Baozhu spent the night cramped in the ox cart compartment. The next day they continued their journey and finally learned the fundamental reason for the recent food shortages during travel: the two major powerful domains east of the pass, Ziqing and Huaixi, had gathered tens of thousands of troops to battle for territory and cities, blocking the Grand Canal transport routes from Jianghuai.
Luoyang was originally an important hub for transporting grain from Jianghuai to the north. Once canal transport ceased, it was like strangling someone’s throat. Though Luoyang’s major granaries had stored grain, they prioritized supplying Chang’an where the emperor resided. Combined with spreading drought effects, famine hung like dark clouds over the metropolitan region. Luoyang had now forbidden starving refugees from entering the city to prevent riots and rebellion.
More and more people with sallow faces and inadequate clothing appeared on the roads, along with groups of robust young men wandering the countryside with hungry green glints in their eyes.
Wei Xun put away his mocking smile, watching the situation carefully as they proceeded, sometimes deliberately having everyone hide in roadside grass or ruins. After the third encounter with refugees, he pulled his blue cloth robe from his bundle and handed it to Baozhu.
“Your clothes attract too much attention. Cover up for now.”
Baozhu wore silk brocade robes gifted by Pang Liangji. Feeling frightened, she asked quietly, “Will they rob us?”
Wei Xun said, “Simple robbery would be fortunate. People starved to extremes are like starved wolves—they eat people.”
From fear, Baozhu’s voice involuntarily rose: “In broad daylight, how could that be?”
But she saw Shisan Lang searching through the wild grass, picking up a stick to hang at his waist—clearly preparing for battle.
Wei Xun spoke seriously to Baozhu: “You look like the most delicious kind. Put on the robe and try not to make me commit more killings.”
Baozhu had been hesitating, but hearing this and recalling the old tale of Zhang Xun during the Siege of Suiyang who fed his concubine to defend the city, she immediately took the blue robe and spread it over her shoulders. Yang Xingjian, who had been disguising himself as a white-robed merchant, quickly removed his silk cap and replaced it with a cloth kerchief.
The group continued eastward, meeting dozens of ox carts coming from the west—a grain transport convoy from Luoyang to Guanzhong. The Jianghuai region sent a million shi of rice northward annually, and grain convoys were commonly seen on the roads, but due to the critical situation, this convoy was escorted by fully armed troops. Baozhu’s group moved aside as wandering refugees gradually gathered on both sides of the road to watch.
The grain carts slowly moved west down the center of the road, loaded with sacks of rice, but protected by sharp spears and blades—not a grain could be taken. The roadside refugees stood silently, their faces numb and hollow. Life and death paths brushed past each other within arm’s reach.
An invisible tremendous pressure filled the air. The escorting soldiers sweated profusely, their grave faces reflected on bright spear points, no one daring to laugh or chat.
Thud—an extremely emaciated person collapsed headfirst and lay still. His nearby relatives merely looked down indifferently, then returned their gaze to the ox carts and rice sacks. Under extreme hunger, joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness could no longer be expressed; all attention focused solely on food.
“Can’t survive anymore. Send him to Toad Light Temple for rice?”
“Toad Light Temple is giving out porridge?”
“No, they trade one dou of rice for one human corpse.”
Two people conversed quietly, deciding the fallen person’s fate in just a few words.
Baozhu felt as if in a dream, no longer knowing how to react. Yang Xingjian also heard the two people’s discussion, saying puzzledly, “Master Tanlin is a renowned virtuous monk. What’s this about buying corpses?”
Wei Xun said, “Since we’re staying there anyway, why not ask him in person?”
The donkey stepped forward. Baozhu saw a man by the roadside carrying a pole with a naked child sitting in the basket—only three or four years old. Baozhu couldn’t help looking at that dirty child with skeleton-like limbs and abnormally swollen belly, and the child looked back at her.
In those distinct black and white pupils shone a coldness that transcended life and death. He didn’t cry or fuss, just calmly kept his eyes open.
She turned to ask Shisan Lang: “Are there still some bean cakes left in the bag?”
Shisan Lang’s reaction was panic, saying in a suppressed voice: “Shh! Don’t mention that in public!”
“Keep your head down, don’t look at him,” Wei Xun said flatly. “You can’t save him or everyone, so don’t give false hope, or these people will swarm and tear you apart alive.”
He led the donkey forward, glancing back to confirm Baozhu had properly put on her veil and clothing. Baozhu noticed his eyes held the exact same coldness as that child’s.
“What will happen to these people…” she asked weakly, not expecting any answer. Even intercepting the grain convoy now to relieve temporary famine would mean the people of Guanzhong would starve instead.
Wei Xun turned back to continue forward. After a long while, he said: “Each person has their fate; life and death rest with Heaven.”
Baozhu, always dignified with straight posture, lowered her proud head and deeply hunched her shoulders.
Asking directions along the way, the group reached Great Toad Light Temple before dark. From afar they saw a magnificent architectural complex with pavilions and halls complementing each other, nearly a thousand monk quarters connected in varying heights, and five-story pagodas at each of the four corners. The scale was even larger than many princely mansions.
Since the Northern Wei made Luoyang their capital, court and people had devoutly worshipped Buddhism, with temples and monasteries ranking first under Heaven. During Emperor Gaozong and Empress Wu Zetian’s reign, the Great Sacred Emperor had lived in Luoyang for nearly fifty years, and after ascending the throne abandoned Chang’an to make Luoyang the capital. To consolidate her rule, she claimed to be Maitreya Buddha reincarnated, had people write the “Great Cloud Sutra” and promulgate it throughout the realm, making Luoyang virtually a Buddhist capital.
After nearly four hundred years of development, Toad Light Temple had long been a famous great monastery in the Central Plains, so this scale was quite astonishing.
Except for nunneries, ordinary temples usually didn’t accommodate female pilgrims overnight to avoid suspicion. To ensure better treatment for Baozhu, Yang Xingjian showed his fish-shaped official badge to reveal his official identity and went ahead into Toad Light Temple to make arrangements.
Due to what she’d seen and heard on the road, Baozhu felt heavy and tense, maintaining the same position throughout the journey. Now her legs were numb and weak, unable to move while sitting in the saddle. She had always prided herself on skilled horsemanship and wouldn’t admit her legs were numb from riding the donkey, so she sat silently.
Seeing she wouldn’t dismount, Shisan Lang asked strangely: “Don’t want to stay here either? But it’s getting dark—we probably won’t have time to find elsewhere.”
Wei Xun, seeing her stiff posture, guessed her legs were numb and extended both arms: “Come down and stretch your muscles.”
Knowing that continuing to sit wouldn’t change anything, Baozhu had no choice but to accept help, leaning toward him. Wei Xun gently supported her under the arms and lifted her down, helping her stand steady.
However, before Baozhu could stabilize in his embrace, Wei Xun released her and stepped back, grabbing Shisan Lang and pushing him into her arms for support just before she collapsed.
While leaning on shoulders, the shorter Shisan Lang was indeed more convenient, but this obvious avoidance was like a cat that had been singed by fire. Baozhu’s mood was already poor, and this made her even more dejected. She coldly pulled the blue robe from her shoulders and threw it back at its owner. Supporting herself on Shisan Lang, she limped toward the mountain gate without looking back.
Wei Xun held his clothing, reviewing his actions, still unable to think of better handling. He stood silently with lowered head for a while, sighed almost inaudibly, bundled up the blue robe and stuffed it back in his pack.
Four or five ragged refugees stood in the front courtyard, using wheelbarrows to transport two corpses, waiting. Though the two bodies were newly dead, they were completely dried and yellow all over, like starving ghosts whose oil had been boiled away, with only human skin wrapped around bones.
Unexpectedly seeing such a scene upon entering, Baozhu was startled and stopped to watch. After a moment, two monks emerged from the front hall, one tall and one short. The tall one was about twenty-six or twenty-seven, handsome and beautiful—a very attractive young man, though his expression was haggard and melancholy. Behind him followed a young novice about Shisan Lang’s age.
The young monk pressed palms together and bowed to the refugees in the courtyard, elegant and graceful in bearing.
“When people die, it’s like lamps being extinguished. Please accept condolences, benefactors. Toad Light Temple will properly provide for them.”
The refugees didn’t care about their relatives’ afterlife arrangements. One eagerly asked: “I heard we can exchange them for rice?”
The young monk’s expression became even more sorrowful. He nodded and instructed the young novice behind him: “Miaozheng, go to the storehouse and bring two dou of rice to give these benefactors.”
Another refugee cried plaintively: “Please give more charity, Great Monk! There are many people in my household, and only we few can still crawl up to carry corpses.”
The young novice looked troubled, glancing at the young monk inquiringly: “Senior Brother Guanchao?”
The monk called Guanchao lowered his eyelids and slowly shook his head: “Master’s orders—not one grain of rice more can be given.”
Baozhu watched in shock as they purchased corpses with rice. After the exchange, the refugees unloaded the starved bodies in the courtyard and joyfully wheeled away the unhusked rice in their carts.
One of the two corpses was a young woman about Baozhu’s age but much shorter. Perhaps her relatives felt the dead didn’t need clothing and had stripped her completely before bringing her, leaving her exposed like a piece of dried jerky. Guanchao removed his own monk’s robe, carefully wrapped the girl, and picked her up with reverence.
Rising and looking up, his eyes met Baozhu’s shocked gaze. He looked through her as if seeing into emptiness, and he and the other monk carried both bodies into the temple.
A moment later, Yang Xingjian emerged with two respectably dressed middle-aged monks, introducing them to Baozhu:
“This is Toad Light Temple’s Prior—Master Guanshan.” The monk had graying whiskers and a tranquil, humble countenance, pressing palms together in greeting.
“This is the Guest Master—Master Guanyun.” The monk was slightly plump with a pale, fat face, all smiles as he bowed: “This poor monk salutes you here.”
Prior and Guest Master were very important high positions in a great monastery. The Prior supervised the temple, overseeing all temple affairs; the Guest Master, as the name suggested, specialized in external relations and reception. Ordinary pilgrims rarely saw these high-ranking monks—only when officials, wealthy people, or renowned virtuous scholars visited would they personally receive guests.
Shisan Lang thought that when he stayed at temples, seeing the dormitory supervisor was already quite good. Traveling across the four seas and eight directions, official authority worked everywhere.
Guanshan and Guanyun felt quite strange, however. When a court official with a fish badge visited, the temple should receive him solemnly, especially since this person mentioned he was formerly subordinate to Abbot Tanlin.
But this Yang fellow kept elevating his daughter in his words. Introduction etiquette traditionally went from low to high, inside to outside—to show humility, usually starting with one’s own family. Yet he first introduced Toad Light Temple’s people to his daughter, as if she weren’t his daughter but his mother or superior.
This radiant, noble young lady also showed no humility, merely nodding slightly at them without any reverence due to great monastery masters.
Guanyun smiled broadly: “Yang Sir honors us with his visit, bringing glory to Toad Light Temple. Senior Brother Guanshan has sent someone to notify our teacher. Please first follow us to briefly tour the temple scenery, then we’ll arrange the meeting shortly.”
Having seen that earlier scene, Baozhu had no mood for touring and asked directly: “What does your temple mean by purchasing corpses with rice?”
Author’s Note: Buddhist temple setting sourced from “Record of Buddhist Monasteries in Luoyang” and subsequent works. With the decline of the Grand Canal and frequent wars, after the An Lushan Rebellion, the amount of grain transported from Luoyang to Chang’an gradually decreased, but it remained an important transportation hub.