Chapter 177 — The Sea of Suffering Is Hard to Cross
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 1 of 5
The plain little courtyard was like the one outside—a simple room set against the mountain wall, a narrow path of grey brick running down its middle to the door, weeds crowding both sides. From the look of it, no one had tended the place in earnest; wild grass had taken root in many corners. What set it apart from the meditation hall beyond was the door: a heavy black cloth curtain hung across it, and apart from that single opening, the room seemed to have no windows or other outlets at all.
Ming Li stared at the ordinary little hut, his throat dry, his hands clenching of their own accord. He glanced at Master Pu Cheng and saw on the old monk's face a complexity of feeling—regret, anguish, something beyond words—and the master, too, was gazing at that small doorway, lost in thought.
For a time no one spoke. In the stillness, from somewhere unseen in the weeds beside them, came the faint chirring of insects, calling out no one knew what.
After a long while, Master Pu Cheng sighed softly and said, "Let us go in."
A muscle twitched in Ming Li's cheek. "Very well," he said, his voice low.
Master Pu Cheng stepped slowly forward, reached out, and drew back the curtain. With a creak, he pushed the door open.
The sound came mournful and low from the hinge—no one could say how long it had been since anyone had pushed this door. Heavy and desolate.
A rush of cold air surged out of the room. Ming Li stood yet outside the threshold, but the chill struck him so that even with his cultivation he could not suppress a shudder. This little room seemed to be the coldest place under heaven.
Ming Li frowned, hesitating—and just then Master Pu Cheng's voice came from behind the curtain: "Young benefactor, come in."
Ming Li drew a deep breath, tossed his head, pulled the curtain aside, and strode in.
The curtain fell slowly back; the door gave its desolate creak once more and closed gently. The little courtyard returned to its calm. Fa Cheng's figure came slowly forward from ahead; gazing at that plain, unadorned hut, he softly chanted the Buddha's name, then bent and bowed once, his face solemn and reverent.
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The curtain came down, the wooden door shut, and because there were no windows the room was plunged at once into darkness.
A piercing cold rushed in from every side, as though countless icy needles sought to pierce the skin. Ming Li, barely recovered from his grave illness, shivered several more times; but he was no ordinary man after all, and after a few circulations of true dharma to regulate his breath, he gradually adjusted. Even so, though the cold could not enter his body, that bone-deep chill was still hard to endure.
This little room on Mount Sumeru seemed colder than the bitterest reaches of the northern ice plains.
Astonished, Ming Li stood in doubt and alarm, when he heard Master Pu Cheng, just before him, give a low sigh and say: "Junior brother, we have come to see you. This is the man you have long wished to meet, is he not?"
His voice was deep and strangely moved, and the chill in the room suddenly deepened further, until it seemed it could freeze a man's very blood to ice. Then a faint glimmer, white with a trace of silver, slowly kindled ahead of Master Pu Cheng and Ming Li, at the far end of the hut.
The light was airy, like snow. First one thread bloomed; then at its edge another faint silver-white glow slowly kindled, drew near, and merged with it; then thread after thread lit in turn, until gradually a round plate about a foot across could be made out.
The light was soft, pure white as snow, rising no more than a foot high; at its upper reaches it seemed to dissolve into flecks of snowflake, or white fireflies, dancing lightly and drifting slowly down, almost like a dream.
Then the threads of light slowly merged, growing brighter and brighter. Ming Li and Master Pu Cheng heard a clear, crisp cry rise in the room, sweet to the ear; the white light blazed, flooding the whole hut in an instant.