Fuxia

In recent years, more and more buildings had risen upon Mount Qingdu, with pavilions, terraces, and towers standing in close rows. Ever since the direct lineage of the Li family moved away from the mountain, the cultivation grounds inside Qingdu Cave Dwelling below had served as a place for cultivators across the lake to enter seclusion and make breakthroughs. First, it was quiet and undisturbed, and second, it was safe. Li Xuanxuan emerged from the hall atop the peak, followed closely by Li Ximing's grandson, Li Zhouming. The boy’s natural talent was genuinely poor; despite practicing day after day, he remained at the second layer of Embryonic Breathing. With Li Ximing in seclusion, the lad could only follow Li Xuanxuan and lend a helping hand. When the old man arrived before the hall, a stag knelt upon the ground. Its coat was sleek and glossy, but it knelt frozen to the spot, tears flowing uncontrollably from its eyes. The White Ape watched from the side, its eyes quietly open and tinged with grief. Monk Kongheng had his palms pressed together, murmuring scriptures incessantly, his brow furrowed deep—by all appearances, he was troubled to the extreme. Li Xuanxuan had heard the full story earlier. The old man rarely grew angry, yet now he could scarcely conceal his displeasure, his voice sharp with agitation: "A Shakya cultivator? If they find our family an eyesore, they can come straight at us! Why vent their wrath on a mortal?" Li Chenghuai stood to the side and said softly with a touch of helplessness, "This matter has caused an uproar, spreading through all the towns on the eastern shore. Everyone feels in danger, and no one dares enter the mountains anymore. In fact, quite a few people even want to build temples, saying that if they believe in the World-Honored One, they won't have to suffer such calamities." "Absurd!" Li Xuanxuan sighed. The White Ape stroked the stag's back, speaking only after a long pause: "The Zhao heretics are the most obstinate. None are better at toying with human lives, finding amusement in enacting so-called retribution without understanding others' pain. But once pain strikes themselves, they flare up in fury, forgetting compassion and mercy alike, brandishing blades to defend their Way." The old ape rarely spoke at such length, and the hall fell still at once. Kongheng felt uncomfortable hearing this. Hesitating for a moment, he murmured softly, "Senior... they also teach people to do good, only they are far too overbearing... It is not as if everyone in my path is like that..." The old ape sighed and did not argue, saying merely, "The Master speaks truly." Li Xuanxuan looked at the stag prostrated on the floor and asked, "Since Master cannot undo it, do you have any trace of that monk? Or can you identify the Master's lineage? If he is left to run rampant over the lake, I fear it will only bring greater danger." Kongheng paused and explained, "I cultivate an ancient path and cannot divine such matters. By his appearance, he is an old Master as well and left no traces behind... I fear he will be difficult to find." "As for his lineage." On this, Kongheng was quite confident. He said softly, "Judging by his conduct, he should belong to one of the seven paths that leans toward the ancient arts. He has neither broken the precept against killing nor laid down curses; his conduct is still relatively orthodox." "Oh?" Li Xuanxuan breathed a slight sigh of relief. If it had been a Yan Shakya like Murong Xia—who cultivated human heads in his belly and could deliver half a town into salvation with a single swallow—failing to hunt him down would pose immense danger. Seeing that he had merely turned someone into a deer, it truly did not resemble the ways of a Yan Shakya. Thus he asked, "Which paths are considered orthodox?" Kongheng nodded. "Answering the Old Master: the Ascetic Discipline and the Damu Dharma Realm both act uprightly, sharing great resonance with my path. There is another... that... that Wrathful Pure World path, which also counts as an orthodox path..." Hearing this, Li Xuanxuan was taken aback. The old man frowned. "The Wrathful Pure World counts as well?" "Indeed," Kongheng whispered. "The monks in wild mountain shrines do not count, but in years past, the prominent great monasteries of the Wrathful Path held strict precepts. Though prejudiced and stubborn, they championed demon-slaying and may still be counted as an orthodox path..." Li Xuanxuan fell silent for a breath, then shook his head. "Then it is eighty percent likely to be the Wrathful Path. A karmic entanglement like this cannot be settled cleanly in a century, let alone a millennium!" "The Wrathful Path..." Hearing this, Kongheng chanted several passages of scripture in succession, a look of distress surfacing on his face as he replied softly, "Old Master... the Wrathful Path is not easy to deal with. If it were a wild monk from some mountain shrine, it would be manageable, but if it truly is this path, acting in such a manner means he must come from a prominent great monastery..." His brow furrowed with deep worry as he murmured, "It is said that after the fall of the [Wrathful Eyes Four Demons Emperor Kshetra]... the Wrathful Path suffered great losses. Those great monasteries have all sealed their mountains and venture out no more, and the Masters wandering outside have almost all perished. Let us only hope a Lianmin hasn't arrived..." "Even if the fall of the [Wrathful Eyes Four Demons Emperor Kshetra] stripped a Lianmin of eighty to ninety percent of their strength, they are still not someone a Master can afford to provoke." Li Xuanxuan remained silent. After a quarter of an hour, Chen Yang walked briskly into the hall, clasped his fists in a bow, and said in a deep voice, "My lords, a Master is waiting outside the peak!" Li Xuanxuan was alarmed. He immediately summoned Li Chenghuai over and urged in an anxious voice, "Go to Mount Wu at once! See if Ximing is at a critical juncture in his seclusion! If there is no harm, ask him to come over immediately! I fear this is troublesome!" Li Chenghuai nodded and hurried off. Seeing the old man so frantic, Kongheng hastened to comfort him: "Since this person has come calling openly, he may not necessarily be an enemy. Senior, please sit for a moment. It would be best for Senior White Ape and me to deal with him first..." Li Xuanxuan had no other choice. Aside from the secluded Li Ximing, the family's only Foundation Establishment cultivators left were the White Ape and Kongheng. The old ape's combat strength was modest, leaving Kongheng as the only truly reliable one, so he had to nod. With Li Xuanxuan's assent, Kongheng swiftly exited the hall, the old ape following in silence. Kongheng whispered, "Whether the visitor is friend or foe remains unknown, but he is at least a fellow Shakya cultivator. I shall go out first to test the waters. Senior, please wait inside the formation." The White Ape gave a slight nod. Once outside the great formation, Kongheng rode the wind into the air, and sure enough, he saw an old monk standing upon the glistening ripples of the lake. The old monk was covered in wrinkles. Holding a staff in hand, his countenance was calm as an ancient well. He wore a dark yellow kasaya that left most of an arm exposed—sinewy and strong, with well-defined lines, reflecting a faint white sheen under the sunlight. A string of circular talismans faintly surfaced on the dark yellow kasaya, shimmering like scales under the light. The long staff resting in his hand was jade-white throughout. He stood in absolute silence. A ring of cultivators had already gathered around him, all trembling in fear, scarcely daring to breathe. When Kongheng landed on the lake, the surrounding cultivators breathed a sigh of relief and dispersed in a flurry. An Siwei, leading them, approached and said respectfully, "Master... this man used a piece of rotten wood by the lakeshore as a boat and rowed all the way here." Kongheng took a brief look and only then noticed that the man had a withered log beneath his feet, relying on it to stand upon the lake. The old monk had a very grave expression; he opened his eyes, his voice deep and powerful: "Does the Great Master belong to the lineage of the Northern World-Honored One?" Before Kongheng could speak, this preemptive assertion caught him off guard, making him feel somewhat awkward instead. He replied politely, "I do not deserve the title of Great Master. This humble monk is Kongheng, disciple of Liaohe Temple." "Liaohe Temple?" The old monk clearly did not have a good temper. His eyes widened, the scales on his kasaya glittering, and his tone turned severely reprimanding as he said in a deep voice, "Your lineage is profound and orthodox, the envy of all. How could you forget the evil of indulgence? We cultivators measure the world with our feet; why do you imitate practitioners by soaring through the skies? Have you not stirred the desire for pleasure!" This man had turned someone into a deer for no reason, and before Kongheng could even ask his questions, he was stunned by the rebuke. Frowning, he said, "Soaring high is a matter of the heart, not the action. Senior's words are too harsh." The old monk let him off on that, grunted, and said in a deep voice, "Northern Demon-Subduing Temple, Fuxia." 'It truly is the Wrathful lineage...' Kongheng's heart sank, immediately sensing trouble. He could only brace himself, cup his hands in return, and ask softly, "May I ask why Senior has come here..." Fuxia met him with a cold face, seeming almost amused enough to laugh out loud, and merely said in a low voice, "Master Kongheng... do you truly not understand, or are you pretending not to? You and I are both men of the Shakya path; don't go spouting nonsense! Are you, or are you not, a cultivator of the Northern World-Honored One's path?" The courtesy on his face faded, and he even grew suspicious of the other's identity, speaking in cold, biting words. Kongheng paused briefly and dropped his politeness as well, saying gravely, "Senior transformed a person into a deer, practicing this wicked art of beast-crafting—is that somehow a righteous deed?! I have only heard that the Northern Demon-Subduing Temple slays monsters and subdues demons; I have never heard of such evil arts!" When asked this, a bronze luster flared violently in Fuxia's eyes, and his face turned the color of gold lacquer. His voice dropped low, suppressing his wrath as he gritted his teeth: "A wicked art of beast-crafting? This is the path of karmic retribution! The deer is a creature of heaven and earth—neither noble nor base, all are equal! For his selfish desires, he killed a deer, which is no different from killing a man! Turning him into a deer was already a lenient punishment, given that he had never received proper teachings!" Kongheng's sleeves fluttered without wind, and a hazy golden light emerged behind him as well. His voice took on the deep resonance of Sanskrit chanting as he said heavily, "He killed the deer to save his wife! You transformed him into a deer, and his wife, already destitute and bedridden, died as a result... He killed a deer, yet you killed a person!" The moment Fuxia heard that word 'yet,' he knew that Kongheng valued humans above beasts and had no regard for the doctrine of equality among all living beings. He flew into a rage. Not only was his face painted with gold lacquer, but bright patterns surfaced across it as he shouted, "Madman! Let me ask you: whose fault is it that he was destitute and his wife bedridden? Whose failing was it? How dare you babble nonsense here!" His voice rolled like heavenly thunder, rattling the surrounding cultivators so violently that they fled as if for their lives. Those a step too slow had blood spurting from their ears, swaying unsteadily. Kongheng saw this, formed a hand seal with both palms, and the golden light behind him surged. Clang! From the golden light behind him rose a Six-Armed Vajra. Its massive, horizontally ridged golden face shone with red light, its eyes glaring wide. Its six arms pulled at golden chains that spread across the sky like a spiderweb, casting down a golden curtain to protect the cultivators. Kongheng gritted his teeth and said, "Whose fault could it be! His destitution was caused by his father's gambling squandering the family fortune! His wife was bedridden because of misfortune and the cruel twists of fate! How could anyone be blamed for that!" Fuxia froze for a moment, as though he had heard something immensely comical. A wild laugh burst from the depths of his throat, and the long staff in his hand glowed with dazzling colors. He said coldly, "What a fine misfortune, what fine cruel twists of fate! Let me tell you!" The long staff in his hand shot into the sky like a white rainbow, crashing into the expanse of golden chains with a crisp, thunderous tremor. Fuxia roared in fury: "He lived on the domain of the Li family behind you, yet lived such a destitute life—that is the sin of your Li family! Every tragedy was caused by your Li family! And you dare push it onto my head!" "His wife was harmed by your Li family, and he turned around to harm another living being! Seeing that he too was a victim, I merely transformed him into a deer... and I have yet to settle scores with your Li family!" This outcry completely stunned Kongheng, so much so that the golden chains in the air faltered. Blazing white light slammed down, striking a muffled grunt from him as he felt as if Mount Tai were pressing down upon him, making it hard to breathe. He felt the magical power throughout his body boiling, and forced out a few words from his mouth: "Crooked, heretical nonsense!" The monk before him, however, did not devote his mind to their magical duel. Wrath blazed in his eyes as he suppressed him with a single hand on his staff, saying coldly, "You establish no temples, set up no tenant farms, cultivate no Shakya teachings, and offer no moral instruction! Instead, you parcel out land household by household... leaving individuals to drift with their own fates... Tragedies are bound to happen! Watching men rise and fall amidst the rights and wrongs of the red dust while remaining indifferent—and you still claim it is not your sin?" "If you cultivated Shakya teachings to guide them, reclaimed the land, and made the populace temple tenants, the common folk would have only two matters to attend to: farming for self-sufficiency and spiritual practice! With bliss in their hearts, the more bitter their suffering, the closer they would draw to the World-Honored One! How could there be any destitution? How could anyone be forced to hunt? Under the watch of the Shakya monks, how could his wife have ever fallen ill?" The fury in Fuxia's eyes seemed on the verge of materializing, spewing aggressively from his gaze. Suppressing Kongheng with just one hand on his staff, he abruptly raised his other hand and summoned a dazzling golden light. "The dharma idol of our path was harmed by those petty scamps of the Immortal Path, ruining our efforts on the verge of success! Seventy to eighty percent of my strength is gone, and I have nowhere left to borrow profound divine arts... but dealing with the likes of you is still more than enough!" The golden light in his hand sprang up like a venomous snake, darting toward Kongheng. A fierce warning flared in Kongheng's heart. His eyes instantly turned to solid gold, unleashing streamers of colored light that drifted down over the lake like rain. This colored light was exceedingly peculiar: wherever it passed over the lake, lotus flowers bloomed everywhere, the sound of chanting scriptures echoed loudly, and five-colored splendor surged like a fountain. The light on Fuxia's white staff dimmed at once, and the golden chains seized the opportunity to pull back and shield Kongheng. "[Great Hua Radiance Art]..." As the colored light fell continuously upon him like rain, Fuxia was enraged, snarling, "To possess such profound arts, yet bow down to men of the Immortal Path!" The words echoed over the lake. Kongheng felt a surge of heat in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he formed incantation seals, making the golden chains grow ever thicker and heavier, yet he dared not make any reckless move, fearful of being suppressed by that white light. Seeing that Kongheng gave no reply, Fuxia paused slightly and said in a heavy voice, "These immortal cultivators seek only their personal cultivation—how could they keep the common folk in their hearts? The moment practitioners enter the secular world, they inevitably erect layer upon layer of immortal peaks! Cunning schemes and sinister plots multiply without end! Among the common people, entangled interests blind their hearts with dust, until scarcely a single virtuous person remains..." "Only under our Shakya teachings are all beings equal, all serving as temple tenants, united as one mind! Suffering is joy, thinking only of truth, goodness, and beauty, with no officials and no superiors, free from toiling under the torment of fate!" "Yet you serve as a guest elder under immortal cultivators, watching all this while remaining indifferent! Kongheng! You have failed the path of the Northern World-Honored One—" Before he could finish his words, a crash of thunder resounded in midair. Intense, radiant light condensed in the sky, revealing an immense city wall woven from celestial brilliance—delicate yet archaic, bearing down like Mount Tai, casting a colossal golden reflection upon the lake. Fuxia's wrath flared once more. His eyes like polished copper, bathed in the sky-covering radiance that illuminated him like a golden statue, he said coldly, "I am discussing the Dao with a peer. Who are you to dare interfere?" As the luminous pass expanded steadily in his pupils, a cold voice rang out like thunder: "Fuck your mother, you bald donkey! Go debate your plague-ridden dog's path!"