In the Buddhist hall, incense smoke curled upward in wisps. On the enormous murals, beautiful faces reflected against withered bones. The gaunt old monk seated on the lotus throne narrated in low, slow tones… like a dreamscape, emanating an atmosphere that made one feel relaxed.
Tan Lin’s aged voice, ancient and unperturbed as a dry well, echoed through the hall, immersing listeners in memories from forty years past.
“Chen Shigu temporarily spared my life, instead capturing me and imprisoning me in a ruined temple. Before the Buddha statue sat a brand-new empty coffin. I guessed it was prepared by him to bring Yuan Xu back to Luoyang.
Chen Shigu’s purpose was to force me to calculate the thickness of silt after the flood, the locations of original riverbeds and landmarks, attempting to deduce through numbers the position of Yuan Xu’s tomb beneath the ground. At the slightest objection or delay, he would slice flesh from my arms as torture. I was terrified beyond measure and had no choice but to comply.
The short sword he wore daily had originally been a rusted iron rod. After claiming countless lives, the rust gradually peeled away, revealing the vague ancient script ‘Fish Intestine.’ I realized this was the very famous ancient sword with which Zhuan Zhu assassinated King Liao, and suddenly understood where the antiques he had handled over the years came from.
When Yuan Xu first met him years ago, it was on Mount Beimang – that feng shui burial ground coveted by emperors, generals, ministers, and nobles throughout the dynasties. He said his home was nearby, but perhaps he was only active underground in that vicinity.
Over the next month, while calculating massive amounts of numbers, I desperately struggled for survival. I exhausted every obsequious phrase to flatter Chen Shigu’s supreme swordsmanship: ‘Kill one man in ten steps, travel a thousand li without leaving traces,’ ‘The full moon approaches the bow’s shadow, linked stars enter the sword’s edge,’ ‘The precious sword is dark as water, faintly red with lingering blood.’
After reciting for quite a while, Chen Shigu said with a wooden expression: ‘The sword is the most difficult weapon to use – hard to learn, even harder to master, easily damaged and difficult to maintain. Its decorative function far exceeds its practical use. I wear a sword because Yan Zhi liked those chivalrous poems written purely from imagination. Whether there’s a blade or an iron rod inside the scabbard doesn’t really matter.’
Wei Xun thought to himself that Chen Shigu had persisted in using this weapon he considered the most unwieldy for combat his entire life, never changing it even when he reached the pinnacle of martial prowess. The reason lay here.
‘The longer I was imprisoned in that ruined temple, the more I discovered that Chen Shigu was vastly different from those mad wanderers on the streets. Though he rampaged lawlessly without regard for consequences, he was simultaneously calm and rational. Every time I completed a set of measurements and reached a conclusion, he would take it and personally verify the calculations to prevent me from falsifying anything.
A person who had never studied mathematics learned my life’s profession in such a short time. My heart was filled with anxiety and terror, fearing that the day he completely mastered it would be my death day.
Looking at that empty coffin, I had a flash of inspiration and began copying sutras during rest time to pray for Yuan Xu’s blessings. Yuan Xu had believed in Buddhism while alive, often copying sutras for his deceased parents. Chen Shigu must have seen this frequently. From the moment I began doing this, he stopped tormenting me.
But in the deep of night, I often heard from the darkness outside the temple terrifying roars that seemed human yet not human, beast yet not beast. Those howls were like Guan Chuan’s fearless voice, resounding across the Lingshui River banks, yet incomparably shrill and filled with regret. I imagined he deeply regretted not staying by Yuan Xu’s side like a true book boy companion, which led to his only close friend being harmed by treacherous ministers and dying in a foreign land, unable even to return his remains to his homeland.
After exhausting my mental efforts calculating for a month, the draft papers piled into a small mountain. Through countless repeated verifications, the final conclusion was deeply tragic. Yuan Xu’s coffin had likely not been buried beneath the silt, but had been swept into the Lingshui River by the flood from the beginning, carried downstream with the muddy water and scattered into the vast, boundless sea.
Every step, every measurement – Chen Shigu had followed along to double-check, knowing I couldn’t tamper with anything. This conclusion was final.
I knew my time had come and knelt on the ground with closed eyes, reciting sutras. However, after a long while, Chen Shigu did not act. His eyes stared vacantly toward the sea as he whispered: ‘You see, I told you – the poison in books is far more deadly than corpse poison.’
He just left like that, sparing my life, taking only the empty coffin prepared for Yuan Xu, disappearing from the Lingshui River banks. I knelt before the Buddha and wept for a day, a vague notion forming in my heart.
If not for this sudden flood, Chen Shigu could have successfully found Yuan Xu’s remains, seen with his own eyes the decayed state of the corpse, and brought it back to his homeland for burial. Perhaps he could have gradually accepted his close friend’s death, not been trapped by obsession unable to extricate himself, with poisonous delusion entering his brain and driving him mad.
Human funeral rites – initial death, calling the soul, bathing, placing rice and jade in the mouth, announcing the death, reporting to the court, starting the funeral procession, great encoffining, mourning cries, and other elaborate procedures – are not prepared for the unknowing, unfeeling corpse, but to give the living relatives and friends a process to accept the death of their loved ones. After retiring in old age, I put this notion into action through Nine Aspects meditation practice, helping those who sought but could not obtain, those confused and melancholy, to escape their inner demons.
However, this matter was not yet concluded.
I endured hardships, traveling ten thousand li from Lingnan back to Chang’an, looking as destitute as a beggar. I thought the matter could end there, but I was thinking too simply. The case of Chen Shigu’s massacre in Lingnan – even if the main culprit couldn’t be caught, someone had to bear responsibility. I was arrested and imprisoned by the Court of Judicial Review for dereliction of duty, along with Yuan Xu’s brother and sister-in-law, Yuan Yi and Li Xian.
Yuan Yi’s crime was deceiving the throne and misleading the sovereign by recommending a person of unknown origin to participate in the imperial examinations, allowing Chen Shigu to pass as a jinshi and nearly infiltrate the court.
After joint investigation by the Ministry of Personnel and Ministry of Rites, the ‘family record’ that Chen Shigu had submitted before the examination – documenting personal information, native place, and three generations of ancestors – was entirely fabricated. Due to household registrations being scattered during the An-Shi Rebellion, the Ministry of Rites responsible for the examinations could not verify it, letting him slip through the pre-examination screening.
More terrifying still, searching according to the home address Chen Shigu had once provided, they ultimately found a several-hundred-year-old Han dynasty tomb on Mount Beimang, whose occupant was surnamed Chen.
He wasn’t surnamed Chen at all, and his given name sounded like ‘corpse and bones.’ ‘Chen Shigu’ was merely a fictional human identity he had created for himself. This nameless ghostly entity, drawn by Yuan Xu’s personal radiance, came from the Asura realm to the human world, experienced the thorny sufferings of the mortal realm, then returned wounded to the darkness.
The investigating officials of the Court of Judicial Review sympathized that Yuan Yi and I had been deceived, so they didn’t torture us, only repeatedly making us write down every detail of our acquaintance with Chen Shigu, over and over again. Therefore, forty years later, I still remember everything from that time clearly.”
Tan Lin’s lips showed a helpless yet contemptuous smile: “Even at this point, they still harbored the fantasy of capturing and bringing him to justice. A month later, this fantasy was ruthlessly shattered.
In the Hanyuan Hall, the main hall where grand court assemblies were held in the Daming Palace, beside the emperor’s throne, a bloody seven-character quatrain appeared out of nowhere. Zheng Chengping, the commander of the Imperial Guards protecting the palace, was found decapitated. Someone had dipped their finger in his neck blood to write a sorrowful, mournful poem on the wall:
‘Evening mist over waves… mirage towers hanging inverted…’ – precisely Yuan Xu’s final deathbed poem.
These people finally understood that Chen Shigu, who could easily take the head of a regional military governor from the Lingnan Circuit headquarters, could naturally also take the emperor’s head from Hanyuan Hall. He hadn’t done so yet only because Yuan Xu’s relatives and friends were still alive. Having once visited the human world, he inevitably had vulnerable points. The couple Yuan Yi and Li Xian were the final seal preventing this Asura from wreaking havoc in the mortal realm.
Three days later, Yuan Yi and his wife and I were released, restored to our original posts, and returned home. To appease Chen Shigu, Li Xian was even exceptionally granted the title of County Lady.
This shocking court case was quietly closed, Hanyuan Hall was repainted, the case files were sealed, all records related to Yuan Xu and Chen Shigu were completely destroyed, and all involved parties remained silent, as if the two had never existed.
That was the last time I heard news of Chen Shigu. For many years afterward, I lived in constant fear, thinking he would return someday to massacre the court. But surprisingly, the couple Yuan Yi and Li Xian lived exceptionally long lives. Through the reigns of three different emperors, they both remained alive.
Five years ago, when I could still walk, I visited the couple and felt they too were about to ‘burn out like dying lamps.’ Seeing you yesterday, I couldn’t help but inquire about Chen Shigu’s whereabouts, for the sake of peace in the world. Should this Asura return to the world, it would surely bring disaster to the Great Tang.”
Wei Xun recalled the time five years ago – precisely when he had forcibly completed his apprenticeship. Chen Shigu was already plagued by illness, his steps unable to keep up with his young disciple, lacking the strength to go to Hanyuan Hall to kill and inscribe on walls.
He had been trapped his entire life by a poem and a coffin, with nowhere to take revenge, only able to use the same methods to dig up the remains of emperors and nobles, crushing bones and scattering ashes for some small comfort. Besides, of those who survived back then, only this aged monk before him remained. This vengeance could only be settled in the underworld.
“Rest assured, he’s thoroughly dead. We confirmed it,” he said tersely.
With Bao Zhu on his mind, Wei Xun didn’t want to listen to more of Tan Lin’s old stories. He wiped his hands clean and rose to leave.
Tan Lin hurriedly called out: “You have poison and delusion in your body, and inner demons are about to appear. Why not stop here and, like Guan Chuan, take refuge in the Three Jewels, cultivating the Nine Aspects to save others and yourself?”
He pointed to the mural of a beautiful woman’s fresh death and said to Wei Xun: “All appearances are illusory. In this world, countless people become demons through obsession – Chen Shigu and Guan Cheng were no exception. Though you are Chen Shigu’s successor, as long as you wholeheartedly protect the Buddhist teachings, even an Asura body from the dark ghostly realm can realize the heart and attain the Way, becoming a Dharma protector. Don’t repeat their mistakes!”
Wei Xun firmly refused: “No, I still have a mission. Even if I were to become a monk, I would be her protector, not yours.”
With a long sigh of regret, Tan Lin closed his eyes in disappointment. After a moment he said: “Guan Cheng was just as obstinate then, and finally walked the path to destruction. If you have no other leads, go look at his final work, the ‘Nine Aspects Painting.’ You might be able to find his inner demon there.”