Chapter 236 — Pude
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 6
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.