Chapter 112: Wuchan Is Sentimental but Principled

## Beacon Fires for the Lords

For a thousand years since its establishment, a certain temple has kept its main gate permanently closed. It has never been opened, whether for emperors and generals who came to visit or for common folk burning incense.

This mountain temple has produced countless enlightened eminent monks. The most recent and famous one, whose lay name is Yang Taisui, is currently the imperial tutor for two dynasties and might well serve three in the future. Over three thousand eminent monks from various dynasties are recorded to have passed away at the temple, with more than two hundred of them being designated National Preceptors. Its history began with Hinayana Chan meditation leading to Vipassana Chan. Then, during the Northern Wei Dynasty, thirty-six Bodhisattvas in the flesh simultaneously established translation centers on the mountain, spreading the light of Buddha far and wide. Eight hundred years ago, a Chan Buddhist patriarch, who attained the supreme Buddha-fruit, came across the sea, imparting Mahayana Wall-gazing meditation, ultimately making it a Buddhist ancestral temple.

In recent centuries, Buddhism and Taoism have been in contention. Every ten years, Buddhist monks from this temple would go to Mount Longhu to debate with Taoists. However, unlike the strict hierarchy of the Taoist ancestral temple, this place has few rigid rules; anyone can ascend the mountain and go anywhere on it. The mountains are high, the temples are high, the steles are high, the pagodas are high, and the Buddhist Dharma is profound. Despite its grandeur, the mountain itself, much like the temple’s name, "Two Zen," has always remained nameless, suggesting a certain casualness.

This is the Two Zen Temple, the foremost Buddhist monastery under heaven.

Some say the temple is called "Two Zen" because it embodies self-zen and other-zen, meaning self-enlightenment and enlightening others. Yet, over more than a thousand years, there has been no unified official explanation, and Two Zen Temple has never offered one.

At the foot of the mountain, on its backside, lies a pagoda forest, the burial ground for Two Zen Temple's eminent monks throughout history. It contains over a thousand stupas of varying sizes, each with carved inscriptions, resembling a dense forest at first glance. Two Zen Temple never intended for this to be a forbidden area, but the devotees' piety prevented them from treading there, so over time, few came to observe. At the edge of the pagoda forest stands the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas, where hundreds of meters of colored murals depicting martial arts manuals are painted on the walls. The hall's floor has one hundred and eight depressions, said to be footprints left by Arhats. It is said that a thousand people will interpret a thousand different boxing styles from these, hence the saying: "All martial arts under heaven originate from Two Zen."

To the east of the Hall of Ten Thousand Buddhas is a small thatched hut, perpetually inhabited by an unregistered, white-robed monk. Were it not for his bald head and kasaya, he wouldn't even look like a monk. This middle-aged, white-robed monk not only drinks alcohol and eats meat, but, even more outrageously, he has a wife and a daughter who has grown up in the temple since childhood!

This middle-aged, wine-loving monk, despite his notorious misdeeds and unkempt lifestyle, fortunately bears no ill will towards others. He has only taken on one disciple, a kind-hearted young boy who is just as good-natured. Moreover, his daughter is naturally lively and enjoys climbing all over the mountain. The temple's abbot, said to be the oldest, adores this child. When the white-robed monk inadvertently caused trouble several times and was pursued for punishment by the rigid monks of the Disciplinary Hall, he would send his daughter to the abbot's quarters to ask for candied haws to satisfy her cravings. As soon as the old abbot saw the little girl, his anger would dissipate immediately; this trick always worked. The disciple raised by this middle-aged monk guarding the pagoda forest is by no means simple. At a young age, he became a lecture monk in the temple, allowed to wear a light red kasaya exposing his left shoulder. The young monk's Dharma name is "One Zen," which is quite peculiar, but compared to his master's Dharma name, it doesn't seem so strange.

On a beautiful, sunny day, the poor young monk sat sighing in front of the thatched hut, scrubbing a large basin of clothes belonging to his master and mistress. He had gone down the mountain for the Lantern Festival fair, only to be dragged to Mount Longhu and even exchange a few words with the White Lotus Sect at the Celestial Master's Residence. Fortunately, he wasn't beaten senseless, but as soon as he returned to the temple, he suffered. His mistress was indeed a bit lazy; she hadn't washed so many dirty clothes, leaving them piled up in the hut without minding the smell, only deciding to clean them upon returning to the temple. And it was clearly her idea to sneak out and play, yet when his master and mistress saw her, they remained kind, but when they looked at him, their expressions changed. At mealtimes, even the rice in his bowl was significantly less. Alas, they must be down the mountain buying cosmetics now. His master was actually quite pathetic; it would be ages before his alms bowl, hidden under the bed for saving money, would be filled with copper coins.

A drunken, white-robed monk emerged from the hut. He was extremely tall and plonked down beside the young monk, also with a long face.

The young monk didn't even want to glance at him.

Actually, Master wasn't having it easy either.

The young monk, his back aching from scrubbing clothes and utterly bored, couldn't help but casually ask his master, "Master, when I came up the mountain, I heard a famous monk from the south arrived at the temple and is trying to take over Abbot Huineng's territory. Who do you think will win?"

The white-robed monk yawned and grumbled, "Guest monks often have more influence. Besides, your Uncle Huineng's fighting skills are about as good as yours, so he probably won't win against them."

The young monk pouted and said indignantly, "You refuse to teach me advanced martial arts, so what can I do? I've been looking at the boxing manuals on three walls of the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas for so many years, but I still can't figure out anything impressive."

His master, completely irresponsible, replied offhandedly, "That's why I say you're a dummy."

Ben Nanbei, sighing with an old-fashioned air, asked, "Master, do you think I'll be able to produce sarira in this lifetime? If not, I think I'd rather practice martial arts. She always likes running down the mountain, and I'm afraid she'll be bullied, and I won't be able to protect her."

The white-robed monk thought for a moment and said, "Oh, is that so? Well, then, just use the young novices who just started practicing boxing at the temple as punching bags. Keep hitting them, and you'll become a master."

The young monk said with great indignation, "You've said that before! Last year, I listened to you and beat up a young novice. His master came running to scold me, but you, you just ran off! You almost got my ear ripped off by mistress!"

The middle-aged monk feigned surprise, uttering an "Ah?" and then pretended ignorance, saying, "That happened?"

The resigned young monk lowered his head and vigorously scrubbed the dirty clothes.

After a long moment of silence, the young monk turned to glance at him. His master was staring blankly at the cloudless sky. He couldn't help but ask, "Master, what are you looking at?"

The white-robed monk extended a finger and tapped it.

The young monk instinctively first looked at his master's finger. He was quickly flicked on the forehead by his master. He was reprimanded, "You're such a dummy and still won't admit it! I already pointed it out for you, and you're still looking? With such dull comprehension, do you still expect to produce sarira after you die?"

Ben Nanbei, wiping his wet hands on his trousers, then rubbed his bald head. He prepared to get to the bottom of it, otherwise he would have been hit for nothing. "Master, you still haven't said what you're looking at."

His master said solemnly, "I'm looking at the moon."

The young monk rolled his eyes and said, "Master, can you even see it in broad daylight?"

No wonder Master's Dharma name is "No Zen."

The white-robed monk, still looking up, softly sighed, "Ah, the first time I met your mistress was under the moon and flowers. Ben Nanbei, your master misses your mistress again."

The young monk retorted angrily, "If you miss her, just miss her! Why tell me to do anything about it!"

His master asked, "Don't you miss her?"

Ben Nanbei immediately chuckled foolishly. He even washed clothes a bit more diligently, and said awkwardly, "I do... no, I don't."

His master flicked his forehead again. Then he said earnestly, "If you miss her, why tell your master? You know she's my daughter, and if you say so, I'll hit you! You dummy, your master wasted teaching you so much profound Buddhist Dharma."

The young monk angrily said, "Hit me again! Hit me until I have an epiphany! Then I'll become a Buddha instantly and be able to produce sarira, and see if I still pay attention to you!"

His master said disdainfully, "The concept of 'epiphany' is something your master taught you. As for sarira, your master doesn't even care for them. Don't try to act tough in front of me; if you're so brave, go yell at your mistress."

The young monk, filled with grief and indignation, remained silent.

Only after going down the mountain did Ben Nanbei realize that this master beside him was more profoundly enlightened in Buddhist Dharma than he had imagined. There was a saying down the mountain: In the sixth year of Ganlu, this master, who had also grown up on the mountain, perused all the scriptures under heaven. He felt that sects were numerous and their doctrines varied and complex, lacking any definitive synthesis. His master vowed to dedicate himself, seeking a "great root" ten thousand li away. Thus, he journeyed west in search of Dharma, and fifteen years passed. Nalanda in the Western Regions was far enough, wasn't it? But his master went even further, seeking the *Yogacarabhumi-sastra* to unify various differing theories. He studied for ten years in a temple in the farthest west, mastering fifty sutras and sastras, returning in the thirty-first year of Ganlu. When he arrived in Tai'an City, it is said that even the Emperor himself came out of the palace to welcome him, and hundreds of thousands lined the streets, eager to witness the white-robed monk's bearing. This is why the temple has a "Standing Snow Pavilion," where the late emperor personally inscribed five characters: "White Snow Impressions on Heart Pearl."

If the story ended there, Ben Nanbei would surely have felt it was just a tale. Later, his master proposed the idea of "instant Buddhahood" at the temple, which contradicted orthodox Chan Buddhism. As a result, his master's fifteen-year journey became a farce, and he was almost expelled from Two Zen Temple. His master's saying, "Every gesture, every step, is a Bodhimandala; mind and emotion all return to the sea of nature," has only gained slight recognition in recent years. Regardless, the sight of hundreds of thousands in the capital kneeling together to worship Buddha was no more. Fortunately, there was one thing about his master that greatly impressed the young monk: whatever people down the mountain thought or how they refuted him, it was far less impactful than a word from his mistress or a single sentence from her. Sometimes, if she merely spoke a word too harshly, his master would be sad for a long time.

The white-robed monk smiled faintly. "Ben Nanbei, your master no longer has the heart to contend with others. The concept of 'epiphany' will depend on you to promote and glorify it in the future."

The young monk said nervously, "Master, please don't! You have a mistress, but I don't! I probably won't be able to devote myself to your Zen."

The white-robed monk looked somewhat annoyed, then rubbed his large bald head. He chuckled, "I truly envy you, you dummy. Your master has no more Zen to contemplate!"

The young monk sighed along.

His master softly said, "It's going to rain."

"The sun is out, no way!"

"It always does."

"Master."

"Hmm?"

"You always speak nonsense, don't you?"

"Isn't that how the Buddhist Dharma in the scriptures is?"

"Keep your voice down. If the abbot and head monks hear you, they'll deduct our copper coins again."

"How vulgar! And you still expect to produce sarira like this?"

"What's wrong? I only thought of becoming a Buddha because I couldn't afford to buy her cosmetics! Otherwise, why would I go to all the trouble of becoming a Buddha just to get sarira?!"

"Oh, no, no, you have insight and good roots. You truly are my disciple."

"Master, if that's the case, then could you help wash some clothes?"

"Asking for a beating!"

The most famous thing in Huting Prefecture, Jiangnan Road, was not its plump, tribute-grade lotus-platform peonies, but a libertine widow named Xu, who had married from afar, from the Beiliang region. She had successively brought death to two husbands, both among the foremost gentry families of the area. One had scored second in the imperial examinations; after passing the highest exam, he was to celebrate his marriage—a grand joyous occasion, but he died unexpectedly. The other was no less distinguished, a third-place scholar, who also died suddenly after marrying the Xu widow. Thus, people in Jiangnan Road jested, asking if the next victim would be the first-place scholar.

However, this widow recently became involved with a scholar from the neighboring Jiangxin Prefecture. This man was an official's son with a refined reputation in Jiangnan Road, his ancestors all literary masters. His name was Liu Liting, alias Chengzhai. At fourteen, he could compose exquisite parallel prose, was proficient in phonology, particularly immersed in playing the zither, and was even famous for his refined cuisine, making him unique among the scholarly circles of Jiangnan Road. His original wife was also from a prominent family, possessing both virtue and talent. However, after Liu Liting met the widow, he seemed to fall into a demonic trance, insanely determined to divorce his wife. Originally, this was just a family matter, at most earning some ridicule in Jiangnan Road. But Liu Liting's wife, for some unknown reason, had intricate connections with a consort in the capital's imperial palace. That lady was extraordinary; *Admonitions for Women*, a text all women in the realm were required to read, was written by her.

When such a scandal in Jiangnan Road reached her ears, she naturally flew into a rage. This consort was highly favored in the imperial palace and regarded as a sister by Empress Zhao, so her frown was almost as impactful as the Emperor's fury. Consequently, the officials in Jiangnan Road no longer dared to entertain thoughts of watching the spectacle; they bit the bullet and launched a verbal and written assault. Although Liu Liting could write morally upright essays that earned high praise, he didn't seem to possess much masculine courage. As soon as he saw that even the imperial consort was angered, he immediately sobered up as if enlightened. First, he wrote a poem of dissociation and sent it to the widow's door, then went to his wife and wept bitterly. He also tearfully recounted to his usual circle of refined scholars how that "vixen" widow had seduced him. The poor outsider woman named Xu found herself besieged on all sides; had her family background not been so formidable, she would have long been drowned in public scorn. Liu Liting's wife even made a special trip to Baoguo Temple to burn incense, where she slapped the widow and called her a hussy. Yet, the "vixen" widow showed no anger or indignation, merely smiling faintly, making it impossible to tell if it was a bitter or mocking smile.

All the scholars present, who had come to watch the commotion, were moved.

The peonies of Baoguo Temple were unrivaled in Jiangnan. According to geographers, Huting Prefecture's ley lines were most suitable for peonies, allowing them to cultivate the astonishing array of vibrant colors that amazed the world. Originally, Huting Prefecture exclusively offered the "Yao Huang" and "Wei Zi" varieties of peonies as tribute to the capital. For twenty days, from bloom to fade, the entire capital city would be enraptured. Baoguo Temple in the prefecture had no fewer than a hundred varieties of peonies. Besides "Yao Huang" and "Wei Zi," known as the Queens of Peonies, there were many other priceless treasures such as "Green Dragon Reclining in Lake," "Zhao Fen," and "Flesh Hibiscus." Baoguo Temple's most frequent visitor was the Xu widow, who was currently being reviled by thousands. She would come to burn incense and offer prayers on the first and fifteenth day of every month, come rain or shine. She particularly loved the "Zhao Fen" peony. In the temple's back courtyard, there was a "Zhao Fen" plant as large as a bushel, its branches and leaves luxuriant, profusely blooming, spilling over the eaves, creating a spectacularly beautiful sight. Huting Prefecture, constrained by her prominent family background and eccentric behavior, had virtually made this magnificent peony her private viewing exclusive. Today was the fifteenth of the month; the first of the month was the day Liu's wife had slapped her. She entered the back courtyard with her personal maid. When she married and left home, she brought many servants and maids from her maternal family, but she wasn't close to any of them. However, she had an inexplicable fondness for this young maid beside her, who was just coming of age and from a poor background. She managed her household with strictness and severity, and few servants in her mansion did not fear her. Only this maid, whom she named Erqiao, remembered kindness and sought to repay it, respecting and protecting her mistress everywhere. Today, walking from dismounting her horse to entering the temple, there were countless whispers and pointing fingers. The little maid, unable to bear it, now that no one was around, complained with a troubled expression, "These pilgrims are truly hateful! They should just burn incense and be done with it. Why do they keep secretly laughing when they see you?!"

The widow, not yet thirty, pinched the maid's cheek and smiled charmingly, "You're the only one with a good heart, my girl."

The little maid said indignantly, "That Liu Liting is just too much! He was clinging to you like a plaster for days, and in the end, he was the first to accuse you of wrongdoing! Are those well-read scholars blind? How can they all take his side?!"

The pretty widow couldn't help but smile. She bent down, gazing at a splendid peony. She picked a small, fingernail-sized petal with her fingers, sniffed it, and squinted her eyes, smiling, "Aren't most men in this world like this? There's nothing to get angry about. It's not worth getting upset over."

The little maid said timidly, "Can I tell you something?"

The widow was amused and said, "Oh, are you feeling romantic? Have you taken a fancy to a scholar? Tell me, if he's truly not bad..."

The little maid shook her head frantically, biting her lips, and looked up with a determined expression, saying, "That shrew in Liu Liting's family is too hateful! I heard she often goes to Qingshan Temple to pray. Your servant wants to go slap her! Please don't plead for Erqiao then. It's fine if I get beaten to death; I want to let out some pent-up anger! Don't worry about me being unhappy today."

The widow paused, then gently crushed the flower petal between her fingers, and burst out laughing, "My fondness for you isn't wasted. But you're just a little girl interfering; you'd just get slapped."

The little girl burst into tears, her face streaming, and sobbed, "No! Whenever I think about being bullied for no reason, I want to fight that shrew to the death. If you hadn't rescued me, I would have been ruined by evil people long ago. I may not have read books or be literate, but when my parents were alive, they always told me to remember people's kindness, and I remember kindness best!"

The widow wiped away the maid's tears and gently said, "There, there. I didn't intend to tell you this, but seeing you like this, I'll tell you to set your silly girl's mind at ease. I, you see, deliberately kept that slap. You know I have a lawless younger brother, and he's very busy on this trip. I wasn't sure if he'd visit his second sister first or come to Huting Prefecture to see me. But if he hears about this slap, won't he surely rush over here to me? His second sister, she's focused on the world and doesn't bother with such things, but I'm not like that; I always like to contend. Life, ah, it's rare to not suffer, and this is one of my few joys."

The little girl nodded vigorously, "Yes! Your... your brother is His Royal Highness, the Prince of Beiliang! The servants in the manor always like to whisper about His Highness, but they always go silent when they see me."

The widow affectionately rubbed the little girl's ear and chuckled, "With your sharp ears, who in the mansion would dare to gossip? If I ever catch them, wouldn't I flay them alive?"

The little maid finally broke into a smile.

It seemed her mistress's mood always brightened whenever she spoke of His Highness.

The widow's brows indeed relaxed a bit, and with a smile playing on her lips, she said, "My younger brother, he's been handsome since childhood. Our family didn't plant many peonies, but every time they bloomed, I'd pull him to admire them, pick one, and put it on his head; he looked prettier than any girl. It's a pity it's going to rain in a few days. I wonder if he'll arrive in time for this blooming season."

The little maid wiped her face with her sleeve and said innocently, "The Bodhisattva will surely bless us so it doesn't rain!"

The widow softly murmured, "How would a little girl understand the sorrow of heartless wind and rain scattering romantic affairs?"

The girl, who hadn't heard clearly, asked curiously, "What did you say?"

The widow teased, "You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

As if fearing the little maid would still do something foolish, the widow gently said, "When my brother arrives in Jiangnan Road, you'll see how those high-minded scholars and wealthy young masters who usually look down on others are actually nothing."

At the mountain peak was the Celestial Master's Residence, where high-ranking officials and nobles congregated. At its foot, there was only a dilapidated old Taoist temple, where a master and disciple relied on each other for survival.

The old Taoist master, to encourage his reclusive disciple to improve, practically talked himself hoarse. Initially, his prized secret technique, the "Great Dream of Spring and Autumn"—a Taoist art so profound that even the Four Great Celestial Masters hadn't mastered it—his disciple refused to learn or even listen to. Until one day, the old Taoist suddenly had an idea. He took a letter from His Royal Highness, the Prince of Beiliang, and deliberately claimed that Xu Fengnian had written in it, expressing hope that Huang Man'er (the disciple) would learn this "Spring and Autumn Taoist technique" that allowed one to sleep for five hundred years. The trick genuinely worked by accident. The simple-minded disciple immediately perked up his ears and truly applied himself to learning the "Dream of Spring and Autumn."

Memorizing the incantations for this technique was not difficult; the challenge lay in circulating qi. While the Great Huang Ting cultivated thickness, the Dream of Spring and Autumn did the opposite, cultivating thinness. When practiced to its profound peak, almost all qi within the body would dissipate, leaving only "one breath." The reason the old Taoist valued his disciple Xu Longxiang so highly, and even went thousands of miles to humbly petition the Prince of Beiliang, was precisely because Xu Longxiang possessed innate divine strength and was born with a terrifying Vajra realm. If he mastered the Dream of Spring and Autumn, it would truly be a perfect balance of Yin and Yang, like adding wings to a tiger. How could old Taoist Zhao Xituan of Longhu not hope for a second Immortal Qi Xuanzhen to appear on the mountain? As for whether Xu Longxiang was from the Celestial Master's Residence, Zhao Xituan didn't mind at all. Had he not been called a renegade by Celestial Masters to his face or behind his back countless times in his life?

Before, Xu Longxiang's unwillingness to learn gave his master, the old Taoist, many headaches. But now, old Taoist Zhao still had headaches: the boy had become obsessed, spending all twelve hours of the day in a semi-conscious state. This Great Dream of Spring and Autumn seemed tailor-made for Xu Longxiang by the founding patriarch. The old Taoist used to be able to sit with his disciple, watching ants or the stream. Even if they couldn't talk, at least he had a companion to listen to his rambling. Now, the old Taoist had absolutely nothing to do and was terribly bored. He could only count on his fingers, calculating when His Royal Highness the Prince would arrive at Mount Longhu.

The old Taoist, highly senior and extremely eccentric on Mount Longhu, was squatting by the Azure Dragon Stream, lost in thought. He was worried that he couldn't see any beautiful young ladies floating by on rafts, sightseeing.

That disciple, who never left the temple before, for the first time, walked out of the Taoist temple and squatted beside him.

The greatly relieved old Taoist chuckled, "Disciple, you've finally come out for some fresh air, haven't you?"

As expected, there was no response.

The old Taoist spoke to himself, "My generation has sought the Tao all our lives, but we've always seen it indistinctly, feeling it shrouded in clouds and mist. Only by observing you do I realize that this Tao cannot be spoken of."

Xu Longxiang simply stared blankly at the stream.

The old Taoist said with emotion, "One day, before we descend the mountain, your master will take you to meet an old senior. If you can withstand a hundred moves from him, that will be enough."

Huang Man'er, at some unknown point, picked a leaf and handed it to his master.

The old Taoist took the leaf but smiled bitterly, "My disciple, your master can't whistle. Huang Man'er, you must be missing your brother, aren't you?"

The simple-minded Xu Longxiang actually smiled and nodded.

The old Taoist felt a pang in his heart. "Roughly when the hawthorns ripen on the mountain, your brother will arrive."

Although this old Taoist had listened to the Prince of Beiliang's advice to dress properly when going down the mountain, and even specifically borrowed a Zhong Kui peach wood sword from his disciples and grand-disciples, on the mountain, he remained utterly slovenly. His straw sandals were still woven, and his Taoist robe was tattered and covered in countless specks of dust.

At this moment, Huang Man'er lowered his head, extended a withered, yellow arm, and gently patted the dust off the old Taoist.

The old Taoist, who had lived his entire life for the "Tao" character, without a wife, children, or grandchildren, froze on the spot.

Instantly, old tears streamed down his face.