The sound of that Buddhist invocation reached the hall, and the Luo Cha’s movements paused — but only for a moment, before it swept its massive claw savagely toward Qing Xuzi again.
Yet that one brief pause was enough. Qing Xuzi managed to slip free, dipping nimbly to the side and dodging the sweep of that enormous claw.
With measured, melodic chanting, the din of the ghosts clamouring outside suddenly seemed to die down; the ghosts’ assault receded like an ebbing tide, and the grasping limbs that had thrust through the window lattices slowed considerably.
Accompanied by an unhurried rhythm of wooden fish drums, a monk in apricot-white monastic robes stepped through the doorway — eyebrows refined and mild, bearing composed and serene. It was Yuan Jue, abbot of Dayin Temple.
Behind him followed four young monks, each holding a wooden fish drum, eyes half-lowered, mouths all softly chanting in unison.
Seeing the ghosts no longer charging into the hall in endless waves, Qin Yao hastily withdrew the Soul-Devouring Bell, panting as she wiped the sweat from her forehead, and gradually steadied her labored breathing.
Yuan Jue passed by her side. Though the hall was dimly lit, she could still see at a glance that the monastic robes on his person were anything but ordinary: though they appeared simple at first glance, they were made from fine brocade of the highest quality, intricately woven, with gold thread barely visible in the pattern — exquisitely made. Even the monk’s shoes seemed to be fashioned from some special material — completely free of any trace of mud, and at once sturdy and refined.
In Qin Yao’s memory, every time she had encountered this Abbot Yuan Jue, he had been immaculately pristine from head to toe, with not a single detail neglected. He was evidently a man who cared very greatly about his appearance.
“Hmph — always putting on that insufferable air!” Qing Xuzi had no patience for Yuan Jue’s façade of unassuming wealth, and muttered a low curse before raising his voice: “Did you bring everything? Stop dawdling — set the formation!”
Even as he spoke, the Luo Cha’s massive claw reached out from behind, about to descend on his shoulder. Qing Xuzi swiftly swept his horsetail whisk backward, and in the moment the claw recoiled, rolled himself hastily to the side.
Just then, another person came running in from outside — it was A’Han. He had been out front enthusiastically slaying the ghosts, and halfway through had thought of his master and Qin Yao, and rushed inside — only to find Qing Xuzi in a desperate and disheveled flight from the Luo Cha’s pursuit. His expression immediately tightened and he cried out: “Master!” He was about to rush forward and help his master hold off the Luo Cha.
Yuan Jue opened his eyes and extended one arm to stop A’Han. “There is no need to rush,” he said calmly. “Allow this old monk to set the formation.”
A’Han had no choice but to hold back his steps, watching Qing Xuzi’s desperate dodging around the hall with frantic concern. It was strange — the Luo Cha, whether out of some wariness toward the Chixiao Sword in Lin Xiao’s hand or some other reason, directed nine out of ten of its attacks at Qing Xuzi, driving the man to scramble left and right.
Qin Yao, watching Yuan Jue settle himself down at a leisurely pace, address his four disciples behind him at a leisurely pace, and produce a smooth, round bronze bowl at a leisurely pace — all while utterly disregarding her master’s desperate straits — suddenly had the feeling that Yuan Jue was deliberately drawing things out, as though purposely keeping her master on his toes.
“Yuan Jue!” Qing Xuzi erupted with furious curses. “You crafty old bald donkey! You’re savoring my humiliation on purpose, aren’t you? Fine, just you wait!”
With that, he deliberately left an opening to the Luo Cha. When it swiped a claw at him, he braced himself and leapt with all his strength — straight toward Yuan Jue, intending to draw the Luo Cha toward the abbot.
Only then did the Luo Cha take notice of Yuan Jue and his disciples, sitting calmly in the center of the hall — five benevolent-faced monks, sitting there quietly, looking gentle and easy to bully. It abandoned its pursuit of Qing Xuzi and swept its coiled tail coldly toward Yuan Jue and his group.
Yuan Jue’s brow did not so much as twitch; he simply kept his eyes lowered and chanted. When the Luo Cha’s tail was nearly upon him, two of his disciples suddenly moved out from behind him. Each holding a metal implement, they struck them together between their hands, producing a sharp, resounding clang.
The Luo Cha acted as though struck by something immensely grating. It let out a shriek and swiftly retracted its tail, retreating toward the back of the hall.
The two young monks, having landed the blow, immediately withdrew to their original positions, resuming the previous formation.
Meanwhile, Qing Xuzi retrieved the Boundless Mirror that Chang Rong had dropped on the floor, wiped the dust from its surface with his sleeve, steadied his breathing, found a spot to sit down, and after a brief moment of stillness, swept his horsetail whisk to activate the mirror. The Boundless Mirror bloomed with light once more, washing it over the Luo Cha.
Yuan Jue and his disciples sat still, holding their wooden fish drums and chanting softly. Though the chanting was gentle and muffled, to the Luo Cha it seemed to bore through it like a relentless drilling sound; it thrashed and clawed at its own face, showing every sign of its ape-like nature.
Seeing that her master and Yuan Jue each commanded a flank and had the Luo Cha firmly pinned down, with no immediate need for her intervention, Qin Yao took advantage of the pause and focused entirely on breathing and cultivating her energy, hoping to restore her power quickly.
She had just started to close her eyes when she caught a flicker of movement from the tablecloth hanging beneath the offering table before the Buddha statue. It fell back into place just as quickly — as though something were hiding inside.
Her curiosity and suspicion both piqued, she rose and walked slowly toward the offering table, intending to see what was there.
As though hearing Qin Yao’s footsteps, the table gave a faint tremor — as though something had pressed itself further back inside.
Qin Yao could no longer contain her curiosity. She whipped the tablecloth aside and looked beneath the table.
There, hugging her knees, was a young woman crouched under the offering table. Her hair was disheveled; her clothes, shoes, and socks were all filthy, as though she had been lying on the dust-covered floor for a long time. Seeing Qin Yao, she let out a shriek first — then cut it off abruptly, revealing an expression of both guilt and regret. “A’Yao…” she said haltingly.
It was Feng Chuyue!
Qin Yao was stunned. She stared at Feng Chuyue in wide-eyed disbelief for a long moment, unable to come to her senses.
Just how long had she been hiding under there? While Qin Yao and her master had been fighting the Luo Cha out in the hall this entire time, Feng Chuyue had not exposed herself even once, had not made a single sound. She truly had nerves of steel. Thinking back to the sight of Feng Chuyue’s midnight meeting with Qin Cheng, Qin Yao felt utterly bewildered — did this Feng Chuyue value her life, or not?
Feng Chuyue surveyed the situation in the hall and still did not dare to come out. Hugging her knees, she lowered her voice and said to Qin Yao: “A’Yao, thank you for saving me.”
Only then did the expression on Qin Yao’s face become possible to read. She looked at Feng Chuyue and gave a stiff nod. And yet her mind, at that inopportune moment, called up a wild flower she had once seen on a spring outing: a nameless flower, yet remarkably tenacious — taking root wherever it fell, drought or flood alike; come late spring, it could bloom across all of Chang’an. Yet it never let itself remain in one place and become part of the earth — it scattered on the wind, refusing to stay, and when the wind was favorable, it could sometimes carry itself all the way up into pavilions and towers, into the homes of the great and noble.
Just then, Lin Xiao, noticing that Qin Yao had been standing in a daze before the offering table for quite a while, felt a sudden tightening in his chest, fearing she had encountered some troublesome evil spirit. He quickly walked up behind her and followed her gaze beneath the table — and met Feng Chuyue’s fawn-like eyes directly.
Feng Chuyue was briefly startled. She rapidly looked Lin Xiao up and down, and seeing his exceptionally handsome face and the extraordinary refinement of his clothing, immediately abandoned any thought of continuing to hide under the table. She gripped the table leg and carefully climbed out.