Chapter 17: The Mission (Second Update—Please Recommend!)

After viewing the masterpieces of renowned artists and sipping fragrant tea, Du Fu was thoroughly content, his gaunt face brimming with satisfied joy. In contrast, Li Zaixing’s mood was heavy, as if a great stone pressed upon his heart, leaving him unable to feel any happiness.

For him, the authentic works of Wu Daozi and Wang Wei would soon be destroyed, and even the entire Bodhi Temple would eventually be reduced to ashes. He did not know when that day would come, but he was certain it would arrive. For the first time, Li Zaixing felt that knowing the future was not necessarily a blessing—it only brought invisible burdens and worries.

Returning to the west wing, he bid farewell to Du Fu and had barely entered his own room when the young monk Zhiyuan pushed the door open, his innocent smile radiant. “Uncle, my master asks that you come to him.”

Juehui was in the bell tower of the west wing. When Li Zaixing ascended the tower, Juehui stood before the window, gazing down at Chang’an. His broad back was like a wall, merging with the shadow of the tower—without careful observation, one could hardly distinguish him.

“Senior brother?”

“Junior brother, I am here,” Juehui turned, beckoning to him. The light streaming through the window gilded his profile with a soft golden glow.

As Li Zaixing approached, Zhiyuan quietly descended the stairs; he would wait at the doorway.

“Come, look at Chang’an,” Juehui drew Li Zaixing to the window and spoke softly.

Li Zaixing looked out. Below, a sea of lights shimmered, nearby lamps joined together like a river of stars, distant ones scattered like constellations. The entire city of Chang’an appeared as a vast ocean of stars, dazzling and wondrous.

“There is Xingqing Palace,” Juehui pointed to a cluster of lights in the distance. “The Emperor has just returned from Mount Li and resides there now.” He gestured closer, “That is the Sanli Quarters, which will be the liveliest place in the coming months.” Finally, he looked down at the brightly lit estate beneath their feet, “This, however, is the brightest place in all of Chang’an.”

Li Zaixing remained silent, pondering Juehui’s intent. He had not come to Chang’an as a traveler, but to seek his origins. His master knew this and had arranged for him to lodge at Bodhi Temple. Before meeting Juehui, he had not known that his master, the lazy monk, was actually the temple’s straw monk, nor that he had a disciple serving as one of the three heads of Bodhi Temple, the Chief Supervisor. He wondered if this had all been deliberately arranged, and whether Juehui was aware of his purpose.

Now, Juehui mentioned the Emperor in Xingqing Palace, and Li Linfu—was he hinting at something?

After much deliberation, Li Zaixing suddenly asked, “Senior brother, when will Master arrive?”

“Master is coming?” Juehui’s eyes brightened, joy overflowing.

Li Zaixing sighed; so Juehui truly had no knowledge of their master’s whereabouts, otherwise he would not have been so excited. In other words, Juehui likely knew nothing of the inner matters—perhaps Li Zaixing was being overly cautious.

“I do not know,” Li Zaixing replied vaguely. “Since I have left Prajna Temple, Master may travel freely. Perhaps he will visit Bodhi Temple.”

Juehui uttered a disappointed “oh,” and after a moment of silence, said, “Junior brother, do you understand my meaning?”

Li Zaixing smiled. He had been in this world for eight years; though he had not read much, he spent every day cultivating with his master, and had ample time to reflect on the knowledge of his past life and consider his future. He was not insensitive to the subtleties of conversation.

“Senior brother means that Li Linfu’s influence on Bodhi Temple is tremendous?”

“Indeed, you are truly Master’s favorite disciple, possessing wisdom in all six aspects of Prajna,” Juehui remarked, rubbing his hands. “That’s right. In all of Chang’an, Li Linfu has the greatest impact on Bodhi Temple. You spent several years at Prajna Temple, so you know that the bell tower is usually in the east wing.”

Li Zaixing nodded. In monastic architecture, the main monks reside in the east wing, while the west wing serves as guest quarters, accommodating traveling monks or lay visitors. The bell tower is typically built in the east wing for convenience. That Bodhi Temple’s bell tower stood in the west wing was unusual.

“That is because to our east lies Li Linfu’s main residence; the west wing is for guests and gardens, as well as some neglected concubines.”

Li Zaixing suddenly understood. The bell tower’s unconventional placement was not a matter of eccentricity, but because Li Linfu disliked the monks overseeing his household from a height, so Bodhi Temple had to build the bell tower in the west wing. He recalled Du Fu saying that Bodhi Temple was founded in the Sui dynasty, long before Li Linfu’s family had any standing; naturally, the original bell tower would have been in the east wing. Its relocation to the west likely occurred after Li Linfu moved in.

In other words, even the gods and Buddhas cannot contend with the power of a worldly minister, so Bodhi Temple had to—perhaps was forced to—demolish its original bell tower and rebuild it in the west. On a deeper level, Li Linfu determined the temple’s fate.

“Senior brother, do you feel great pressure?”

“Yes, I do,” Juehui sighed. “The temple must curry favor with Li Linfu. Every year on his birthday, we hold a Buddhist service to pray for him. This is more important than the Bathing Buddha Festival or the Ullambana Assembly. Though I lack the learning to preach, as Chief Supervisor I must manage all miscellaneous affairs. Should anything go awry, not only would the temple be in trouble, but I would bear the blame.”

At this, Li Zaixing understood Juehui’s point.

“Is there anything I can help with, senior brother?”

Juehui smiled, clearly pleased with Li Zaixing’s initiative.

“If you are willing to help, that would be wonderful,” he replied. “To protect Bodhi Temple, we must have the right to conduct Buddhist ceremonies for Li Linfu. To earn that right, the temple must build its reputation. There are over a hundred Buddhist temples in Chang’an, and the competition is fierce.”

Juehui described the situation: Chang’an had many temples, several larger and more prestigious than Bodhi Temple. Even within Pingkang Square, Bodhi Temple was not the only option; Yanghua Temple had always competed for the same privilege. To safeguard the temple, Bodhi Temple had to expand its renown, and the most common method was to hold grand ceremonies during festivals, attracting crowds and elevating the reputation of miracle-working monks, like the straw monk.

Apart from common Buddhist festivals, each temple had its unique features. One of Bodhi Temple’s most distinct traditions was preaching every eighth day, drawing large crowds—particularly courtesans. The courtesans of Pingkang Square were the most famous in Chang'an, costly and not easily accessible. They were strictly supervised and rarely left their quarters; the preaching at Bodhi Temple was their primary opportunity for freedom. Whenever possible, they attended the sermons.

For those lacking the means to enter the courtesan houses, this was a rare chance to approach them. Their presence attracted many scholars, whose attendance in turn drew even more people, including nobles and their families. With the recent imperial exam results announced, the city was at its liveliest, making the upcoming sermons especially significant.

It was a golden opportunity, but not without trouble. With so many women in attendance, there were bound to be unruly men trying to take advantage; crowds brought thieves and troublemakers, and fights were inevitable—sometimes even fatal. If someone were killed, Juehui, as Chief Supervisor, would be in serious trouble.

Juehui sought Li Zaixing’s help, wanting his formidable martial skills to maintain order and prevent any major incidents.

Li Zaixing said, “Please instruct me, senior brother; I will do my utmost.”

Juehui nodded slightly, continuing, “The temple has a martial courtyard, where some monks are trained. The chief steward is Zhigao. He is not particularly capable, but relies on being a confidant of the abbot and thinks highly of himself. Because he neglected his duties at past sermons, there were incidents—almost fatalities. If he continues, I fear he will ruin Bodhi Temple’s reputation.”

Li Zaixing smiled inwardly, realizing that not all monks were virtuous; there was plenty of power struggle. As one of the three heads, Juehui evidently did not get along with the abbot, and Zhigao ignored him, prompting Juehui to seek Li Zaixing’s support.

There was no question of right or wrong—since he was Juehui’s junior, he would naturally side with him and oppose Zhigao. More importantly, he valued the temple monks’ access to Li Linfu’s residence. If he ever sought to eliminate Li Linfu for the good of the people, it would be an ideal opportunity.

“Senior brother, I will visit the martial courtyard tomorrow.”

“Excellent, I leave it to you,” Juehui replied, satisfied. “Although Du Fu is not of much practical use, his poetry is truly remarkable, and he is a distant relative of the Du family in Jingzhao, with many connections. It is your good fortune to befriend him.”

Li Zaixing smiled, recognizing the exchange of favors: he would help Juehui deal with Zhigao, and Juehui would help Du Fu with his livelihood, granting Li Zaixing a favor in return.

They exchanged knowing smiles.

With the matter settled, Li Zaixing and Juehui chatted a while longer, then descended together. As they exited the bell tower, Li Zaixing glanced up at the top, frowned, and parted with Juehui at the west wing entrance.

After they left, two figures drifted in through the window, standing where they had just been. One was tall and robust, the other slender and delicate; both moved with silent steps.

“He seemed to notice something just now,” said the slender voice.

“Of course. He is my most accomplished disciple, his six senses far beyond ordinary men,” the deep voice resonated within the bell tower, even at a low volume rivaling the great bell hanging nearby. “This boy is a martial fanatic. When I trained, I never pushed myself as hard as he does. In my opinion, he may well master the Marrow-Cleansing Sutra and cultivate the Diamond Body. I wonder if your Daoist sect has such talents.”

“Bah! Shameless monk, you stole our Daoist breathing techniques and claim them as Buddhist secrets,” the slender voice paused, then added defiantly, “Rest assured, our Daoist sect never lacks for prodigies.”