Chapter 176 — A Mundane Buddhist Hall

The sound was strange: at first hearing it seemed the chanting of scriptures by the temple's monks, yet mingled with it were other odd noises—some that Ming Li would never have imagined could be heard here, such as village women gathered together chattering, or lay devotees loudly hailing the Buddha, and fainter still, the sound of children crying.

How could such strange noises arise in the Fanyin Temple, famed as one of the three great orthodox sects of the world?

Ming Li's heart was full of doubt and alarm. He looked to Fa Cheng, but Fa Cheng's expression was unchanged as he led the way toward the archway and stepped through. Ming Li frowned, steadied himself, and followed him out.

Beyond the gate all at once opened wide: white jade paved the ground and spread into a courtyard, with stone steps rising in tiers, nine to a group, joined one upon another up to the Mahavira Hall—nine times nine, eighty-one groups in all. Between the jade-carved balustrades stood the halls, towering and majestic; before the hall thirteen great stone pillars thrust up into the sky, more than ten zhang high. The roof blazed with gold, its eight ridges dividing the expanse above, each carved in the shape of a dragon's head, and before each flying eave's dragon head were carved, unmistakably, ten auspicious beasts, each of a different form, lifelike and vivid. (Note 1)

The carvings below the hall were so ornate and exquisite that they far surpassed the imagining of ordinary folk, beyond the making of common hands. Behind the Mahavira Hall, to either side, and before it, lofty halls joined one after another—now linked by open plazas, now winding together by narrow paths, some built directly adjoining, tier upon tier, a sight of great magnificence.

Yet magnificent and splendid as these structures were, and truly breathtaking, what astonished Ming Li most at this moment was not any of it, but that in this solemn holy ground of Buddhism there should now be countless ordinary folk thronging to and fro, countless people holding incense, kneeling and bowing in worship—on the steps and in the plazas, within the halls and without—the incense smoke so thick it was beyond imagining.

This vast Fanyin Temple, the Fanyin Temple that held such exalted rank among the orthodox sects of the world, was open like any common temple of the mortal realm to countless lay people come to burn incense and worship the Buddha.

Ming Li had never imagined such a thing. The strange noises from before he now understood, but the scene before his eyes only bewildered him further. Raised from childhood on Canglan Mountain, he had long since grown used to the so-called bearing of the immortal cultivators: immortal mountains and immortal realms belonged, by rights, to cultivators alone. On Canglan Mountain, when had one ever seen an ordinary commoner climb the mountain to burn incense and make vows?

He turned to Fa Cheng and asked in astonishment: "What is this...?"

Fa Cheng smiled slightly. "Today happens to be the first day of the month, so there are more people than usual. Our temple's incense is indeed flourishing, but on ordinary days there are not so many; only on the first and fifteenth of each month do the people from several hundred li around come by custom to worship the Buddha." (Note 2)

Ming Li shook his head. He hesitated, but in the end asked: "No—what I find strange is, why do you let the common people come in to burn incense and worship the Buddha?"

Facheng seemed to have expected that Ming Li would ask such a question. He nodded, motioned for Ming Li to follow him this way, and led him toward the rear of the Mahavira Hall. As they walked, he said, "In fact, long ago, the Fanyin Temple, like the Canglan Sect and other great houses, was not open to the secular world. It was only after my master, the Venerable Pucheng, took over as abbot that he, together with three of my other uncles, delved into Buddhist teachings and made a great vow, saying: 'The Buddha is the Buddha of all living beings, not the Buddha of me alone.' And so they decided to open the mountain gate and receive the common people."

At this point, Facheng stopped, turned around, and pointed toward the countless steps leading to the Mahavira Hall. "Do you see that long stone stairway?" he asked.

Ming Li nodded. "What of it?" he asked.

Facheng pressed his palms together. "One of my uncles once saw that the mountain path was steep," he said. "Although the common people wished to pay homage to the Buddha, many were frail and found the way difficult, unable even to climb the mountain and fulfill their vows. So he used great divine powers and, single-handedly, spent ten years carving this broad, level road to the Buddha out of what had been a perilous mountain path. It was an act of boundless merit."

Ming Li could not help but feel deep respect, and his expression grew solemn. "To think there was such a remarkable elder," he said. "May I ask his name?"

Facheng glanced at him and, after an unexpected pause, said in a low voice, "That uncle's name was Puzhao. He has been dead for over ten years."

Ming Li's body went rigid, as if the two words "Puzhao" had struck his mind like a thunderclap out of a clear sky, shattering his spirit to pieces.

Facheng watched Ming Li's face shift unpredictably, now sorrowful, now resentful, then sighed deeply and said softly, "Enough. Let us go. The abbot is still waiting for us."

Ming Li followed Facheng woodenly. His steps, which had been fairly light before, were now impossibly heavy. After walking some distance, he suddenly turned back, his face a tangle of emotions. In the distance, the crowd was bustling—countless people moving along that stone stairway: the old, men, women, children, each with a devout expression, passing over the steps and chanting the Buddha's name, as if by walking this road they had drawn a little closer to the Buddha.

The expression on Ming Li's face was complex and hard to read. His hands clenched into fists and slowly relaxed again. After a long while, he finally turned his head and walked on. Facheng, who had been waiting ahead, pressed his palms together and invoked the Buddha's name, but said nothing more.

The two of them went on together, leaving behind those countless devotees and that silent road to the Buddha—leaving them behind in the mortal world.

This place had once been the mortal world; it was no longer the realm of immortals and Buddhas.

********

After the Mahavira Hall, there was still a long series of halls and shrines. The Fanyin Temple was, after all, a great and famous sect, and its grandeur was beyond comparison with ordinary temples. Yet Facheng led Ming Li all the way through without stopping at any of the halls or pavilions, heading straight for the back mountain.

Ming Li followed behind Facheng the whole way without a word, his face heavy with thought. He seemed not even to see the splendid, exquisite buildings around him.

In the end, however, Facheng actually led him out the back gate of the Fanyin Temple and onto a small mountain path leading up to the summit of Mount Sumeru. Only then did Ming Li frown and ask, "What? Is the Venerable Pucheng not in the temple?"

Facheng nodded. "That is right," he said. "Although our temple's opening to the secular world is an act of boundless merit, those who have left home still need tranquility. My master and several of my uncles are all lovers of quiet, and have always lived in the small temple at the summit, which we generally call the 'Little Fanyin Temple.'" With that, he smiled slightly, showing two rows of white teeth.

Ming Li nodded silently and said no more, following Facheng up toward the summit of Mount Sumeru.