Chapter 147
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Dong, dong…
The bell’s sound was deep and resonant, powerful yet lingering. Its echo rolled across the mountain ranges, reverberating for a long time without dispersing. Bathed in this morning bell, crowds of incense-bearing devotees, each harboring their own thoughts—be they of joy or sorrow—walked back and forth along the mountain paths paved with green stone slabs. Nearby, villagers from the surrounding markets rested at pavilions at the foot and halfway up the mountain. They set up stalls and laid out incense sticks and paper money.
Monk Fajing led eight children through the bustling, noisy base of the mountain. Passersby all moved aside to make way—not merely because of his monastic status, but simply due to Fajing’s sheer size; no one wished to cross him head-on.
“Big Monk, how were those Buddhas carved up there?”
As they crossed the iron rope bridge spanning a mountain stream, a youth with heterochromatic eyes pointed toward the cliff face beneath a temple opposite them. The steep wall was riddled with countless niches, within which sat stone statues of the Buddha. Some were so ancient their faces had worn smooth and become mottled with moss, while others appeared newly carved, their features vivid and well-defined.
“Why, of course—it was skilled craftsmen, lowered down the cliff, to carve them.”
Once they reached the far end of the rope bridge, the fat monk reached out and pressed down on the swaying ropes, allowing the more timid children in the middle to hurry across. Only then did he continue onward toward the temple ahead.
Within the Buddhist temple, wisps of incense smoke curled gracefully through the air. Upon stepping past the temple gate, they were met with a giant bronze cauldron from which flames soared, scattering ashes that drifted in the surroundings. A reception monk caught sight of the fat monk and stepped forward to greet him with a bow.
“Greetings, Senior Brother Fajing.”
“No need, for ceremony. Has my master, emerged from seclusion?”
“Not yet.”
Upon hearing this, Fajing pressed his palms together and gave a small nod. Leading the eight children behind him, he circled around the giant cauldron and, instead of heading toward the bustling Maitreya Hall with its throng of incense burners, turned into the temple’s inner courtyard.
“That over there was the place where they rang the bell, right?”
Among the children, one particularly bold youth pointed to the bell tower and asked. Fajing only smiled faintly, neither confirming nor denying, and walked into the rear of the main hall, where the monks lived in their daily lives. Monks coming and going all paid him respectful greetings one after another.
After Fajing passed, they gathered quietly and began whispering among themselves.
“That’s the Senior Brother Fajing who left the temple to cultivate?” “He’s so huge, he must eat a ton!”
“I heard he chants sutras clumsily, but has a strong Buddhist nature.”
“…If only I could leave the temple to cultivate too.” “Heh… You’d need cultivation as strong as Senior Brother’s first.”
Fajing paid no mind to the murmurs behind him. From time to time, he’d call out to the children beside him who were looking around curiously. Just as he was about to head toward the secluded chamber where his master was in closed-door cultivation, a Buddhist chant rang out from a meditation room to the side.
“All Buddhas, like the heavens, behold Avalokiteśvara.” [TL_Note: The One Who Observes with Compassion]
The words carried the warmth of a spring breeze, brushing gently over the eight youths and sweeping away the dust upon their bodies. Fajing placed his palms together in a vertical seal and bowed deeply toward the meditation chamber.
“Fajing pays respects to Martial Uncle Zhenkong.”
Creak…
The meditation door opened without a sound. In the eyes of the children, beneath a massive character for “Buddha”, an elderly monk with snowy eyebrows and beard sat cross-legged upon a straw mat. His elongated ears trembled faintly. Then he rose, stepped forth wearing plain hemp monk shoes, and returned the greeting with joined palms.
“Fajing, from where have you picked up this demonic aura?”
“Demonic aura?”
Fajing lifted his head in surprise, glancing over his shoulders and chest. Even activating his Dharma Eye, he couldn’t see a single trace of demonic qi upon himself.
But then a thought turned in his heart: Martial Uncle’s Buddhist cultivation is profound. If he says there is, then it must be so.
He shook his large head.
“Fajing does not know.”
The old monk extended a hand and touched Fajing’s robes, then withdrew it, recited a Buddhist chant, and closed his eyes in silence for a long while before speaking again.
“You may go.”
“Yes, Martial Uncle.”
The fat monk led the children away. Silence fell upon the meditation courtyard. Before long, Elder Zhenkong opened his eyes—now sharp and clear, no longer clouded. He turned back into his room, took up the nine-ringed monk staff from the corner, donned a monk’s robe, and strode out of the temple. Crossing the iron rope bridge over the stream, threading through the crowd of incense burners, he descended the mountain.
Bathed in sunlight, the sound of the temple bell echoed distantly from the mountain behind him.
“Purple Star Daoist, long time no see.”
He gazed down the far-off road and spoke softly.
“Achoo!”
In the compartment, the Toad Daoist, having just awakened, pushed open a small door and sneezed uncontrollably.
“Who’s cursing this old man behind his back?”
“Master, you’re awake?”
Sunlight filtered through a bamboo grove, dappling the back of an old, crouching donkey. Lu Liangsheng snapped off a dry branch and tossed it into the fire, giving the bubbling rice porridge in the pot a stir.
“Breakfast is almost ready—but no field frogs this time.”
“Hmph.”
At the mention of field frogs, the Toad Daoist gave a snort and turned his head away. But after a short moment, he still waddled over to the fire and sat down, unrolling a small scroll map. With his round webbed hand, he tapped the map and gestured as he spoke:
“We’re currently near Yingshi Mountain. The Fire-Worship Sect is hidden somewhere within this mountain range. That damned fellow mentioned a ‘Sacred Flame Mingzun’—he must be the one who stole my treasures and texts.”
Not far off, Hong Lian returned with a handful of wild mushrooms, squatting beside them with her arms around her knees. She glanced at the names of the mountains on the map.
“Toad Master, then what? That person calls himself Sacred Flame Mingzun. Sounds impressive. Can you beat him?”
Hmph!
Toad Daoist smacked the map with a slap, as if his anger had been ignited. Turning away, he stared out at the swaying bamboo leaves.
“Just some shameless bastard! Back in the day, your master—me—was renowned far and wide. Whole armies from major sects swarmed like mountains and seas to besiege me. Liangsheng knows this! The chaos I stirred up—did I ever give myself such a flashy title? That scoundrel dares to steal from me and then calls himself ‘Mingzun’… Curse his mother!”
Plop, plop
The little pot boiled over as the porridge came to a rolling boil. Lu Liangsheng ladled a small bowl of the thin porridge, blew on it to cool it down, and chuckled: “Master, didn’t you say it was dozens of sects last time?”
“Hmm?!” The Toad Daoist turned his head sharply.
Lu Liangsheng passed the bowl over with a smile and handed him a pair of small chopsticks.
“Alright, I remembered wrong. Here, have some food, Master. This is millet from home, with a few leftover red beans added. Smells great.”
The Toad Daoist leaned in and sniffed the steam rising from the bowl. Only then did his temper ease. Hugging the bowl, he sat down.
“You didn’t use the seasoning I brought?”
As he spoke, he scooped a mouthful and smacked his lips. “Add some fragrant beans next time—it’d be even better. Forget it, forget it. Next time I’ll do the cooking. When it comes to food, I’m the expert—you all know that.”
Hong Lian rolled her eyes, scooped herself a bowl as well, and sipped it gently.
Man and toad squatted together, porridge bowls in hand, circling the map. After breakfast, Toad Daoist used a Spirit-Seeking Art and located a gathering of more than ten cultivators at a spot over fifty li from the bamboo forest. Lu Liangsheng could tell—it was likely the base of the Fire-Worship Sect.
“There’s one cultivator at the Golden Core stage among them. No higher realms?”
The Toad Daoist also seemed puzzled. He rubbed his chin and paced back and forth on the ground with little slaps of his webbed feet. “Maybe that Mingzun fellow’s away on business.”
“But just one Golden Core-stage cultivator?”
Lu Liangsheng frowned deeply, pondering for a moment before turning his gaze toward his master. A sly smile curled on his lips.
“Master, what if you were to deal with that cultivator—”
“Can’t beat him, can’t beat him.” The Toad Daoist crossed his stubby arms and turned his head away resolutely. “Your master’s injuries haven’t healed. If I recklessly use my spiritual power, I’ll never be able to restore my human form in this lifetime.”
Lu Liangsheng stared at the map, his brow furrowing even deeper—not because of his master’s reply, but because a certain possibility had come to mind.
He just didn’t know whether it could actually work.
Tactical Doctrine: Strike where the enemy is most wary; attack where the enemy is most fortified.
“Master, that day when Fang Qingde’s body was torn apart and he died, even triggering the protective wards—it’s likely that Sacred Flame Mingzun has taken precautions by now.”
As they spoke, mountain winds rustled through the bamboo grove, sweeping toward another mountain foothill beyond the ridge. There, amid lush greenery and thick pine branches, stood a stone archway formed by pillars and eaves, leading upward along a straight flight of stairs paved with bluish stone slabs. At the top, a red-lacquered gate resembling that of a temple stood solemnly, yet without any plaque bearing its name.
Within the surrounding white walls and grey-tiled eaves lay rock gardens, pavilions by pools, lofted chambers and low courtyards—spaced out in elegant disorder. At the very center, within a three-story, four-cornered tower, a few figures sat in an orderly formation. To the side of the head seat, a man in a gold-embroidered Daoist robe, boots patterned with cloud motifs, gently blew the steam from a cup of tea.
“Word has come from Mingzun: Fang Qingde and the others stationed at Chang’an have perished. He warns us to be cautious and to keep a close watch over the goods prepared for the Five Color Manor.”
A voice below responded:
“Mingzun has likely already arrived in Southern Chen. We should indeed be on our guard.” “Hmph, even if that fellow tracks us down, it won’t matter. We’ve already received word. One ambush—catch him off guard.”
“Good idea!”
Back on the mountain slope across the valley, the bamboo grove swayed softly in the wind.
“Now that Fang Qingde is dead, the other side will surely be on alert.”
Amid the rustling of bamboo leaves, Lu Liangsheng picked up the map and gave it a light flick with his fingertip, glancing toward the watching the Toad Daoist.
“Master, then let’s catch them off guard—and take advantage of the chaos to get your things back.”
“Mmm…”
The Toad Daoist folded his webbed hands behind his back and thought for a while. Then he gave a firm nod.
“Good idea!”
Hee-haw, hee-haw—
The old donkey crouched beneath the bamboo, chewing tender shoots. It turned its head and brayed a few times, as if voicing agreement with the plan.
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Orluros’s Vault of Secrets: Hi everyone, I’m taking a small vacation XD The posting will resume in September. If you liked the chapter feel free to donate 🙂 and if you find any errors in the translation please mention them in the comments here or in discord
