Monk Liaoru stood trembling in the courtyard in front of the county office’s great hall. A clerk led the way ahead of him, but seeing that he refused to move forward again, the clerk urged him repeatedly: “Abbot, the Special Envoy is only asking you to come assist with the case investigation, not to arrest you. Why are you so timid and afraid to go?”
However, in Monk Liaoru’s eyes, this was clearly malicious intent—a trap to lure him in.
When County Magistrate Wu had proposed more than ten days ago to temporarily enshrine Governor Cui Keyong’s precious pearl in Lotus Temple, he had thought it was a blessing from heaven and was overwhelmed with honor. Whether it was catching the wind from the imperial family or the governor, it would be like leaping through the dragon gate, increasing his status tenfold.
Even if the precious pearl was just passing through, it would bring glory to Lotus Temple. In the future, they could make much of this story, and naturally the incense offerings would flourish beyond compare. At that time, Monk Liaoru dreamed day and night with wild fantasies—if he could use this opportunity to go to Chang’an and become the abbot of a great temple, wearing splendid brocade robes, that would truly be a dream come true.
Never did he expect that this was not a blessing from heaven, but a disaster from heaven. The precious pearl was stolen from Lotus Temple, and he, as the abbot, could not escape responsibility. In one night he fell from the clouds, confined to his own monastery for meditation and reflection. Even more terrifying was that yesterday they had captured the Captain of Undesirables, Luo Chengye, at Lotus Temple. This man had killed and destroyed corpses, faked his death to escape, and had actually been hiding in the temple undetected all along—this became another crime attributed to him as abbot.
The clerk urged him again, and Monk Liaoru could only continuously recite Buddhist prayers, begging all the gods and Buddhas in the sky to protect him through this great tribulation.
Seeing that the clerk wasn’t going to the court hall but instead leading him toward the prison direction, Monk Liaoru was so frightened that his fat body trembled all over: “Officer, this is… this is…”
The clerk said: “The Special Envoy stays in the prison from morning to night interrogating prisoners, so we can only trouble the Abbot to make the trip there.”
At this point, with a blade at his neck, even if there were mountains of knives and seas of fire ahead, Liaoru had no choice but to follow him.
According to tradition, county office prisons were built underground. As soon as the main door opened, there was a dark, cavernous stairway. Descending step by step, the temperature dropped suddenly, and an extremely thick stench of blood and decay hit him in the face. The underground prison was as dark as deep night, with torches lit in various places. Monk Liaoru squinted to adjust to the light and could vaguely make out several bloody, mangled human figures hanging in the air. Frightened, he dared not look closely and quickly lowered his head to chant Buddhist prayers.
But when he looked down, the ground was covered with bloodstains and excrement—apparently prisoners under torture had lost control of their bodily functions.
Though the late summer heat had passed and it was quite hot at noon, this underground prison was unusually cold and gloomy. Monk Liaoru couldn’t help but break out in goosebumps, feeling as if he were in the Buddhist hell transformation paintings, except this wasn’t a mural—all these hellish sufferings were real.
“The Abbot has arrived? You’ve come at just the right time. I have something to consult with you about.”
A majestic and cold voice rang out. Special Envoy Bao Lang slowly paced over, his words very polite and courteous.
But the more polite he was, the more frightened Monk Liaoru became, because he had witnessed firsthand how quickly this man could change faces—sometimes gloomy, sometimes violent, sometimes refined and courteous, sometimes mad and frenzied, like a cunning yet insane wild beast.
Today Bao Lang wore a dark green round-collared warrior’s brocade robe, with a taotie-patterned silver-inlaid belt at his waist, from which hung a horizontal sword in a sharkskin scabbard, making him appear upright and imposing—even in Chang’an he would be an outstanding figure. Only the hem of his robe was splattered with some dark red bloodstains, which Monk Liaoru, not daring to raise his head, caught sight of, causing his clasped palms to tremble involuntarily.
“I’ve troubled the Abbot to come today mainly to ask how many people in the temple can read and write.”
Bao Lang casually took a cloth from a jailer’s hand and wiped his hands, saying: “You and County Magistrate Wu both saw with your own eyes the note the thief left behind. Few people among the common folk can read—less than one in a hundred—but monks need to be somewhat literate to chant scriptures, so the suspicion still falls on Lotus Temple.”
Hearing him say this, Monk Liaoru pleaded in a trembling voice: “Special Envoy, this humble monk has confessed everything, large and small, that could be confessed. The temple has strict rules, and I’ve had the supervising monk submit a complete list of all the monks. Now four or five of the tower guards have been tortured to death—really no one dares to hide anything. Please, Special Envoy, if not for the monks’ sake then for Buddha’s sake, have mercy on us!”
Bao Lang smiled slightly and said: “If you could observe keenly and confess honestly, Luo Chengye wouldn’t have been hiding at your place for so many days without anyone discovering him. This shows there are still many suspicious points in Lotus Temple that need to be carefully peeled away and examined.”
He flipped his palm and made a gesture inviting him inside: “Speaking of the supervising monk, I’d like the Abbot to meet with him.”
The supervising monk was responsible for all the daily affairs of the temple and could be said to be one of the most powerful monks below the abbot. When Monk Liaoru heard this, his whole body bristled with fear, because after sending the supervising monk to submit the list a few days ago, he had never returned to the temple and must now be imprisoned.
Seeing these prisoners hanging from the ceiling, not knowing if they were alive or dead, he really didn’t dare imagine what condition the supervising monk was in.
Seeing his hesitation, Bao Lang smiled and said: “The supervising master is also a monk of status—naturally we wouldn’t use whips and branding irons on him.”
Monk Liaoru was half-believing, half-doubting, and could only steel himself to follow him deeper into the prison. Everything he saw and heard was shocking to the eye—even the various sufferings depicted in the hell transformation murals weren’t as horrific as what was here. Liaoru kept reciting “Amitabha Buddha,” wishing he were blind and deaf.
Arriving at the supervising monk’s cell, he saw a human figure sitting motionless in a chair with both hands tied behind his back.
“Look, everyone else is hung up and beaten, but the supervising master gets to sit during his interrogation.”
Bao Lang pushed Monk Liaoru forward to get a clear look.
He saw that the monk’s bald head was covered with an armor-like iron cage, with many wooden wedges inserted between the iron bars, pressed tightly against his scalp—apparently driven in piece by piece during the interrogation. The iron cage had only fixed gaps, and the supervising monk’s head had been slowly crushed by the wooden wedges until his brains burst out—he had died a horrible death.
When Monk Liaoru saw all this clearly, he let out a terrible scream, then rolled his eyes back and fainted straight away from fright.
Bao Lang looked at the abbot’s heavy body lying on the ground and merely sneered coldly.
Suddenly a personal guard came to report: “Special Envoy! The hostel has caught fire!”
Bao Lang was shocked and, not bothering with Monk Liaoru, hurriedly ran up to ground level with big strides, loudly ordering someone to bring his horse. He galloped all the way back to the city hostel, smelling the burnt odor of burning wood. Fortunately the fire wasn’t too severe. He immediately returned to his room and pulled out a volume of the “Avatamsaka Sutra” from a pile of documents, holding it close to his chest.
After coming out, Bao Lang questioned the hostel owner and learned that only a storage room where firewood and hay were kept had caught fire, and it was already extinguished. Bao Lang supervised with his arms crossed for a while, seeing that all the officials and envoys staying at the hostel were unharmed and everything had returned to normal order. Looking up, he saw the sun was still early, so he could spend more time communicating with Monk Liaoru. He returned to his room and put the sutra back in its original place.
At this moment, this volume of the “Avatamsaka Sutra” was placed on the desk in front of the precious pearl.
Yang Xingjian said in disbelief: “Just to get this, you set fire to the hostel where officials are staying?!”
Wei Xun was unconcerned, saying lazily: “I only burned a row of empty storage rooms. Without setting a fire, how would we know where he hides important things?”
Bao Zhu beamed with joy and praised: “What a great idea!”
Yang Xingjian was both shocked and afraid, frequently glancing toward the window, seeing that order in the county office was normal with no one having noticed anything unusual. After the lacquer box, Wei Xun had once again stolen crucial case evidence, and this time directly from Bao Lang’s side. By now, he finally believed that Wei Xun had indeed shown him mercy during their journey—otherwise he would have been quietly killed long ago.
Bao Zhu had no idea of Yang Xingjian’s complex thoughts. She picked up this volume of sutra and opened it—the contents were indeed the Avatamsaka Sutra. But all the Buddhist scriptures she had seen before were in scroll form, copied on long strips of paper or silk, then rolled around axles made of precious fragrant wood, ivory, gold, silver and such materials.
But this sutra volume was in folded-page format, repeatedly folded into a square shape, very convenient to hold. Only documents or memorials in the imperial palace used this format. The characters inside were in regular script, but for some reason the ink wasn’t very even—some strokes seemed to have flying white effects, yet weren’t quite that. The entire sutra volume, from paper quality to cover binding, was quite crude, with many places having ink spots and stains.
Reading the line “All retributions arise from karma”: “All fruits arise from causes, all retributions arise from karma.” Bao Zhu said to herself: “Since it’s copying sutras, why not copy them better to show sincerity and reverence?”
Wei Xun said: “This is a woodblock-printed book, not hand-copied. Craftsmen carve the characters in relief on wooden blocks, then brush them evenly with ink and print onto paper. After drying, they fold it into volumes.”
Bao Zhu said curiously: “Carving books like making seals? How troublesome!”
“Exactly like that, just carving Buddhist sutras. Though woodblock printing is complex, once the blocks are made, you can print hundreds or thousands of copies in a single day, and print as needed afterward—much faster than hand-copying.”
At this time, woodblock printing had already been invented, but upper-class people looked down on it, still preferring to collect exquisite hand-copied books that were labor and time-intensive. Each scroll cost several thousand coins—lower-level officials couldn’t afford even a few volumes with their entire monthly salary. Though printed books were slightly lower quality, the more copies printed, the thinner the cost per unit became. Printed almanacs, Buddhist sutras and such items were deeply loved by common people.
Devout men and women would pool money to have blocks carved and print many sutra volumes to place in Buddhist temples—both as offerings and to give free to worshippers, spreading the Buddhist teachings widely. This volume of the “Avatamsaka Sutra” was something Bao Lang had casually taken from Lotus Temple.
After hearing Wei Xun’s explanation, Bao Zhu asked: “What about that note?”
Wei Xun said: “Keep unfolding.”
Bao Zhu continued to unfold the pages, and a hemp-yellow piece of paper fluttered out from inside the sutra. She quickly picked it up to examine it closely, seeing eight characters written clearly: “Heaven knows, Earth knows, you know, I know.”