Chapter 236 — Pude

The Venerable Pu Cheng's face grew slightly grave. "That the Universe Reincarnation Disc is in the Temple of the Sanskrit Voice is known to none but this old monk and a few of his fellow disciples—and to my disciple Fa Cheng alone besides. This matter is deeply secret. May I ask, benefactor, who is this elder who told you of it—which master gave you this guidance?"

Ming Li started, and for a moment could not speak at all. After a long silence he said in a low voice, "Forgive me, Master. It is not that your disciple wishes to conceal anything; it is that when that elder told me of this, he expressly instructed me not to reveal his identity, and so..." His voice gradually trailed off, and disappointment and anxiety faintly surfaced on his face; plainly the struggle within him was fierce, yet in the end he said no more.

Master Pu Cheng frowned and said nothing, lowering his head in thought. Watching the master's expression, Ming Li grew all the more anxious. Before coming to the Temple of the Sanskrit Voice he had indeed considered that if this unheard-of treasure truly possessed such powers, it must be a peerless rarity of the first order, and that the temple's cherishing of it was only natural. But from the reactions of the Venerable Pu Cheng and the others, there seemed to be no intent to refuse—yet unexpectedly, they seemed to care a great deal about the source of Ming Li's information.

Ming Li had of course heard this news from Zhou Yixuan, that day on the ancient road outside He Yin City. The longer he knew Zhou Yixuan, the more he felt that this fortune-teller of the jianghu, who seemed to do nothing but spout nonsense and swindle money, was in truth a master of unfathomable depth. Yet after Zhou Yixuan told him this, he had warned him again and again that he must never reveal his identity.

At this moment Ming Li's heart was truly churning as though several currents of hot blood clashed within him: on one side his promise to Zhou Yixuan, on the other a ten-year vow far more important—for Bi Li, even for the faintest sliver of hope, he would truly pay any price. Now he could neither advance nor retreat, and his heart was torn in battle, and for a time he was in agony.

Fortunately, just then Master Pu Cheng suddenly gave a long sigh and said, "Enough. Whoever it was who told you, you are after all bound to my junior brother Pu Zhao by a karmic tie from lives past—and, truth be told, this treasure was also my junior brother Pu Zhao's..." Master Pu Cheng suddenly gave a bitter laugh, broke off, and rose from his meditation couch. Looking at Ming Li, he joined his palms and said, "Benefactor, please come with me. I will take you to see someone."

Ming Li started, but from the Venerable Pu Cheng's words he gathered that the master meant to pursue the source of the news no further, and even had a mind to lend him the treasure. Overjoyed beyond measure, he bowed to the ground, his voice trembling slightly as he said, "Thank you, Master."

Master Pu Cheng stepped forward and raised him up, smiling. "No need for such courtesy, benefactor. Let us go."

With that he swept his monk's robe and walked out of the room; Ming Li and Fa Cheng followed behind him. Ming Li could not help asking, "Master, whom are we going to see?"

Master Pu Cheng said mildly, "You must know, benefactor, that the world commonly names this old monk and his fellow disciples together, do you not?"

Ming Li nodded and said, "Yes—the Four Great Divine Monks of the Temple of the Sanskrit Voice: Hong, De, Zhi, and Kong, revered by all the people." As he spoke the character "Zhi," a flicker of something complex crossed his face, and even his voice sank a little.

Both the Venerable Pu Cheng and Fa Cheng felt it; sighing inwardly, they naturally said nothing more of it. The Venerable Pu Cheng joined his palms and said, "Of my third junior brother, Pu Zhao, we need not speak. My fourth junior brother, Pu Kong, you met that day. What I am taking you to see now is my second junior brother, Pu De."

The three of them came down from the Lesser Temple of the Sanskrit Voice on the rear mountain and walked once more into the bustling, clamorous Temple of the Sanskrit Voice, thick with incense smoke. Along the way the monks of the temple, seeing the abbot, all respectfully joined their palms in salute; even the ordinary folk and faithful, overjoyed, threw themselves down in worship—some of the elders even took the Venerable Pu Cheng for a living immortal and knelt to knock their heads upon the ground.

Master Pucheng, kindly of countenance and gentle in demeanor, led the way, skirting the main hall where the crowds were thickest and turning toward the remote northwest corner of the Fanyin Temple. As the three walked on, the figures of the faithful gradually fell away behind them, and the surroundings grew quieter and quieter, until at last, when Master Pucheng came to a halt before the gate of a secluded little courtyard at the end of a narrow path, not a single soul was to be seen nearby.

Mingli looked up and saw that the courtyard before him was exceedingly humble; the man-high wall beside it was mottled and peeling, its base overgrown with moss, and the courtyard gate stood half-open, so that they could clearly see the small central court within, strewn everywhere with fallen leaves. Now and then a faint breeze sprang up, stirring the leaves on the ground into a gentle, drifting dance, lending the place an added air of desolation and age.

Above the courtyard gate hung a badly worn plaque bearing three words: the Hall of Stillness.

Mingli gazed silently at the plaque, seeming somewhat lost in thought. Master Pucheng had already entered the courtyard, with Facheng following behind him; after a few steps Facheng noticed that Mingli had not followed and, surprised, turned back to see him still staring at the plaque. Rather puzzled, Facheng said, "Benefactor Zhang, what is it?"

Mingli stirred, as though rousing himself. After a moment's silence he came over and said mildly, "Nothing. It is only that the name on this plaque resembles a place where I lived in my youth. I lost myself for a moment—forgive my rudeness."

Facheng gave him another look and shook his head. "Not at all. Please come in, Benefactor."

Mingli nodded and walked deeper into the courtyard. Ahead, Master Pucheng had also come to a stop before a wooden hut within the yard and was looking back at the two of them. Mingli stepped forward and said in a low voice, "Forgive your disciple's rudeness."

Master Pucheng smiled faintly. "It is no matter." With that he turned back, raised his hand, and knocked softly on the wooden door—thump, thump, thump, three times. "Amitabha. Brother Pude, I have brought a benefactor to see you today. I have disturbed your pure cultivation, brother—my apologies, my apologies."

A light wind swept up from behind Mingli and the others, lifting the fallen leaves into the air and setting their robes gently fluttering. Before them, the wooden door seemed to be nudged by the wind as well, and with a soft creak it swung slowly inward, though no one had touched it. At the same time, a hoarse, low, ancient voice came from within, like iron long left to rust—slowly, it said, "Who... could it be... that troubles... my senior brother... to come... in person..."

Master Pucheng smiled faintly and went in, Facheng at his heels. Mingli, he knew not why, suddenly felt a certain nervousness; he drew a deep breath, and only then stepped into the wooden hut.

Though Mingli had long known that the monks of Fanyin Temple set no store by worldly luxury, and had supposed their furnishings must be plain in the extreme, the bareness of the hut still startled him. The room was not merely plain—it had no furnishings at all. On the empty floor, in one corner only, lay a bed of dry thatch, and there an old monk sat cross-legged, his face dark, his frame gaunt and withered, slowly raising his eyes to look at them.