Chapter 12: The Princess Pays Her Respects at the Temple

After bidding farewell to Daoist Zhao, Yi Fan followed the maid back to his quarters. After washing up, the night was already deep and silent. Moonlight streamed through the window, falling across Yi Fan’s shoulder.

“I must strengthen myself as soon as possible. Otherwise, I’ll be powerless in the days to come.”

Yi Fan thought of Xiahou’s ferocity—how he could slaughter six or seven demonic foes with ease—while Yi Fan himself could barely handle one.

Although the demonic lair had been eradicated and Simeng was dead, an uneasy feeling still lingered in his heart. He sensed that things were not as simple as they seemed.

In any case, he would return to the Daoist temple tomorrow to avoid the storm.

At dawn the next day, Yi Fan packed his belongings and instructed the maid to have the clay vats loaded onto carts. He then went to bid farewell to Zhou Lixing.

“My thanks for your efforts, Daoist Yi,” Zhou Lixing said wearily, his face haggard from a sleepless night as he forced himself to appear composed. “I’ve already ordered Head Constable Wang to escort you with fifty officers, so nothing goes amiss on the road.”

Yi Fan expressed his gratitude and did not refuse. After a brief conversation, Head Constable Wang arrived.

“Sir, Daoist Yi, the vats have been loaded onto the carts. They’re waiting at the back gate. You can depart whenever you wish.”

At the rear gate, four or five ox carts stood ready, each bearing a large clay vat separated by bundles of straw to prevent collisions, all covered with black cloth, making them look like enormous coffins.

After exchanging farewells, Zhou Lixing did not linger but turned back at the street corner. Yi Fan and his party of several dozen, driving the ox carts, left the city early.

For dozens of miles along the way, not a soul was seen. The land was desolate, far from the usual crowds and the constant flow of carriages and horses.

Around noon, Yi Fan had the group stop for a rest. They ate some dry rations with cool water. Just as they were about to continue, a rider approached at a gallop.

Seeing the group halted, the rider did not dismount. “Daoist Yi, Head Constable Wang, the lord sent me to inform you: the Princess’s procession will soon pass by on its way to Lannuo Temple for prayer. You are to pull over to the roadside and not block the path, so as not to alarm the Princess.”

The Princess was going to Lannuo Temple to pray? Wasn’t Lannuo Temple closed? Why go there now?

Though puzzled, Yi Fan dared not disobey. After consulting with Head Constable Wang, they drove the ox carts into the roadside grass, tied the oxen securely, and stuffed their ears with cotton lest they be startled and run wild.

Moments later, a great cloud of dust appeared on the road. First came dozens of black-armored cavalry, cold-eyed and grim. Their horses pounded the earth in unison, and they thundered past Yi Fan’s group without slowing.

Sure enough, soon after, the rest of the procession arrived. Xiahou rode at the front, followed by the Princess’s carriage drawn by eight horses, surrounded by black-armored guards. Behind them came Zhou Lixing’s carriage and a hundred soldiers.

The group marched past Yi Fan’s party in grand procession. It was a while before the dust settled and they could breathe easy. They did not rush to move on but brought the ox carts back to the road and continued resting.

After half an hour, Yi Fan deemed it time to set out again, and the party resumed their journey.

Meanwhile, the Princess’s procession reached the foot of Lannuo Temple’s mountain. The path was blocked by a stone slab, and a wooden sign beside it read, “Mountain Closed.” Before Xiahou could speak, officials stepped forward to move the stone aside.

Lannuo Temple covered a vast area, with centuries of expansion: new halls, stonework, novices taken in, its reputation wide, a pillar of the Buddhist world.

Along the way, stone Buddhas stood sentinel beside the road, sunlight filtering through the towering trees, lending the place a solemn, mysterious air. Once, pilgrims thronged here, but now it was deserted and untended. Not even a monk appeared to greet the arriving procession.

The temple gates were tightly shut, silence pressing in.

“Open the gates!” Xiahou ordered.

At once, dozens of imperial guards dismounted, preparing to force the doors. Zhou Lixing broke into a cold sweat and hurried from his carriage.

“General, you mustn’t! This is sacred ground, home to venerable monks. We must not profane it.”

“Sacred ground? Is it more sacred than my sword?” Xiahou sneered, kicking Zhou Lixing aside and riding forward, hand on his sword, leaving Zhou Lixing with no choice but to retreat, forcing a bitter smile.

At that moment, the temple gates suddenly swung open. Hundreds of monks, armed with staffs, emerged.

“Who dares act so brazenly at the gates of Lannuo Temple?”

An elderly monk stepped forward, calm and unshaken by the black-armored troops.

“Master Huijue?” Zhou Lixing blurted out in surprise. This eminent monk was rarely seen, ranking just below the abbot and the chief elders.

“Old monk, are you rebelling?” Xiahou’s expression darkened, though he did not lose his temper. The monk before him exuded a dangerous air, clearly not to be underestimated.

“Rebelling? You jest, sir,” the monk replied.

“If you’re not rebelling, then why do you not kneel to greet the Princess?” Xiahou demanded. The old monk’s face changed, a flicker of surprise as he glanced at the Princess’s carriage, then bowed.

“We did not know the Princess was coming. Lannuo Temple failed in its welcome.”

“No need for excessive formality, Master Huijue. I have long heard of Lannuo Temple’s renown. Passing through Guobei County, I naturally wished to pay my respects,” came a soft, gentle voice from within the carriage, though the speaker herself was unseen.

The old monk hesitated. “Lannuo Temple is not receiving guests at this time. I hope the Princess will forgive us.”

“Insolence! How dare you show such disrespect to the Princess?” Xiahou roared, gripping his sword. The surrounding guards drew their weapons in unison, and the sacred Buddhist ground was suddenly thick with murderous intent, as if hell itself had descended.

“Coming and going are both matters of fate; life and death, too, are subject to fate. Very well, very well. The fault lies with this humble monk,” the old abbot sighed, closing his eyes. “Princess, honored guests, please enter.”

Unaware of the events at Lannuo Temple’s gates, Yi Fan had the clay vats carried into a hidden chamber, then took out a few taels of silver and handed them to Head Constable Wang to buy wine and reward the officers for their efforts.

Head Constable Wang refused a few times, but Yi Fan insisted, and he accepted with a smile. “It’s getting late. I won’t trouble you further, Daoist Yi.”

After seeing the constable off, Yi Fan entered the hidden chamber, checked the “Salvation” charms on several of the vats, then lit a row of incense. “Rest well, all of you who have come this far.”

He thought for a moment, then took out a few “Evil-Banishing Talismans,” pressing them down with an inkstone before leaving in peace.

By the time he finished, night had already fallen. Rubbing his stomach and tidying his things, he went to the kitchen to cook. The pickled cabbage he had made some days ago was finally ready to eat.

The mountain air was chilly, especially in winter, cold to the bone. Yi Fan sat before the Daoist temple with his bowl in hand, gazing toward Lannuo Temple, where lights blazed and shadows flitted.

Lannuo Temple had abruptly sealed its gates and disappeared from sight, and now, just as suddenly, had thrown them open to the world—an act that defied understanding.

But thinking of Xiahou, Yi Fan could make sense of it. Such a man of arms cared nothing for reason; his sword was the only law he obeyed, the only voice he trusted.

Besides, the monks of Lannuo Temple, no matter how bold, would never dare refuse the Princess’s procession. Did anyone really think those hundreds of imperial guards would hesitate to kill?