The commotion grew louder as monks from the temple, ordinary travelers staying in the guest quarters, and pilgrims who had arrived early for the Ullambana Festival all gathered in increasing numbers, surrounding the scene in layers three deep.
Seeing bystanders watching, the Wu family sugar shop people raised their voices even more. Wu Gui’er’s father, Wu Arong, pointed at the monks’ faces and cursed loudly:
“When Wu Guancheng came seeking marriage, he promised to be a live-in son-in-law, but he never worked a single day in our home. He spends all day obsessing over corpses in mass graves like a man possessed. Our family runs a food business – we absolutely don’t dare let him help with anything. Since he’s unwilling to work for his in-laws, then he shouldn’t have abducted our daughter!”
For small business merchants, every family member’s labor was crucial. They had been willing to marry their daughter to a parentless orphan only because he had no burdens and could join their household. Who would have thought that after marriage, Wu Guancheng still refused to put down his brush and spent all day studying painting techniques.
If being a painter could earn money and provide stability, that would be one thing. But Wu Guancheng, in order to paint more realistic ghost images, observed corpses to sketch them – his activities were shocking and scandalous. The Wu family suffered constant criticism from neighbors because of this. Wu Arong and his wife advised their daughter to divorce him, but Wu Gui’er was a strong-willed woman who, when pressed too hard, simply left home.
Now with the facade torn away, the Wu family deliberately chose Ullambana Day to bring relatives and demand their daughter’s return, publicly exposing these ugly affairs. The monks felt ashamed and, unable to find Wu Guancheng, hurriedly called for Master Guan Chuan, who managed temple discipline, to handle the situation.
Bao Zhu and Yang Xingjian had originally been standing in the front row watching the excitement, but when the Wu family members couldn’t find their daughter and pulled out sugar-cutting knives as threats – the gleaming white blades quite frightening – Wei Xun and Shisan Lang immediately pushed forward from behind, squeezing the two of them to the back rows.
Soon, Guan Chuan arrived among the crowd. Seeing his imposing build as an intimidating monk who commanded respect without anger, Wu Arong and his wife felt somewhat fearful. However, with many family members supporting them, they didn’t back down verbally, continuing to curse and demand that Changling Temple hand over Wu Gui’er.
Guan Chuan pressed his palms together and said neither humbly nor arrogantly: “Honored patrons, Guan Cheng has already been expelled and returned to lay life. He no longer serves as an attendant under our master, and though he occasionally paints in the temple, he doesn’t live here. It’s been ten days since he last showed his face. Monks do not lie – we truly don’t know the whereabouts of Guan Cheng and your daughter.”
“Stop lying! Whenever Buddhist ceremonies or soul-releasing rituals are held around Luoyang, that Guan Cheng boy’s ‘spray painting’ and ‘water painting’ performances are always included. We specifically chose the fifteenth of the seventh month to come and confront him face to face. If you won’t hand over our people, let us search! I heard you use rice to buy corpses – did you let Guan Cheng ruin them all?”
Guan Chuan frowned slightly. Though his words remained polite, his attitude was firm: “This is pure Buddhist land and will not tolerate any violation.”
“So what if we violate it?!” Among the Wu family relatives was an old man over sixty who, relying on his age, stepped forward and punched Guan Chuan.
Guan Chuan was struck in the head and face but didn’t even turn his neck, maintaining his palm-pressed posture. Seeing he didn’t resist, the Wu family members swarmed him with punches and kicks. Guan Chuan stood like a great tree in wind and rain, completely unmoved, accepting all blows and curses.
Bao Zhu was amazed and exclaimed: “This monk is so resistant to beatings?”
The Wu family’s punches felt like hitting thick, insensitive leather – he simply didn’t care. Wu Arong’s mind became muddled, and holding his sharp knife, he suddenly stabbed toward Guan Chuan’s shoulder. A clear “ding” sound rang out as the sugar-cutting knife broke in half from the middle, and with a flash of silver light, the knife tip flew toward the crowd.
A person in blue robes among the crowd casually flicked his wrist, catching the broken blade and palming it.
His movement was extremely fast. Even with eyes watching from all directions, no one saw where the broken knife went. The watching crowd only saw Guan Chuan’s performance and erupted in shocked clamor, shouting in awed voices: “Invulnerable to blades and spears! Muscles of copper, bones of iron! This great monk has cultivated the indestructible guardian body!”
Wu Arong stood stunned holding the knife handle. Guan Chuan didn’t even glance at him but turned his head slightly toward Wei Xun.
Though the two hadn’t directly competed, this glance carried the meaning of martial arts exchange and invitation in the jianghu world.
Wei Xun understood and, gripping the broken blade, gently pressed it against a nearby lotus stone pillar. The three-inch piece of iron silently embedded completely into the stone, leaving only a thin cross-section visible. Without careful observation, one couldn’t detect the metal embedded in the pillar.
In the midst of the great crowd, the two had silently exchanged one move, testing each other’s abilities.
Guan Chuan used his indestructible skills to intimidate the Wu family, then strategically retreated by politely inviting them to the main quarters for slow discussion, temporarily resolving the disturbance. The watching crowd gradually dispersed, still excitedly discussing what they had witnessed.
Yang Xingjian exclaimed: “Was that monk wearing soft armor under his robes? But when struck on the head, face, hands, and feet, he showed no fear whatsoever. Can Buddhist cultivation really forge such divine skills?”
Bao Zhu remembered how she had once beaten Remnant Sun Courtyard’s “Ghost Hand Vajra” Qiu Ren with a horse whip, and his reaction was identical to Guan Chuan’s – feeling no pain and completely unconcerned. She said to Yang Xingjian: “He’s probably not just a monk, but a martial arts master.”
Yang Xingjian said: “I heard that during the Northern Wei period, Bodhidharma, the founder of Chan Buddhism, preached in Luoyang. Though he only chanted scriptures and meditated, he also cultivated an indestructible vajra body.”
Bao Zhu said: “I don’t believe that sitting cross-legged chanting scriptures can make one invulnerable to weapons. Tan Lin’s limbs are like withered branches that would break at a touch. Martial arts should be like palace wrestling – fists fear the young and strong.”
The two people, having little experience with jianghu martial arts, discussed this topic in a rambling, unfocused manner.
Wei Xun didn’t participate in their conversation but turned to ask Shisan Lang: “Comparing this baldie to Fourth and Fifth Brother, who’s stronger?”
Hearing his senior brother’s question, Shisan Lang pondered for a moment, then shook his head: “Can’t tell… anyway, he’s much stronger than me.”
Wei Xun deliberately encouraged him: “Practice the Prajna Repentance well. I’d rather fight Second or Third Brother than cross hands with Fourth or Fifth Brother. Eliminating someone who practices hard skills is too troublesome – a single killing blow simply doesn’t exist.”
Shisan Lang felt quite lonely: “Master is already dead, Senior Brother hasn’t practiced Prajna Repentance, and I have no talent. After we finish this journey, I should probably find a temple to properly become a monk, honestly chanting scriptures and ringing bells. Maybe I could mix in a position like the four monks Shan Chuan Yun Chao – they seem to live quite comfortably.”
Wei Xun remained silent. He knew he couldn’t guide Shisan Lang’s martial arts, and with his own time running short, it seemed he should entrust his junior brother to Bao Zhu in the future – taking another path would be more reliable.
Shisan Lang thought Wei Xun’s silence meant he was pondering enemy strategies and pointed to the Fish Intestine sword at his waist: “Even cultivating one martial art to its limit still can’t match this thing. Otherwise, how could Master have seized that mental technique from the Buddhist monk?”
Wei Xun smiled and said half-jokingly: “We came out to protect Guanyin, not to kill our way through like slaying Buddhas when we meet Buddhas and demons when we meet demons. It’s best if we don’t have to fight.”
Over there, Bao Zhu and Yang Xingjian were already discussing whether Buddha was a martial arts master.
The Ullambana activities officially began at noon during the yin-yang transition. The monks had been preparing since completing morning prayers at dawn. Changling Temple’s center had a large platform area that could accommodate several thousand people, with a release pond in the center and a ten-zhang-high Lingzhi Platform on the east side extending over the release pond where the ceremonies would be held.
The monks hung various colorful prayer flags around the platform area and arranged over a hundred enormous pottery basins around the release pond. Pilgrims coming to make donations could put money and food into these basins to feed monks, indirectly helping deceased family members’ souls transcend – these were the “ullambana basins” from the story of Maudgalyayana saving his mother.
Wealthy Luoyang pilgrims had sent servants early with folding chairs to claim good seats for watching the soul-releasing rituals and variety performances.
After eating the second breakfast delivery, Bao Zhu and the others strolled through the temple, watching performers set up for the variety shows. There were pole climbing, tightrope walking, ball and sword wrestling matches – no fewer varieties than performances viewed in the palace.
Bao Zhu noticed a large blank white wall in a prominent position on the platform’s south side and found it strange. Changling Temple was famous for its murals – why was such a good location left without paintings? Seeing an old painter with his apprentice nearby repairing old images from previous dynasties, she walked over to ask.
The old painter glanced at the white wall and said: “That’s Wu Guancheng’s spray painting position. There are many variety performers, but his two unique skills can’t be done by anyone else, so the old abbot specifically reserved this space for him.”
Bao Zhu asked: “What is spray painting?”
The old painter’s young apprentice eagerly answered: “It’s holding colored water in your mouth and spraying it repeatedly onto the white wall. In moments, exquisite murals appear on the white wall. During this year’s Lantern Festival, he publicly sprayed a ‘Vimalakirti’s Inquiry About Illness’ image that caused a sensation in Luoyang.”
The listeners were quite amazed. Yang Xingjian asked: “What’s the other unique skill?”
“‘Water painting.’ He somehow manages to paint with brush and ink so the artwork floats on the water surface. The pigments neither dissolve nor scatter and can last most of the day.”
This young apprentice was only fourteen or fifteen and seemed particularly to worship Wu Guancheng. The old painter shook his head: “This Ullambana Festival might be your last chance to witness those magic arts. I heard he’s leaving Luoyang for Chang’an to pursue a grand future.”
Yang Xingjian said: “Honing painting skills in Luoyang and going to Chang’an for fame – this path is exactly the same as the painting sage Wu Daozi.”
The old painter nodded: “Wu Guancheng considers himself the reincarnation of the painting sage – that’s exactly what he thinks. He’s particularly skilled with colors and knows various magic arts, which perfectly suits imperial tastes. He’ll probably soon become famous like Wu Daozi as an imperial court painter. Then it’ll be a thousand gold per painting, with wealthy people having to queue up and wait.”
After brief consideration, Bao Zhu agreed with the old painter’s assessment. The imperial family indeed favored rich, vibrant colors and enjoyed magical, lively entertainment. However, Wu Guancheng would have to abandon his special obsession with corpses to squeeze into that highly competitive circle.
The young apprentice’s eyes were full of envious longing. While filling colors into his master’s outlined white drawing, he murmured: “When will I be able to go to Chang’an like him?”
In the world of painters, the painting process had two steps: first outlining, second coloring. After creating drafts through “nine sketches for one completion,” using ink to outline figure contours created “white drawings.” This step determined the composition foundation and was the most important stage, with outlining done by senior painters.
Applying color washes within white drawing outlines followed fixed patterns and required lower skill levels, usually completed by apprentices. This created hierarchical distinctions among painters. Painting masters like Wu Daozi often disdained coloring, collecting payment and leaving after completing white drawings. Wu Guancheng had once been an apprentice who colored for Tan Lin.
However, his heaven-sent talent quickly emerged. After forming mental compositions, he could skip the white drawing step and compose directly with colors, completely breaking traditional painting processes. To achieve this revolutionary painting method, the old water-soluble light pigments wouldn’t work.
The old painter sighed: “Your master here has an empty purse, unlike Master Tan Lin who has the resources to support you with money for developing new pigments and corpses – satisfying everything.”
The young apprentice’s face reddened. He stopped talking and silently filled color blocks on the wall.
Bao Zhu thought: Both involve viewing corpses, but Tan Lin’s Nine Aspects meditation is a senior monk practicing Buddhist law, while orphan Wu Guancheng’s corpse observation for painting becomes shocking, scandalous behavior unacceptable to society. This shows that worldly standards for judging people are never the same.