Chapter 178 — An Ill-Fated Bond
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
Fa Cheng's voice was low as he went slowly on: "The shock in my heart then truly could not have been greater, and from the look of Master and the uncles, their thoughts were the same. But in that state, Uncle-Master Pu Zhao was wild and well-nigh mad, and there was nothing for us but to speak him fair and beg him first to rest, and to leave matters until his hurts were healed."
"But Uncle-Master Pu Zhao would not hear of it. He said that to return to the Brahma Sound Temple and see us all once more, he had already taken the Three-Day-Death Pill; within a day and a night he would surely die. Before he died, he had matters of the utmost importance to tell Master and the uncles, and great trusts to lay upon them. If we would not hear him, he could not rest easy even in death."
"When we heard this we were both shocked and anxious, but before Uncle-Master Pu Zhao we had no way out; we could only let him speak. I had thought that, so grievously wounded, he must be wandering in his mind; yet when he spoke, what he told was a deed so contrary to the Buddha's heart and to all human decency, a sin so boundless, that—"
Master Pu Cheng sighed softly and, joining his palms, murmured, "Amitabha!"
Fa Cheng heard, and likewise joined his palms and chanted the Buddha's name; then he looked at Ming Li, watching his face turn slowly to iron-grey, and went on: "Uncle-Master Pu Zhao clung to Master's hand, and as he spoke the tears ran down his old face. We who stood by listened, and the more we heard the more we were appalled, until our hair stood on end. Uncle-Master Pu Zhao said: to fulfil his hope of joining Buddha and Dao in one understanding, some days before he had gone up Canglan Mountain once more to see the Canglan Sect's presiding master, the Perfected One Daoyan, and set out his view; but the Perfected One Daoyan refused him. In his disappointment he wandered down the mountain and came to a little village at its foot, a village by the name of Willow Temple Village..."
"Crack!" A dull sound, almost upon the words "Willow Temple Village," and it was Ming Li—his hand on the table, and in the turmoil of his heart he had wrung off a corner of it outright, crushing it to powder that sifted fine between his fingers.
Fa Cheng glanced at the table and sighed inwardly, but his mouth went on: "That day Uncle-Master Pu Zhao came into Willow Temple Village and rested awhile in a broken-down little shrine at the back of the village. There he chanced to see a group of boys at play; but two of them quarrelled, and boyish pride would not let it rest, until it nearly came to a tragedy of death. Uncle-Master Pu Zhao intervened in time, and so saved the life of one of them."
Ming Li's expression shifted again; his fists clenched tight, and in his eyes pain showed plain.
"Uncle-Master Pu Zhao thought nothing of so small a matter, only that the sky was grim and a storm seemed near, and so he meant to rest the night in that ruined shrine before going on. But that night, trouble came..."
Ming Li bowed his head deep, so that no one might see his face.
Memory is a knife, and it had cut deep into his heart; the blood welled up like a spring, and could not be stayed.