“Is Chen Shigu still alive?”
The instant the old monk uttered these words in his hoarse voice, Wei Xun’s fingers had already silently gripped his throat.
Tan Lin didn’t resist – or rather, he was completely powerless to resist – not even bothering to open his eyelids.
“You are deeply poisoned and don’t have long to live.”
His voice held not a trace of fear, as deep and steady as when preaching Buddhist doctrine.
Wei Xun’s heart shook. He didn’t know how the monk had seen through his dire situation, nor where he had heard the name Chen Shigu. He hesitated over whether to snap the old man’s neck.
“What poison have I been infected with?”
“The three poisons spoken of in Buddhism: greed, anger, and delusion. Greed is the pursuit of fame, profit, wealth, and all worldly material desires. Anger is the rage and hatred born from adversity, being fierce and combative, killing living beings. Delusion is being trapped by emotion with no escape, giving rise to wild thoughts and committing evil acts. Of these three poisons, you are infected with the poison of delusion.”
Wei Xun laughed: “I haven’t studied books and can’t understand this mystical nonsense.”
Tan Lin opened his eyes slightly, seeming quite surprised: “A disciple of Chen Shigu who has never read books?”
Wei Xun wondered how this old baldie, having been a high court official before becoming a monk, would know people from the martial world. He deliberately asked in return: “Who is Chen Shigu? I don’t know him.”
Tan Lin pointed to the dagger at Wei Xun’s waist and said heavily: “I was the one who identified the ancient script inscription on this Fish Intestine blade back then. It used to be a short sword, didn’t it?”
Wei Xun was full of suspicion and remained silent with furrowed brows.
Tan Lin continued: “Those who crave love are like holding torches while walking against the wind – they will inevitably burn their hands. Your master was harmed by the poison of delusion, fell into demonic obstacles, and ruined his life. Do you still want to follow his old path?”
“Old Chen died long ago from illness, not poisoning.”
While speaking, Wei Xun walked to the window and peered through cracks in the wooden boards at Bao Zhu. Seeing her in the distance still holding her oil lamp and pacing near the Weituo statue, he relaxed slightly.
Tan Lin said: “You’re obsessed with her, but does she know your true face in the darkness?”
Wei Xun’s expression darkened as he said coldly: “She doesn’t need to know, and it has nothing to do with you.”
Tan Lin drew a piece of paper from his chest, placed it on the ground, and slowly pushed it toward him: “I’ve worked out your fortune reading. Take a look.”
Wei Xun laughed mockingly: “I don’t even have a birth date – are you making up nonsense from thin air?”
“Rather than calling it your fortune, it’s more Chen Shigu’s. You two share the same lineage – the moment I saw you, I knew you were his successor. You two are very similar, both proud and arrogant in your talents, unruly and unwilling to kneel before anyone.”
Wei Xun had been accurately read by him several times and was growing angry, but curiosity got the better of him. After thinking for a moment, he walked over and picked up the paper slip. On it was written a poem:
At dusk the misty waves darken the river islet, mirages hang inverted reflecting the cold moon; the dying lamp grows faint as your voice grows distant, a lone shadow desolate chasing the flowing stream.
Wei Xun returned from the Hall of Returning to Impermanence by the same route. Bao Zhu was already drowsy and could barely keep her eyes open. Seeing him return, she quickly asked: “Did you succeed?”
Wei Xun shook his head: “Tan Lin was inside meditating all night. I couldn’t accomplish it – I’ll try again tomorrow or the day after.”
Bao Zhu was somewhat disappointed, but destroying temple murals in front of the abbot wouldn’t be mischief but provocation. She was too tired to have any energy and yawned, agreeing to go back to sleep first.
Wei Xun escorted her back to the guest hall by the same route, watching her close and bar the doors and windows from inside, testing each one to ensure they were secure before returning to his own room.
Taking out the paper slip again and reading the fortune written on it, Wei Xun’s confusion deepened. He was illiterate except for bits of medical texts and Daoist scripture fragments he had read here and there, but he recognized every character in the fortune.
Among the martial arts Chen Shigu had taught, the foundational internal skill “Mystic Qi Innate Skill” was passed down from their master’s master, the Barefoot Daoist. Another internal skill, “Prajna Repentance,” was something Chen had seized after killing a Buddhist monk in his youth.
As for the three unique techniques – the palm method “Dusk Misty Wave Palm,” the lightness skill “Mirage Step,” and the finger technique “Dying Lamp Hand” – these were his own creations when he reached the pinnacle of martial arts in middle age.
The mysterious and agile Mirage Step and the supremely powerful Dying Lamp Hand were learned by every disciple of Remnant Sun Courtyard to some degree, though their skill levels differed based on talent. They were famous throughout the martial world.
But the Dusk Misty Wave Palm, being too profound and obscure, was ultimately mastered by Wei Xun alone. Since he had always wandered without fixed abode and disliked showing off, very few in the martial world knew of this skill.
A single fortune encompassing the names of three techniques couldn’t be coincidence. When Tan Lin said he knew Chen Shigu, he probably wasn’t lying.
Fish Intestine – Wei Xun drew from its sheath this dagger excavated from an ancient tomb, gazing at the two ancient gold script characters on the blade’s shoulder that no one could recognize. The blade surface was like water, reflecting the youth’s pale countenance and troubled eyes.
His true face in the darkness… what did his true face look like again? He couldn’t quite remember, but it was definitely the kind he didn’t want her to see. She had named this bloodthirsty weapon “Rhinoceros Illumination,” and from now on he only wanted to appear before her with this new identity, unwilling to mention the past again.
At the end of the fifth hour, the sky remained pitch black with no trace of dawn, but the morning bell of Changling Temple began ringing to remind the monks of morning prayers.
Having slept late the night before, Bao Zhu was roused by the continuous tolling, her cheeks puffed with morning grumpiness. Walking to the small dining hall of the guest quarters, she saw that Miao Zheng, a young novice from the temple, had already brought tea implements and a small stove.
Miao Zheng lit the fire to boil tea, adding salt, ginger slices, orange peel, and mint for refreshment. After serving tea to the guests, he went to the meditation hall for morning prayers.
Seeing only her own people around, Bao Zhu yawned and said: “Thank goodness I don’t have to be an official. Otherwise, having to get up early every day for court at the beginning of the sixth hour, and if living outside the palace, having to rise at the fifth hour to wash and dress, stumbling through the darkness to reach the palace – not to mention how miserable it would be in cold weather or rain and snow.”
Yang Xingjian thought to himself that even without being an official, children must pay morning and evening respects to their elders. The princess was exempt from these tiresome protocols because she was favored, allowing her to be a wealthy idler who could laze in bed daily. But he dared not say this directly, instead replying with a forced smile: “Daily court attendance is an honor reserved for officials fifth rank and above. Unfortunately, this subject’s rank is too low – I can only have audience on the first and fifteenth of each month, and I’m not even qualified to go to the palace whenever I wish.”
Bao Zhu just wanted to faint, muttering: “Getting up that early every day will cause premature death…”
Wei Xun and Shisan Lang were already sitting energetically drinking tea. Shisan Lang said to Bao Zhu: “Today is the Ullambana Festival. Temples traditionally have many grand activities with various performances and folk lectures. Jiu Niang, drink more tea to wake up and watch the excitement. Unfortunately, I have duties on the first and fifteenth, so I can’t go.”
Bao Zhu asked listlessly: “What, do you also attend court?”
Shisan Lang stammered: “I have some business…”
Wei Xun said to him: “I told you before, Old Chen was delirious with phlegm before he died – don’t take his words seriously.”
Fear showed in Shisan Lang’s eyes: “If there’s one fierce ghost in heaven and earth, it must be Master’s spirit. Besides, today is when evil spirits from hell return to the human world, and I’m too afraid he’ll come looking for trouble.”
Wei Xun ignored him and pulled out the paper from the night before, handing it to Bao Zhu: “Help me see what’s written on this paper.”
Bao Zhu drowsily took it, seeing it was a new paper slip specifically for poetry, with a seven-character quatrain written in solemn, proper calligraphy.
She read it aloud softly, then commented: “This poem is well-written, with profound and ethereal meaning, deep longing cutting to the heart, though it’s overly melancholy. The four characters ‘dusk misty wave’ are taken from Cui Hao’s ‘Yellow Crane Tower,’ the finest seven-character regulated verse: ‘At dusk, where can one find one’s hometown? The misty waves on the river make one sorrowful.’ At sunset and dusk, not knowing where home lies, the vast misty waves on the river bring melancholy.
In such a melancholy and dreamlike realm, the poet misses his hometown and seems to see mirages hanging inverted in the water. ‘The dying lamp grows faint as your voice grows distant’ – he waits for news from someone but can’t receive it. Words like dusk, dying lamp, lone shadow, and flowing stream all carry very sorrowful implications. It might have been written by a poet on his deathbed, similar to a death poem.”
Yang Xingjian curiously looked at it too and asked Wei Xun: “Where did you pick this up?”
Wei Xun told the truth: “It’s the fortune reading Tan Lin gave me.”
Yang Xingjian first praised: “Master Tan Lin was a jinshi scholar graduate in the Dali era, so naturally his poetic sentiment is refined.” But thinking it over, he realized something was wrong, his expression changing: “He wrote you a fortune reading?! What I gave him were Prince Shao’s and the Princess’s birth dates, but he arranged one for you first instead?!”
Yang Xingjian’s main purpose in insisting on staying at Changling Temple was to predict whether Prince Shao had the destiny to receive heaven’s mandate – both from loyalty and self-interest. Who would have thought that after giving several people’s birth dates together, Tan Lin would first read the fortune of this little thief who didn’t even have parents? Strange indeed!
Hearing that this poem with its gloomy atmosphere was Wei Xun’s fortune, Bao Zhu ripped it to shreds with two swift motions, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into the tea stove to burn to ash. She said to him: “What rubbish, it’s written terribly. Just pretend you never saw it, and next time I’ll make him rewrite an auspicious one.”
Wei Xun laughed brightly: “Is this how you nobles do fortune telling? If the conclusion isn’t satisfactory, you do it over?”
Bao Zhu nodded seriously: “Of course. These people depend on our patronage to establish themselves. Even great national teachers like Li Chunfeng and Yuan Tiangang had to say pleasant things. You don’t even know your own birth date – what right does he have to write unlucky words like ‘dying lamp grows faint’?”
Wei Xun said: “Ninety-nine percent of fortune tellers, character readers, and physiognomists in the world make their living through trickery. Those with real ability don’t need to see birth dates and times.”
Bao Zhu snorted with extreme distaste: “Anyway, Tan Lin doesn’t have that ability.”
Wei Xun found her insistence quite amusing and smiled without further argument.
He didn’t believe Tan Lin’s fortune reading, but his master’s master, the Barefoot Daoist, truly had the ability to read qi and divine by stars. His predictions about world affairs and judgments of people’s fortunes and misfortunes were always completely accurate. Combining conclusions from both medical and physiognomy arts, he had given similar pronouncements of “dying lamp grows faint” – that was something that couldn’t be burned away in a stove.
Yang Xingjian echoed Bao Zhu’s attitude, saying: “It seems Master Tan Lin has devoted all his thoughts to Buddhist studies and painting. He can’t even discern high or low, noble or base fate when meeting someone face to face, showing that street rumors can’t be trusted.”
After chatting about physiognomy and prophecy for a while, the sky gradually brightened. Guan Chao ordered the temple kitchen to bring breakfast, but just as the food bearers reached the guest hall entrance, they were blocked by a group who had come looking for trouble, smashing bowls and plates to pieces.
“You rule-breaking bald slaves, where have you hidden my Wu family daughter?!”
Hearing the commotion, Bao Zhu and the others came out to watch. They saw several white-clothed commoners, faces full of anger, grabbing the food-bearing monks by their collars and threatening to beat them.
The monks felt wronged and explained: “Changling Temple is a monastery for monks. What does it have to do with us where your Wu family daughter went?”
“Gui’er was deceived by you and married to a mentally ill former monk. She hasn’t returned home for over ten days now and can’t be found anywhere. Tell me if this has anything to do with you! Call out Guan Cheng to answer!”
One person spotted Bao Zhu watching the excitement nearby and pointed at her: “You claim to be a monastery, but why are you hiding young women here? I think your Changling Temple is a den of thieves that abducts women!”
The food-bearing monks all knew they shouldn’t have allowed a woman to stay overnight, but they didn’t dare directly admit this was a decision by the temple’s leadership. They could only argue: “This female patron came to attend the Ullambana Festival and is a noble great benefactor. Don’t compare your sugar-seller’s daughter to her.”
Both sides argued heatedly, nearly coming to blows. After listening for a while, Bao Zhu understood that Wu Gui’er, the woman connected to painter Wu Guancheng, hadn’t returned home for many days. Her family had searched everywhere unsuccessfully and had no choice but to come to Changling Temple demanding her return.