Huguo Temple.
The abbot Xuanneng gave Lang Jiuchuan a bow in the Buddhist manner, his eyes as compassionate as ever. “Zhenren shows great mercy — the living beings of this world are saved.”
“You speak too highly of me, Venerable Master. To save all living beings under heaven, we must still rely on all fellow practitioners among the monks and Buddhist masters to work together with one heart. Demonic energy threatens to blot out the sky. My intention is to erect a ritual altar and draw upon the vast righteous energy of heaven and earth to purify the demonic energy — and to hinder Tantai Wuji, that demonic fiend, from advancing his demonic arts further. I ask, Venerable Master, that you and your fellow brothers lend me your aid.”
“Amitabha. The Buddha shows compassion to all. We shall certainly give what we can for the sake of all living beings.” The abbot Xuanneng pressed his palms together, recited the Buddha’s name, and walked alongside her toward the interior.
As they walked, Lang Jiuchuan explained what would be needed for the altar’s construction. She intended to reach for the ears of heaven, but she also required the temple’s disciples to chant the Prajnaparamita Sutra for forty-nine days — seven times seven — without cease, continually drawing upon the remnant righteous energy of heaven and earth to purify the demonic energy of one region.
However, under the current heavy shroud of demonic clouds, to chant the sutras without rest while expending merit and cultivation would inevitably provoke a backlash. Some might lose their lives for it.
She was telling the abbot Xuanneng that this undertaking would shorten lifespans — and for those whose cultivation was still shallow, death was a possibility.
The abbot Xuanneng revealed a gentle, kind smile. “Those of the Buddhist order have long since placed life and death beyond our concerns. If we can hold up the falling sky, that too is the fulfillment of merit, and is to be regarded as the great compassion. We have no fear of death.”
Those who cultivated the Buddhist path had long since seen through the matter of life and death.
Having heard these words, Lang Jiuchuan said no more. To speak further of life and death would be to look down on the Buddhist order.
The monks went to prepare the altar. Lang Jiuchuan laid out an array formation at the midpoint of the hillside to make the power of the ritual altar more refined and effective. The formation she used was a fusion of both Buddhist and Daoist principles, capable of keeping the spiritual energy of this region from dispersing.
The abbot Xuanneng, seeing this, could not entirely suppress the curiosity welling up in his heart. Waiting until she had a moment to rest, he asked: “Zhenren is also versed in the Buddhist teachings, and clearly possesses an affinity with the Buddha. And yet I have never heard that the demonic fiend Tantai Wuji has any understanding of Buddhist learning.”
Lang Jiuchuan smiled and explained: “I encountered a particular affinity, and received the inheritance of the venerable monk Luole. It was from within his Buddhist connection that I discerned the teachings — and so I consider myself to have studied under Venerable Luole as well.”
The abbot Xuanneng was deeply astonished. “You mean Venerable Luole, the eminent monk of the ancient Wanlo Monastery with its three-thousand-year heritage? It is said that that worthy was a Dharma son who cultivated both the Buddhist and Daoist paths — a rarity seen perhaps once in a thousand years. Though his conduct was eccentric… his mastery of the Buddhist Dharma was profound. Five hundred years ago, when this worthy passed in seated meditation, it is said that relics manifested.”
“That is he.” Lang Jiuchuan said: “By a fortunate coincidence, I came to possess the venerable monk’s personal Dharma implement, and through that I was able to receive his inheritance.”
The abbot Xuanneng nodded upon hearing this, filled with a certain admiration. “Is this not itself one sign of Zhenren’s affinity with our Buddha? It is because Zhenren shows compassion that you were able to receive his true transmission. I imagine it is precisely for this reason that you were able to awaken to the Golden Core realm and come to the rescue of the people of the world.”
“You honor me too much. My original purpose was no more than to avenge a personal grievance. I never anticipated that things would evolve to what they are now. For whatever wrongs I bear in all of this — the Buddha would surely not pardon me!” Lang Jiuchuan gazed toward the heavens at those thick, dark demonic clouds, her expression cold and sharp.
“Amitabha — how can Zhenren say such words? All conditioned phenomena — contemplate them thus. Since you have received the true transmission of our Buddha, you ought to see through the fundamental nature of things, and not let the illusions before your eyes obscure your true sight.” The abbot Xuanneng looked upon her with kindly eyes. “The Buddha shows compassion and ferries all beings across. All suffering and hardship will be illuminated by the light of the Buddha.”
Lang Jiuchuan gave him a bow in the Buddhist manner, acknowledging that she had received his teaching.
The abbot Xuanneng returned the bow. Taking advantage of the altar not yet being complete, he spoke with her of Buddhist verses and gathas — for even if the timing was poor, every additional insight gained might bring different understandings in the days ahead.
Lang Jiuchuan felt the same way.
The two of them stood to one side, conversing in the manner of Zen, and behind them, a few paces back, some monks had paused to listen — finding it deeply beneficial. Had the times not been against them, they would surely have wanted to invite this Golden Core Zhenren to deliver a full sutra lecture at Huguo Temple.
But would there ever be an opportunity in the future?
The monks gazed at those demonic clouds that seemed intent on swallowing Huguo Temple whole, their eyes filled with compassion.
The ritual altar was erected. Lang Jiuchuan proceeded to the altar to make her preparations. The abbot Xuanneng led the dozens of monks who had already been selected, and they seated themselves before the altar in the cross-legged position, palms pressed together.
Lang Jiuchuan purified her hands, lit incense, and gently closed her eyes. Using the Dizhong Bell as a ritual hammer, she channeled her intent and spiritual meaning into the bell’s form. Mysterious talismanic inscriptions blazed with golden light in a single thread — and then, a clear resonant tone rang out, deep and far-reaching enough to carry for a hundred li, striking heavily against the minds of the people everywhere, which had grown somewhat muddled, causing them all to halt and gaze toward the direction from which the bell sound came.
Residents lodging at Huguo Temple looked on from a distance — watching that person dressed in simple, unadorned pale cyan robes, who nonetheless carried a natural immortal air about her, standing before the altar. She sacrificed her cultivation and her spirit-soul, channeling them into the bell’s form, and through the bell’s numinous power, she called out to heaven above.
She performed no ritual stepping upon the void — she simply held in her hands at all times that mysterious bell that seemed to carry a divine radiance, striking it one time after another with her spirit-soul.
The sound of the bell rose to heaven, carrying within it a compassion that grieved for heaven and pitied mankind.
Suddenly, a breath of pure wind arose, sweeping up the robes of all present with a rippling sound. The energy emanating from Lang Jiuchuan’s being gradually became pure and upright. A small whirlwind appeared beside her, growing larger and larger, stirring up a current of spiritual energy surging upward from the earth’s veins, spiraling skyward.
Without anyone knowing when he had arrived, Feng Ya had come to the scene. He stood upon a great stone at the peak of the mountain, watching the sky covered in demonic clouds — and then, a current of energy that seemed like white mist flowing over sand suddenly descended, surging toward Lang Jiuchuan, connecting with that current of earthen vein spiritual energy.
The two currents touched — and with a thunderous eruption, a vortex formed. The vast righteous energy of heaven and earth surged skyward, transforming into a sweep of brilliant golden light that forcibly tore a rift through the heavy mass of demonic clouds.
Heavenly light poured down through the demonic clouds. The energy that had condensed into clouds from demonic energy seemed to have met its nemesis — it began to scatter, allowing brightness to fall upon the mortal world.
Thud, thud, thud.
The abbot Xuanneng was the first to strike the wooden fish at his side, beginning to chant the Prajnaparamita Sutra. The disciples seated behind him all joined in unison. The sacred words seemed to carry their own compassion and power, spreading outward, causing the golden light to expand further and wider.
Perhaps this golden light could not entirely cleanse all the demonic energy — but it was light. And it was hope.
At this altar, Lang Jiuchuan sacrificed her cultivation and spirit-soul to draw upon the vast righteous energy of heaven and earth. Meanwhile, reclusive Daoist masters of high attainment had set up various demon-slaying sword arrays and thunder arrays, using the light of their swords and the fire of their thunder to destroy countless demonic wraiths and drive away demonic energy, granting the people of the world a brief respite.
And Gong Tinglan, likewise leading the disciples of the Gong Family, slew every demon they encountered and every ghost they met. The explosive upright energy of thunder arrays and talismanic inscriptions caused the demonic clouds to recede, as snow and ice yield before fire, slowly dissipating.
All of the Daoist lineages and Buddhist orders — regardless of their strength — went forth one after another before this great calamity.
Countless cultivators fell dead before the sacred lands and mountain gates or city walls they were protecting. With their flesh and blood, with their lifetimes of cultivation, they erected trembling lines of defense for tens of millions of ordinary people — exerting every last effort to delay the complete devouring of all things in the mortal world by the demonic catastrophe, yet doing so at a terrible price. Their Dharma implements shattered, their Daoist robes were stained with blood, and countless people gave their lives for the Dao.
Lang Jiuchuan watched with calm, still eyes as one fellow practitioner after another fell, murmuring softly under her breath: “Dying for the Dao, refusing to live in dishonor — the Dao shines in the light, illuminating the ages.”
In her spirit-sea, it was as though an insight struck to the very depths of her soul, rinsing through her core energy center. Her entire form vanished from where she stood, departing toward the Eight Trigrams City.
Didn’t finish writing — posting what I have first. Yesterday I went as a substitute parent to accompany the little terror from our family on the kindergarten autumn outing. By the time I got home after a full day, I was so exhausted I just wanted to sprawl out and not move. The suffering of minding children — only those who do it understand. Especially with mischievous little boys. My respects to all mothers out there — you’ve worked so hard!