Chapter 30:
Leju Inn, Heavenly Character Room.
Zhou Chuang had been cleaned by his junior brothers and was now dressed in fresh clothes, lying unconscious on the outer side of the bed. His face was pale, his lips bloodless, and he looked extremely weak, bearing no trace of his previous arrogance. The spiritual energy in his body fluctuated erratically, barely maintaining his early Foundation Establishment cultivation.
Dao Zhuo was applying acupuncture needles to him, using a Daoist heart sutra to stabilize his condition. Sensing someone entering, Dao Zhuo removed the golden needles from Zhou Chuang’s body and turned to look. It was Hengyu, Xiaoyaozi, and their companions.
Xiaoyaozi rushed to the bedside to check on his disciple’s condition, his face filled with anxiety, forgetting even to greet Dao Zhuo. Dao Zhuo understood his feelings and didn’t mind, stepping aside for Xiaoyaozi after performing a Daoist salute.
As Dao Zhuo stood, he stumbled slightly – he had expended too much spiritual energy during the acupuncture treatment.
Liaowu reached out to support him: “Fellow Cultivator Dao, how are you feeling?”
Dao Zhuo steadied himself: “Thank you, Buddhist Son. I’ll be fine after a short rest. It’s just a pity that Fellow Cultivator Zhou has suffered such misfortune.” Despite his usual calm demeanor, a hint of ruthlessness flickered in Dao Zhuo’s eyes. He had come here to capture the demoness. Not only had she repeatedly toyed with him, but Zhou Chuang had also been drained of his yang energy right under his nose. This was undoubtedly a blatant provocation to the usually successful and privileged Dao Zhuo.
Hengyu thought for a moment and asked, “Did you encounter the demoness when you rescued Fellow Cultivator Zhou?”
Dao Zhuo nodded: “The demoness was veiled throughout. I arrived just as she was about to leave. During the fight, she dropped a sachet.” He took a sachet from his sleeve and handed it to Hengyu.
The sachet was made of plain gray fabric. Typically, no one would use such a dull color for a sachet. Hengyu rubbed the fabric, gradually realizing something was amiss.
She looked at Liaowu: “…Why do I feel like this fabric was cut from a monk’s robe?” She had seen Liaowu wearing gray monk robes of the same material.
Liaowu frowned, examining the sachet carefully: “Amitabha, this is indeed the fabric of a Wuding Sect monk’s robe.”
Hengyu brought the sachet closer and sniffed it. Apart from the strong fragrance of Hehuan flowers, there seemed to be…a faint bitter scent of Bodhi. Carefully rubbing the sachet, Hengyu felt some stitching in the lower right corner on the inside – the outline seemed like a character.
Hengyu told Liaowu about her discovery: “Touch it.”
Liaowu’s slender and smooth fingertips traced the outline on the sachet: “This script seems to be Sanskrit.”
Soon, Liaowu confirmed, “Yes, it’s the Sanskrit character for ‘Jing’ (静).”
A sachet dropped by a demoness practicing the dual cultivation technique to absorb yang energy, made from fabric cut from a Wuding Sect monk’s robe… Hengyu couldn’t help but imagine a dramatic story of love and hatred. Moreover, she had reason to suspect that the monk’s Buddhist name contained the character “Jing.”
Hengyu blinked and said to Liaowu, “Let’s not rush to leave Pingcheng. Let’s stay and help Fellow Cultivator Dao.” Returning to Huacheng would be uneventful. Staying in Pingcheng would be more interesting.
Liaowu had something on his mind. He had been trying to guess the identity of the monk whose Buddhist name contained “Jing.” Hengyu’s suggestion suited him perfectly.
“That is precisely my intention.”
Zhou Chuang remained unconscious. However, his condition had stabilized, and his cultivation level hadn’t fallen further.
It had been raining in Pingcheng recently. Hengyu stayed in the inn practicing calligraphy and, out of boredom, drawing chibi Buddhist comics. On a whim, she named the protagonist, the little bald monk, “Yiwu.” Each story was only four panels, so it was easy to draw.
Hengyu had drawn two stories and was about to start the third when someone knocked on her door.
“Fellow Cultivator Luo, would you like to come downstairs for something to eat?” It was the young monk Liaonian.
Hengyu took her drawings and opened the door: “Alright.”
Fewer people went out in the rain, so even though it was mealtime, there were only three or four tables occupied in the inn’s dining hall.
Liaowu was sitting at a table near the entrance, waiting for Hengyu. Seeing her, he said, “The inn has a new dish called Sakura Shrimp. I thought it was good, so I ordered it for Fellow Cultivator Luo.”
When the waiter served the food, Hengyu noticed that Liaowu had also ordered a bowl of lotus root and pork rib soup for her. The lotus root and pork ribs were submerged in the soup, the lotus root tender and the pork ribs cooked just right, their flavors blending into the broth.
Hengyu took a sip, and the corners of her lips curled up in delight.
“The lotus root at this inn is delicious. We can try stir-fried lotus root tomorrow,” Hengyu suggested.
Liaowu couldn’t try the lotus root and pork rib soup, but he could still eat lotus root. It was a pity that the lotus root in the soup had absorbed the flavor of the meat; otherwise, Hengyu wouldn’t mind sharing the delicacy with Liaowu. Although Liaowu probably wouldn’t mind eating something she had already tasted.
Hengyu had some soup to settle her stomach and then took out the chibi comics she had just drawn, handing them to Liaowu: “Take a look at ‘Little Monk Yiwu’.”
“Hmm?” Liaowu’s voice rose slightly, somewhat bewildered. He took the two drawings, looking at the little monk in monk’s robes, with a cinnabar mark between his eyebrows, and named “Yiwu”: “This…”
“Do you think the little monk Yiwu I drew is cute? If not cute enough, I’ll go back and revise it.”
Liaowu lowered his eyes: “Is Fellow Cultivator Luo drawing for fun?”
“This kind of comic is easier to spread than Buddhist stories. I was thinking of drawing gradually and publishing a collection when I have enough drawings.”
Liaowu chuckled softly: “Wouldn’t that be too much trouble for Fellow Cultivator Luo?”
Hengyu smiled faintly: “If it’s something I’m willing to do, no matter how much trouble it is, it doesn’t matter.”
As they were talking, a monk entered the inn, holding a nine-ringed tin staff in his right hand and an alms bowl in his left. The monk wore a bamboo hat to shield himself from the rain, pulled low enough to hide half his face in shadow.
He entered just as he heard Hengyu’s last words. The monk lifted his hat slightly and looked at Hengyu and Liaowu’s table. As his gaze fell on them, he recognized Hengyu and Liaowu – the Buddhist Son of Wuding Sect and…the Hehuan Sect female cultivator.
The female cultivator wore a black dress, her eyes bright and sincere, making it hard not to believe her words. But these beautiful words were often like honey-coated poison, an abyss more painful than Avīci Hell.
As if remembering something, the monk felt a sharp pain between his eyebrows. He lowered his head, his body swaying slightly, the nine-ringed tin staff in his hand clinking.
The sound of the tin staff made Hengyu and Liaowu turn their heads. Upon seeing the monk clearly, Hengyu froze: It was the same monk she had seen during the sermon. She hadn’t noticed before, but now she realized that the monk’s aura was even more striking than Liaowu’s, indicating that he was at least at the mid-Core Formation stage!
“Senior Brother Liaowu, do you know what cultivation level that monk is at?” Hengyu transmitted her voice to Liaowu.
Liaowu was at the Core Formation stage himself and could accurately judge the monk’s realm. He replied: “Late Core Formation, just a step away from Nascent Soul.”
Just a step away from Nascent Soul?
Hengyu pondered: Nascent Soul and Deity Transformation cultivators mostly remained in secluded cultivation in their caves. Among the cultivators roaming the Canglan Continent, late Core Formation was already above countless others. But now, such a monk had appeared in the small town of Pingcheng…
Many things clicked into place – the demoness practicing dual cultivation to absorb yang energy, the late Core Formation monk, and the sachet made from a monk’s robe.
Could this monk be related to that demoness?
Hengyu pursed her lips and transmitted her voice to Liaowu: “Senior Brother Liaowu, are you worried about offending that late Core Formation monk?”
Liaowu didn’t understand her meaning, but it didn’t prevent him from replying: “Not worried.” He had many secrets and trump cards. As long as it wasn’t a Nascent Soul cultivator, even facing a late Core Formation cultivator, Liaowu wasn’t afraid.
“Then, Senior Brother Liaowu, can you cooperate with me? I want to test him.” After transmitting this message, Hengyu spoke aloud, “My sachet is quite worn.” She then pulled the sachet hanging from her waist. She wasn’t wrong; the sachet was beautiful, but some edges and corners were frayed, showing its age.
Hengyu handed the sachet to Liaowu, letting him see it clearly: “Senior Brother Liaowu, do you know how to sew sachets? If you do, I won’t need to buy one outside.”
The monk sitting at the next table stiffened. The young monk Liaonian, sitting at the same table, couldn’t help but look up and glare at Hengyu – this demoness, she she she she wanted Senior Brother to cook for her, and now she wanted him to do needlework! If this were to spread, the Buddhist cultivators of the world would annihilate her.
Liaowu was slightly taken aback. Thinking of her earlier words about “cooperation,” he vaguely guessed Hengyu’s intention. He said, “I’ve never sewn clothes before, but if Fellow Cultivator Luo wishes, I can try.”
Hengyu: “…” His words almost left her speechless. Why did she feel flirted with when a serious monk spoke such serious words?
As Hengyu was lost in thought, she heard a heavy thud from the next table as the monk put down his teacup. The other party had lost their composure.
Remembering this, Hengyu quickly recovered and said to Liaowu with enthusiasm, “Then what kind of fabric should I prepare…I don’t seem to have any fabric in my storage ring. Do you have any?”
Liaowu probed his storage ring: “I only have fabric for monk’s robes. If Fellow Cultivator Luo doesn’t mind…”
The monk at the next table gripped his teacup so tightly that, with a surge of spiritual energy, the cup shattered in his hand. As a late Core Formation cultivator, the monk wouldn’t be injured by mere teacup fragments, but the cup was still half full of warm tea. The tea flowed down the table, wetting the monk’s robes.
However, he seemed oblivious, sitting there in a daze, his expression forlorn.
“…Fellow Cultivator, is something the matter?” Hengyu stood up and asked tentatively.
The monk lowered his head, not letting them see his face: “I…I just feel that there are many things in this mundane world that cannot be trusted, such as a demoness’s smile and words.”
Hengyu smiled brightly: “I don’t understand what you mean.” She turned to look at Liaowu. His appearance was ethereal, like a Buddha sitting in the boundless Buddhist realm, compassionate and merciful, making one’s heart tremble.
After much thought and finally finding an opportunity, Hengyu boldly reached out and touched Liaowu’s bald head, rubbing it vigorously.
Liaowu’s body stiffened, surprised by her action. Liaonian was so shocked that he was speechless.
And the monk, who had kept his head lowered, couldn’t help but shake his nine-ringed tin staff: “Why must you ruin his Buddhist path, Fellow Cultivator?”
Hengyu’s hands were slender and fair. She touched Liaowu’s head, finding the sensation so good that she was reluctant to remove her hand. Noticing the monk’s increasing agitation, Hengyu decided to give him a stronger dose.
Her hand slowly slid down, brushing past Liaowu’s right ear, his earlobe, her index finger tracing the contours of his cheek, finally resting on his right cheek. Slowly, lingeringly.
Seeing Liaowu about to move, Hengyu’s voice trembled slightly. She said, “Don’t reject me.” Her tone was almost a murmur, but it reached Liaowu’s ears clearly.
Liaowu’s body stiffened further. He could clearly feel the warmth spreading across his cheek. This warmth was unfamiliar…but not entirely unwelcome.
Liaowu closed his eyes and silently chanted scriptures.
Hengyu tried to ignore the sensation in her palm and turned to the monk: “Who are you, Senior? And why should you interfere in our affairs?”
After a moment of silence, the monk, who had been keeping his head down, slowly raised it. A face with delicate features appeared in everyone’s sight. On such a face, the black rune representing his status as a “Wuding Sect outcast” was particularly jarring and conspicuous. A look of deep sorrow flashed across the monk’s eyes.
He looked at Hengyu and Liaowu, his speech slow: “Before I was expelled from the sect, I…I had a Buddhist name, Yuanjing.”
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