Chapter 32: The Handprint Bodhisattva

The sudden outburst of the ghostly monk caught not only Lu Xin off guard, but even the onmyoji from the Divine Deity Temple stood frozen in shock. Thirteen soldiers, each one a well-trained elite, formidable enough to face a hundred foes on the battlefield. The loss of even a single one would be a heavy blow to the court, let alone the death of them all.

Although the man in white robes was carrying out a mission for the Divine Deity Temple, these thirteen men had been transferred from a local garrison through the Ministry of War and were not under the temple’s direct command. Now that all of them were dead, those above would surely be impeached, and he would not escape blame either.

“You wretched monk! Even struck by the Exorcising Fire Spirit Talisman of the Grand Steward, you remain so fierce—clearly, you have chosen obliteration over surrender!”

The man in white flew into a rage, pulling a golden dagger from his robes. With swift precision, he sliced his fingertip and drew a symbol on the blade in fresh blood. Before Lu Xin could react, the man had already rushed behind the ghostly monk and plunged the dagger into the back of his skull.

The dagger sank in, releasing a blinding golden light. Instantly, a myriad of incantations surfaced upon the monk’s body, starting from his head. These inscriptions resembled countless shackles, slowing the monk’s movements to a crawl.

“A ritual implement?”

The ghostly monk struggled to turn, but his movements were torturously slow, his strength spent. The man in white gave a sinister grin and narrowed his eyes at Lu Xin.

“Boy, by slaying imperial soldiers, you have committed a capital crime. But I can still offer you a way to redeem yourself: take this talisman and place it on this fiend’s crown, and I will guarantee your life.”

He produced a talisman, its markings not drawn in ordinary cinnabar but painted in a rare, reddish-gold pigment. Bathed in firelight, the entire charm shimmered with an uncanny radiance.

Lu Xin met the man’s gaze, licked his lips, and neither moved nor reached out.

“And if I refuse?” he said coolly. “As you said, this is the court’s own affair. Why should a wandering swordsman like me wade into this mire?”

“Refuse?” the man sneered. “Then you’ll share this fiend’s fate. The Divine Deity Temple holds imperial authority from the Emperor himself—the power of life and death, even to strike first and report later. Not just you, a mere vagabond, even the appointed officials of every province and district, I may slay at will!”

Lu Xin burst into laughter. “What a joke! Do you fancy yourself the Emperor Taizong? If you want my life, try asking my sword first!”

Suddenly, Lu Xin’s expression twisted into a menacing grin. The Yousian Sword in his hand trembled violently, nearly shaking free from his grasp. As the sword’s aura intensified, the man in white’s face changed dramatically. Sensing imminent danger, he let go of the dagger and leapt back, hurriedly forming hand seals as he chanted under his breath.

A droning filled the air.

He had barely retreated two steps when the Yousian Sword shot forward in a streak of violet light, severing his right arm. The man gasped in pain, gritted his teeth, and spat out a thick cloud of smoke. A sharp, acrid stench instantly filled the ruined temple, stinging Lu Xin’s eyes shut. After about ten seconds, the smoke finally cleared. Of the man in white, there was no sign—only thirteen headless corpses and a severed arm remained.

The Yousian Sword, now inert and devoid of its earlier spectacle, lay quietly on the ground, unstained by blood.

Lu Xin’s face was grim. That strike had not been his doing. On the contrary, the moment the man stabbed the ghostly monk with the dagger, the Yousian Sword had leaped from his hand, uncontrollable. Lu Xin had no intention of killing; the Divine Deity Temple was an institution established by the Tang Emperor himself. Killing one of its onmyoji was tantamount to treason—a crime he could not bear.

“Good heavens, Xin, you even dare to kill someone from the Divine Deity Temple? Are you mad?”

The scholar, seeing the danger had passed, peeked inside. At the sight of the corpses, his face turned deathly pale and he clapped a hand over his mouth, barely stifling a retch. Even so, he vomited up all the beef he’d eaten that evening.

“Save your breath. I didn’t kill him. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you, for insisting I come along. Otherwise, I’d have ridden down the mountain long ago.”

“Fine, fine, we’re brothers—no need to argue right and wrong. Now, since it’s done, did you leave no loose ends?”

Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, Tu Chengli looked at Lu Xin and made a cutting gesture. Lu Xin, in no mood for jokes, shook his head and fixed his gaze on the ghostly monk. The Yousian Sword’s strange reaction surely had something to do with this spirit. Judging by the monk’s earlier behavior, he clearly recognized the sword.

“Damn it, someone really escaped? We’re doomed! My future, my riches, my wives and concubines—all gone...”

Tu Chengli ran outside, wailing. Lu Xin ignored him. The ghostly monk, after pulling the dagger from his skull, slowly turned and cradled the Yousian Sword in his hands. Tears streamed down his face.

“More than two centuries, and I never thought I’d see the Immortal Lord’s relic again. With this blessing, even if I must suffer a thousand lifetimes in the depths of hell, I have no regrets.”

He wept for a long time, as if mourning a departed ancestor. Lu Xin watched, frowning, full of questions yet hesitant to ask. After all, the other was a ghost, long dead, and who knew what state his mind was in?

“Where did you obtain this sword?” the monk finally asked.

“In Tianfeng Mountain, Yuezhou,” Lu Xin replied, and recounted in detail how he had acquired the Yousian Sword. The ghostly monk listened devoutly.

“Two hundred years ago, the Immortal Lord was betrayed and had to abandon his body, reincarnating in spirit. The Yousian Sword vanished, and chaos reigned. That you found it now must be by the Immortal Lord’s design. In my youth, I studied the Dao under him. Though he never formally took me as a disciple, he taught me everything, treating me as his own. Later, he wandered the world, sword in hand, suppressing all manner of demons. I became a monk, but I never forgot his kindness. Now that you, chosen by him, bear this blade, I must aid you with all my strength...”

The monk spoke at length—of Guo Pu and of his own origins. He was born Wei, once the Buddhist leader of the Eastern Jin, with the Dharma name Shidao’an, known as the “Palm-Print Bodhisattva.” Though a Buddhist, he had learned Daoist arts as a boy. Gifted, he was among the rare few able to blend Buddhist and Daoist techniques as an onmyoji. Yet because of this dual cultivation, he once fell into madness during seclusion, killing many. When Lu Xin asked the cause, he only shook his head and refused to say.

“The cycles of the seasons, birth, aging, sickness, and death—all are the way of heaven. To practice as an onmyoji is to challenge fate itself, inviting endless calamity. Few in history have escaped the cycle of rebirth. Judging from your features, I foresee a great disaster awaits you in Chang’an. You have yet to begin cultivation and cannot wield the Yousian Sword’s true power. West of this temple, sixty li away, lives a demon fox in Qingqiu Mountain, born with divine eyes that pierce all illusion. Subdue it, and your journey will be safe.”

Shidao’an then imparted a mantra and a seal, instructing Lu Xin to enter the mountains and tame the fox demon. This was not the first time Lu Xin had heard of monsters; even in the Yu residence, the mute Wu had shown him the Five-Colored Luan bird. The prospect intrigued him, though the sixty-li trek would be arduous. He merely nodded, not giving a definite answer.

“Master, I have a scripture here. Might you take a look?”

“This is...?”

Lu Xin removed the brocade he wore and revealed the “Scripture of Virtuous Earthly Interment,” a mystery he had longed to unravel. Judging by the Buddha depicted, it was surely linked to Buddhism. With such a saintly monk from the Eastern Jin before him, how could he not seek guidance? As Shidao’an said, though he now bore the Yousian Sword, he had yet to cultivate. If he could acquire a suitable technique, it would be all the better.

“This scripture came to me by chance, and at the time—”

At the sight of the scripture, Shidao’an’s expression turned grave, and he fell silent. Lu Xin explained how he acquired the “Scripture of Virtuous Earthly Interment,” mentioning the moment when Master Huijing soared down from the sky with a halo upon his head. Shidao’an sighed deeply and closed the brocade.

“This scripture fuses the teachings of Buddhism, Daoism, and demonology—unfathomably profound. I am now but a wisp of soul and cannot help you decipher it. But I am certain it derives from the advanced Kṣitigarbha Sutra of Unquenchable Flame Buddha Mountain. The monk you met, if I am correct, is one of the Eight Bodhisattvas of Unquenchable Flame, a master at the level of Guimei.”

“Unquenchable Flame Buddha Mountain? Is that a Buddhist holy land?”

“Beyond the South Sea lies an immortal mountain born upon a turtle’s back, named Unquenchable Flame. Atop it stands a Buddhist kingdom, ferrying eighteen thousand souls. As for its true nature, you will one day discover for yourself.”

With that, Shidao’an floated above Lu Xin’s head, pressed a finger to his brow, and a myriad of Buddhist lights burst forth.

“All my life’s learning is contained in this palm technique. It is called the Daoist Brahmanic Radiance Seal. Though but a single form, its power is immense. May you one day fulfill your grand vow.”

...

By the time they left the ruined temple, it was already the next day. The sun rose early, casting its light upon the world. Seeing the clear sky, Lu Xin called Tu Chengli to head down the mountain. Rubbing his still-aching crown, the youth glanced back at the dried corpse atop the Buddha’s altar.

After imparting the Daoist Brahmanic Radiance Seal, Shidao’an had vanished, leaving not a single word. Lu Xin did not know if his soul had truly dissipated, or had returned to its corpse.

“Come on, what are you daydreaming for? I’m honestly impressed—you spent the whole night chatting with a ghost. Hey, the road down is this way; where are you going?”

“Brother Tu, our paths cross by chance, best we part ways here. You’ve seen for yourself—following me courts disaster at every turn.”

“Damn it, do you take me for a fool? How am I supposed to survive alone in these wild mountains? Wait for me... Xin, where are you off to now?”

“Nowhere special. I’m just finding you a fox spirit for your wedding night.”