing the ruby jade.’ To depict a person’s bearing, as if it were before one’s eyes. ‘A tower of spring snow and dust falling together — midnight cold spring water flowing with the rain.’ A singer’s voice pure as nature itself, as though still in one’s ears.”

Xuanzang looked at Cui Jue with deep compassion. “Such extraordinary talent — yet it has fallen to the demonic path. Is that heaven’s fault? Earth’s fault? Or man’s fault?”

Cui Jue was struck silent, and as Xuanzang recited his own poems, the raging turbulence in his face gradually calmed. He sighed. “I did not expect the Master to have read so many of my poems.”

“When this poor monk was staying in the county magistrate’s rear quarters, in idle moments, this poor monk found your old scrolls at Lady Li’s and read through some of them,” Xuanzang said.

“You flatter me — mere scribbling, not worthy of the Master’s eye.” Cui Jue spoke of his beloved verses with a face that grew far more composed and elegant, the violence in him evaporating entirely. His mouth said modest words, but on his face was evident pride. “I will not conceal it from the Master — when I went into the mountains, I never intended to end my days there. And so when chaos fell in the final years of the Sui, I answered the former Emperor’s summons and came out of retreat to lend my assistance. At the time I simply thought — rebel, then rebel. A great man who cannot feast from five caldrons in life, may as well be boiled in five caldrons at death. I had not expected…” He gave a bitter smile. “Fate mocks us all. I don’t know what ill fortune dogged me. Far from feasting from the five caldrons, even being boiled in them was more than I could hope for. When the Tang army took Huoyi, the former Emperor assigned me as county magistrate to hold the place — as though he had simply forgotten me. The colleagues of those days — Pei Ji had become the foremost counselor-in-chief, Dou Cong was enfeoffed as Duke of Qiao, Yin Kaishan as Duke of Chen County, and even men like Liu Shidong, Zhang Pinggao, and Li Sixing were all enrolled as founding meritorious subjects. And I?”

Cui Jue grew furious again. “The day Li Yuan was blocked in Huoyi by Song Laosheng, unable to advance or withdraw — had I not devised the strategy to lure the enemy from the city and strike from front and rear, breaking Song Laosheng — Li Yuan would have tucked in his head and retreated to Taiyuan. Where would his Tang empire have come from? Where would all his endless wealth have come from? And I — the greatest meritorious subject of all — was left forgotten in Huoyi! The old man became Emperor and had nothing to say to me. The son became Emperor and had nothing to say to me either…”

Xuanzang quickly cut in: “You staged your death in the sixth year of the Wude reign. At that time, the current Emperor had not yet ascended the throne.”

“Throne or no throne — it makes no difference!” Cui Jue waved an infuriated hand. “Posthumous honors! Could he not have posthumously enfeoffed me? After Dou Cong died he was still posthumously given the rank of Grand General of the Left Imperial Guard! That way at least my wife and daughter would have been properly established, and I could have left behind a name to honor. I was dead — and what did Li Yuan and Li Shimin have to say about it? Nothing more than the prefecture issuing a notice seeking the criminal! Hmph — the killer was myself. Seek whom?”

Xuanzang could only smile ruefully. When Cui Jue spoke of his poetry he was refined and composed, magnificent in bearing. But the moment the subject turned to his fortunes in office, it was as though he became a different person entirely, the unnamed rage barely restrained from erupting from the top of his skull.

“And so you built this Xingtang Temple, faked your death, went into hiding, and planned to assassinate the Emperor?” Boluoye said coldly.

Cui Jue’s face took on a strange expression. “Assassinate him? Hmph — what do you understand? What I intend to do is not to assassinate one Emperor — but to create a brilliant and glorious age!”