劍問蒼天 - 第175章 禪室 - 清風書屋

The young monk was plainly delighted; with a chuckle he went off, skipping and bouncing. The wooden door swung open with a creak, and someone seemed to pause outside a moment, drawing a deep breath, and then came in.

It was Fa Cheng indeed, and behind him, still, that tall, burly monk Fa Jing.

In pale moon-white monk's robes, face fair and clean, prayer beads in hand, Fa Cheng looked as though not a hair had changed in these ten years. Slowly he walked toward the wooden bed where Ming Li lay, and when he reached it and their eyes met, for a moment neither of them had anything to say.

The mood in the room turned somewhat strange; after a moment Fa Cheng's lips curved in a faint smile, and pressing his palms together he saluted Ming Li: "Benefactor Zhang, you are awake?"

The corner of Ming Li's eye twitched, and suddenly he said coldly: "My surname is not Zhang. I forgot that name long ago."

Fa Cheng's expression did not change; he only looked at Ming Li, and after a while said softly: "What name you take is of course your own affair. But if you would discard even your surname—have you thought whether that is worthy of the parents who bore and raised you?"

Ming Li's face changed; he gave a cold snort but said nothing more, and turned his head away, refusing to look at him.

Fa Cheng did not seem to take offense. He and Fa Jing, as they regarded this demonic heresiarch, spurned by all the righteous sects under heaven, showed in their eyes nothing but kindness. Fa Jing fetched two chairs from beside the round table behind them and set them by the bed, saying quietly: "Senior brother, please sit."

Fa Cheng nodded and sat down, looking at Ming Li. "How does your body feel now?"

He need not have asked; Ming Li had long since secretly taken stock of himself. The ribs in his chest, shattered by the grievous blow, had been set completely and were now bound tight with thick bandages, plainly to hold them in place; as for the many cuts and bruises on his shoulder and body, all had been dressed, and though pain came from the wounds now and again, a cool sensation stole through them as well—clearly a most excellent medicine had been applied, to work such effect.

Fa Cheng, receiving no answer, was not angered. He smiled: "While you were unconscious I set your broken bones. The other hurts are not serious; it is your inner organs that took the grievous injury, and they must be nursed with care before they mend. It is fortunate your constitution is strong—otherwise, even one of deep cultivation might not have survived such wounds."

He paused, then went on: "My young junior brother has told you, I think—this is Fan Yin Temple. Apart from a few of us in the temple, no one under heaven knows you are here, so you are quite safe. Only rest and heal your wounds here..."

Ming Li suddenly cut him off, looking him straight in the eye: "Was it you who saved me?"

The smile on Fa Cheng's face stiffened; he seemed to hesitate, and glanced back at Fa Jing, who lowered his head and softly invoked the Buddha's name.

Fa Cheng turned back, hesitated no longer, and nodded: "Yes."

Ming Li snorted: "Don't tell me you don't know what will happen if Canglan Gate learns of this."

Fa Cheng said mildly: "Of course I know."

Ming Li laughed coldly: "Then why do you still defy your masters to save a demonic heresiarch like me?"

Fa Cheng glanced at him, and somehow there was something strange in his gaze. Ming Li frowned: "What are you looking at?"

Fa Cheng smiled: "How do you know that I must be defying my masters to save you?"

Ming Li started: "What?"

Fa Cheng said leisurely: "In those days the heads of the seven branches of Canglan Gate were no ordinary men; each had something uncommon about him. Zeng Shuchang, head of Wind-Return Peak, was one of them. To fight him then, to hold him entangled, and in so short a time not to reveal the arts of our sect—such skill as that, I confess, I could not manage."