Heaven-Subduing Scripture

All along the way Li Daoxuan could not help but keep glancing sidelong at the little monk.

Was he the legendary Tang Xuanzang?

The Tang dynasty’s foremost monk, the Tripitaka Master of the histories, the Gold Cicada reincarnation who in the Journey to the West made countless demonesses lose their hearts — Tang Monk?

Though the Journey to the West is but a novel, the Tang Li Daoxuan had crossed into was not the Tang of the histories — here were many demons and ghosts, and those lofty immortals and Buddhas had long since vanished.

Thinking again of the little monk’s innate wisdom-eye, Li Daoxuan could not but suspect he truly was the Gold Cicada’s reincarnation — the Tang Monk whose flesh, eaten a piece, grants eternal life.

He wondered whether he shed hand-skin or foot-skin that one might keep for the master to eat…

”Daoist Li, why do you keep looking at me?”

Xuanzang rubbed his smooth scalp, puzzled.

Whether illusion or not, he always felt Daoist Li’s gaze at him was much like his master’s gaze at silver.

Li Daoxuan coughed. ”Nothing — only that you resemble an old friend of mine.”

He paused, then probed, ”Xuanzang, have you ever thought of going abroad… that is, leaving the Tang to see the West?”

Hearing this, Master Sanle, Xuanzang’s master, started slightly and shot Li Daoxuan an unnoticeable glance.

Xuanzang knit his brows. ”Why leave the Tang?”

He shook his head and said firmly, ”This novice is a Tang subject and naturally will not leave the Tang. Daoist Li, pray stop teasing me.”

Within Li Daoxuan a wry smile rose — Tang Monk saying he will not go west is the greatest jest of all.

But Li Daoxuan saw he spoke from the heart; at the mention of the West there was not a flicker of longing in his eyes.

So much the better — for now that the gods and Buddhas have vanished, who would arrange the journey for him?

Without the likes of Brother Monkey to protect him, forget the eighty-one trials — leaving the Tang’s borders alone would be hard; this Tang, after all, hides no few demons.

Through their talk Li Daoxuan also learned their circumstances.

Master Sanle was the abbot of the Dacheng Temple north of the city, and Xuanzang his only disciple; the two had settled in Yuzhang.

At first Li Daoxuan wondered why an abbot would sink to street-performing —

until he saw the Dacheng Temple, and understood.

Dilapidated — truly dilapidated!

The whole Dacheng Temple was broken and shabby, long unmaintained; green vines crawled the walls, much timber rotted, a musty smell about it.

The plaque at the gate had faded, its characters illegible.

Li Daoxuan could not but sigh — this level of misery nearly matched his own master’s Zhenyang Daoist Temple.

A provenance note: this chapter was copied without permission from , where reading the author’s posting supports them.

Entering the temple, it was empty; the whole Dacheng Temple held only Master Sanle and Xuanzang, two monks.

Master Sanle sighed. ”Donor, though this place is broken, ten years past it was rather flourishing — pity the prior abbot, Master Huihai, misjudged a man and chose me to succeed; thus the Dacheng Temple grew barer, and later even the disciples fled, and I nearly starved to death.”

He rubbed Xuanzang’s bald head and smiled. ”Fortunately one day, releasing life by the river, I found a wooden basin with a male infant inside — that is now Xuanzang.”

So saying he cuffed Xuanzang’s bald head smartly.

”Why stand gawking — your master is hungry; quickly cook!”

Growl~~

Master Sanle’s belly gave a cry; he gave a sheepish laugh to Li Daoxuan. ”Let the donor witness my shame.”

Xuanzang rolled his eyes at his master, then rolled up his sleeves; young as he was, he went into the kitchen and deftly built the fire to cook.

Master Sanle showed Li Daoxuan around the Dacheng Temple.

The temple was small, with but three halls; the center enshrined Sakyamuni, the left Amitabha, the right Maitreya.

What surprised Li Daoxuan was that the three-life Buddhas’ statues were much worn, the gold paint all but gone, as if scraped off.

He slid a glance at Master Sanle.

Master Sanle smiled freely. ”The gold paint I scraped off; in those days Xuanzang was nursing at the breast, and the temple’s valuables were all sold — I could only scrape the gold paint for coin.”

He paused, then laughed. ”In truth, no gold paint is no matter; the Three Pure Ones may be molded of clay, so why not the Buddha?”

Li Daoxuan started, feeling a certain Chan flavor in the words — but the next moment Master Sanle shattered that flavor.

”Heh-heh, I see the donor is fond of Xuanzang and surely cannot bear to see him starve with me…”

He nudged the merit box. ”Donor, since you are here, might you add a little incense-money?”

Li Daoxuan laughed; he took out three taels of silver and dropped them in the merit box.

”A small token of regard; thanks, Master, for lodging me tonight.”

”Heh-heh, think nothing of it, think nothing — this poor monk could wish you came every day!”

Master Sanle’s eyes lit; he grinned ear to ear.

A moment later, having toured the three halls, Li Daoxuan saw outside the courtyard a hanging plaque bearing four crooked characters.

Seek Not Without!

Li Daoxuan understood a little why the Dacheng Temple had fallen to ruin — the worshippers bowed a round, gave their silver, then stepped out the gate and looked up: well, ”seek not without”!

If not you, who would close?

…

Evening.

The vegetarian dishes Xuanzang made were fragrant; Master Sanle ate with great relish, and Li Daoxuan watching was made to crave — pity he was still early Bigu and could not eat.

After the meal Xuanzang very dutifully cleared the bowls, washed his hands, took up a Buddhist sutra, and sat upright beneath the Sakyamuni statue; by the dim candlelight he began to softly recite.

His voice was pure and clear, his manner serene and calm; so young, he already bore something of the air of a senior monk.

The Buddha’s eyes lowered, as if gazing upon this sutra-chanting little monk.

Old temple, Buddha-statue, bright candle, acolyte…

Beautiful, as if a painting.

Hearing his chanting, Li Daoxuan himself felt calmer.

An hour later.

Li Daoxuan came to his room; Xuanzang had already tidied it for him — simple, but the dust and such were swept clean.

He sat upright on the bed; by now Xuanzang and Master Sanle had lain down, and he could even hear Master Sanle’s thunderous snores.

Li Daoxuan did not sleep, but pinched a Five-Thunder Talisman, alert in secret.

Night had fallen — the hour when dirty things are most active; the enemy hidden in the dark might seize the chance to strike!

…

Outside the Dacheng Temple, an old man leaning on a staff hunched at the gate.

In the moonlight his shadow was eerie — a long tail waving, pointed snout, the very image of a two-legged yellow weasel!

Hesitation showed in his eyes; he had paced at the gate long.

After Li Daoxuan entered the Green-Robe Temple he had dared not follow further; near the Green-Robe Temple he dared not set foot at all.

Fortunately Li Daoxuan soon left the temple’s vicinity and walked the street alone.

In that stretch he had followed again and prepared to strike — after all it was but an avatar; at worst he would be spent in Yuzhang.

Yet what he had not expected was the sudden appearance of those two monks.

The little monk mattered little, but the fat monk he could not quite see through, and for a time dared not strike; he had meant to wait until they parted, but who knew they lodged together!

The hatred of a son’s murder is mortal!

And as an eight-hundred-year Yellow Immortal, though but an avatar, he knew many demon arts and was no shallow cultivator; even if this fat monk truly had some skill, surely he would not fight a stranger on his account!

After a moment’s hesitation he at last made his resolve.

Tonight — revenge!

He would make that little Daoist pay blood for blood!