Chapter 11: The Heavenly Physician’s Nine Needles Revive the Ghostly Veins, A Prelude Before the Monks of Huaguang Temple (Part 6)
by GideonUncle Li and Aunt Li slipped back into their room, and the outside world abruptly returned to silence.
Wen Jin was utterly bewildered. He crept off the bed, tiptoed to the table, and picked up the empty bowl, staring at it again and again.
He had drunk every last drop…
His heart heavy with a tangle of emotions, he held the bowl and sank into a moment of deep thought before finally deciding to wake Lan Xiangru.
“Brother Lan… Brother Lan…” He leaned over the bed, gently shaking Lan Xiangru’s arm.
Lan Xiangru slowly opened his eyes.
Wen Jin forced a grin. “Do you… do you feel unwell anywhere?”
Perhaps it was because the lamp cast such dim shadows in the room, but Lan Xiangru’s eyes appeared pitch-black, like bottomless, chilling pools that sent a shiver down Wen Jin’s spine.
Filled with guilt, Wen Jin swallowed hard and called out, “Brother Lan?”
Lan Xiangru gave a faint, low response. “Mm.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Why do you ask?”
Wen Jin looked at him, his expression a mix of remorse and worry. “This evening, when I was brewing your medicine, Aunt Li was also preparing a concoction for her sow to go into heat. Later, I accidentally mixed them up. The bowl you drank…”
Seeing him hesitate and refuse to continue, Lan Xiangru fell silent for a few breaths before taking over the question. “So—you gave me the animal aphrodisiac?”
Wen Jin nodded, then immediately shook his head. “I didn’t do it on purpose!”
Lan Xiangru stared at him intently, his silence stretching for a long moment.
The gaze made the hair on Wen Jin’s neck stand on end. He lowered his eyes in shame. “I really didn’t do it on purpose…”
The expressionless Lan Xiangru couldn’t help but let his lips curve upward. He ruffled Wen Jin’s hair. “I’m teasing you.”
Wen Jin froze. “What?”
“I didn’t drink the medicine.”
“You didn’t?!”
Lan Xiangru said, “The smell was off. I poured it out.”
Wen Jin let out a massive sigh of relief. “Your tongue is that sharp?”
Lan Xiangru replied coolly, “One who has tasted a hundred poisons can naturally discern the slightest abnormality.”
“Tasted a hundred poisons?” Wen Jin’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Lan Xiangru offered no further explanation. He squeezed Wen Jin’s hand and said softly, “Go to sleep.”
“Oh…” Wen Jin crawled back to the foot of the bed, only settling down to sleep after carefully confirming that Lan Xiangru was indeed unharmed.
A heavy rain after midnight extinguished the red lanterns of Fragrant Flower Ridge. It wasn’t until the firecrackers burst from the Niu family’s house the next morning that the entire village returned to yesterday’s festive atmosphere.
After breakfast, Wen Jin stood in Uncle Li’s fenced courtyard, gazing at the Niu family’s home on the opposite hillside. Seeing a bridal sedan chair being carried out, he couldn’t help but ask, “Aunt Li, is Miss Niu getting married today?”
Aunt Li, who was busy mending a hole in her apron, chuckled softly. “Aye,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of envy. “Off she goes to live a life of luxury.”
Aunt Li had only one son, currently an apprentice carpenter in town who could only return home once a month.
To be chosen by the Mountain God was a blessing that could ensure a family’s comfort for a lifetime. Such an honor was bound to arouse the envy of anyone.
Wen Jin had always found the Mountain God’s custom of taking brides utterly absurd. Yet, hearing Aunt Li say that the families of those who married the God had all grown wealthy, he reasoned that this “Mountain God” must not be some malevolent being.
Before long, his curiosity got the better of him. “Do the women who become the Mountain God’s wives ever return to visit their natal families?”
Aunt Li licked the end of the thread with her tongue, struggling to thread the needle. “Of course not.”
Wen Jin asked no more. Turning around, he saw Lan Xiangru emerge from the house, luggage in hand. He cupped his hands in a gesture of respect to Uncle Li and Aunt Li. “Thank you both for your generous hospitality. We are truly sorry to have troubled you for the night. We shall take our leave now.”
Aunt Li immediately set down her sewing and rose with a cheerful smile. “Don’t speak of trouble! Our home is poor and we had little to offer. We are honored that you two young masters didn’t mind.”
She didn’t dare mention the aphrodisiac, but seeing Lan Xiangru’s lips red, his teeth white, and his spirit high, with no unusual signs, she figured the animal-grade drug must have had little effect on humans. Only then did her mind finally put her at ease.
Wen Jin felt a pang of guilt at her words. He immediately drew out a piece of broken silver and pressed it into Aunt Li’s hand. She refused several times before finally relenting, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes folding like a fan as she offered a simple, warm smile. “Look at you two, what’s all this for… Oh, my, my, really!”
Uncle Li spat at her from the side, accusing her of being greedy, but Aunt Li merely accepted the jab with a smile. After Wen Jin and Lan Xiangru bid the couple farewell, they boarded the carriage and departed Fragrant Flower Ridge. Before long, they encountered the Niu Family’s wedding procession.
Wen Jin curled one leg up, his elbow resting lazily on his knee. “Brother Lan, don’t you find the Mountain God’s wedding a bit… peculiar?”
The mountain path was rugged, yet the sedan-chair bearers’ footwork was exceptionally steady, keeping the bridal sedan from swaying even the slightest bit. They looked like trained martial artists.
“Not peculiar,” Lan Xiangru replied. “Because even gods have the Seven Emotions and Six Desires.”
Wen Jin: “…”
They were still several days away from Huaguang Temple. If the journey hadn’t been so dreadfully dull, he never would have taken the initiative to speak with this taciturn blockhead—like he was doing right now. Instead of curing his boredom, he had only succeeded in silencing himself.
Wen Jin gritted his teeth, deciding he would ignore Lan Xiangru for the next few days.
Lan Xiangru turned his head, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Are you angry?”
Wen Jin acted as if he hadn’t heard, nonchalantly whistling a tune.
Lan Xiangru’s expression turned serious. “Perhaps there truly is something peculiar about this matter. Shall we follow them and investigate?”
Wen Jin casually plucked a leaf and held it between his lips, attempting to whistle a tune, but his efforts were in vain.
Lan Xiangru knew he was currently in a foul mood and that anything he said would be futile. He simply fell silent, leaning against the carriage door to rest.
Once they reached the main road, the carriage accelerated, gradually leaving the Niu Family’s wedding procession behind. Less than four days later, they arrived at the foot of Tongbai Mountain.
Tongbai Mountain was one of the most famous peaks in Tang Province, and Huaguang Temple was situated on its main peak, Taibai Peak. Today, the monks of the temple had descended to preach, and the Wind-Greeting Pavilion was surrounded by a crowd of devout men and women listening to the Buddhist teachings.
Wen Jin stopped the carriage in a shaded spot and gazed at the scene for a long moment, his interest piqued. “Brother Lan, I want to hear the Great Monk preach.”
Lan Xiangru observed his expression and saw not a shred of piety, but a belly full of mischief he couldn’t contain.
“Let’s go, I also—” Before he could finish, Lan Xiangru was pulled from the carriage by Wen Jin and dragged into the crowd.
The two monks who had descended the mountain to preach were both over forty years old. One had a face as gentle as a spring breeze, his smile warm and approachable. The other had a face covered in a thick beard, his eyes like copper bells, clearly not someone easy to deal with.
At that moment, a scholar in gray robes, kneeling on a prayer mat within the pavilion, pressed his palms together in a respectful gassho and spoke humbly. “Honored Masters, I offer my greetings. A matter has troubled me for many days, and I have yet to find a solution. It has left me increasingly anxious, and so I have come to seek your guidance.”
The monk with the gentle demeanor replied, “Amitābha. May I ask what troubles you, Layman?”
The scholar in gray answered, “I passed the imperial examination at nineteen. I should have been brimming with pride and brought honor to my family. Yet, ever since then, I have felt as if the entire world is mired in filth, filled with incurable patients. I can only lament that the people are beyond salvation.”
Wen Jin, who had nimbly squeezed his way to the front of the crowd beside Lan Xiangru, could not help but roll his eyes upon hearing this.
The monk smiled faintly, then instructed the novice beside him to fetch two wooden buckets and hand them to the scholar. “Layman, you may fill these two buckets with water.”
Though bewildered, the scholar complied. He carried the buckets to a nearby well, rolled up his sleeves, and bent his waist, laboriously drawing water.
Wen Jin crossed his arms and said to Lan Xiangru, “Watch closely. I will show you how to win a debate before the Buddha.”
A short while later, the scholar returned to the Wind-Greeting Pavilion, panting heavily as he carried the two full buckets. He pressed his palms together and asked, “Master, the buckets are full. What should I do next?”
The monk remained silent, merely gesturing for the novice to bring over two more wooden buckets.
The scholar frowned. “Master, what is the meaning of this?”
Wen Jin’s voice rang out clearly. “The Master means for you to keep filling them. Keep filling, and filling.”
The scholar caught the mockery in his tone, his face instantly flushing crimson.
The fierce-looking monk with the full, bushy beard roared, “How dare you spout such nonsense!”
The gentle-faced monk murmured a Buddhist prayer and said, “Benefactor, one must not speak rashly. My intention is merely to offer this gentleman a gentle reminder—a deep pool is formed from every trickle; when a vessel is full, it overflows. Only an empty heart can receive.”
Whether the scholar had truly grasped the Zen koan was unclear, but he knelt on the prayer mat and bowed three times to the monk. “Thank you for your guidance, Master.”
Soon after, a disheveled middle-aged man entered the Wind-Greeting Pavilion and knelt before the monk. “Master, I foolishly believed slanderous words, which led to my wife and children being scattered and my parents dying in resentment. I am now too ashamed to return home. I humbly beg you to ordain me, so that I may spend the rest of my days in the company of the green lamp.”
A phrase suddenly flashed through Wen Jin’s mind—The foolish seek Buddha, not their own hearts; the wise seek their hearts, not Buddha.
This man’s desire to become a monk was a pretense. In truth, he was simply too ashamed to face his family and friends, seeking a secluded sanctuary to hide away like a turtle in its shell.
The gentle-faced monk pressed his palms together in prayer, chanting, “Amitabha—Yuanye, fetch the Go board.”
A young novice named Yuanye emerged from the pavilion, his movements swift and efficient as he set up the board. He then bowed and withdrew. The man, though bewildered, took his seat on the opposite side of the table.
Wen Jin had expected the match to drag on until dusk, perhaps even until the end of time. To his surprise, it was over in less than the time it took for half an incense stick to burn. The old monk had made several missteps, yet he still emerged completely victorious. The man was stunned. “Master, how…?”
Wen Jin replied with a straight face, “The Master is saying that even if he gives you a few free moves, you’re still no match for him.”
Lan Xiangru burst into laughter at Wen Jin’s willful misinterpretation of the Zen lesson. However, the fierce-looking monk, his face covered in a thick beard, already showed signs of anger. “You brat! If you dare speak out of turn again, don’t blame this poor monk for showing you no mercy!”
The gentle-faced monk placed a hand on the fierce monk’s shoulder and smiled at Wen Jin. “Amitabha. All things are created by the mind. The benefactor’s unique insight is, in itself, a form of karmic affinity.” He then turned to the man who had been watching the match from the sidelines. “A single lamp can dispel a thousand years of darkness; a single spark of wisdom can extinguish ten thousand years of ignorance. Benefactor, fear not the crossroads. Follow your heart, and you will eventually reach your destination.”
Enlightenment before the Buddha reveals all to be illusory.
The two monks continued their discourse, and Wen Jin, no longer intent on causing trouble, returned to the carriage with Lan Xiangru. They set off toward Huaguang Temple on Taibai Peak, arriving at the mountain gate just as the hour of Shen drew to a close.
The temple’s majesty was awe-inspiring, its sacred chants echoing through the air. Even before crossing the threshold, Wen Jin found himself struck by the solemnity and grandeur of Huaguang Temple. He paused for a moment at the foot of the stone steps, then approached a monk sweeping nearby. Pressing his palms together in a respectful bow, he explained his purpose.
The sweeping monk replied, “Amitabha. Abbot Huiming is currently in secluded meditation. All temple affairs are now overseen by Senior Uncle Shiqing, the Master of the Dharma Hall. However, Senior Uncles Shiqing and Shiyuan have gone down the mountain today to preach and answer the villagers’ questions. They should return shortly. Please wait here, Benefactor.”
Preach?
Could those two monks in the Wind-Greeting Pavilion be Master Shiqing of the Dharma Hall and his fiercely righteous junior brother, Shiyuan?
This…
Wen Jin’s heart sank.
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