by Tangstory
“…”
“Even if I do decide to help, you must realize the situation. You are merely going there…to die.”
“I must fight to avenge this debt of blood!” The youth finally spoke. There were no sign of tears in his eyes, but his words were harrowing like a sword snapping in half, like a cuckoo[9] singing with blood in its mouth. “I’d gladly give up my life!”
“I…” Moved, Ch’in Ching stepped towards the man and knelt down on one knee to look in the man’s eyes. “If I may ask for your trust…” He paused because he knew he absolutely should not, under any circumstance, say the words he uttered next. “Could you…could you just wait a bit longer…If you can trust me, I promise I will give you justice in three months’ time.”
“Not that I don’t trust you…” the youth croaked after maintaining eye contact in silence for some time. “But I cannot wait. Not even a day longer.”
After looking at the dead quietude in the man’s eyes, Ch’in Ching stood up and spoke in an undertone, “Wait patiently here. I will write down the route to the mountain and the key to the protective circles, but these were the defensive formations when I visited. Only the heavens know whether they have been altered.”
Ch’in Ching turned back into the valley and did not see the man behind him kowtow to express his gratitude. He was contemplating the reality that some sought life when they could not live while others sought death when they could live. Perhaps a quick death really was better than living in pain and suffering day and night.
Ch’in Ching was not lying when he said that the Hsing Sect would not let him off easily, and the person who came was none other than Shen Liangsheng.
Unlike the youth who was trapped, Shen Liangsheng was not hindered in the slightest by the defensive circles. Ch’in Ching had just sensed an intrusion when a monstrous, murderous blast of energy ripped through his spells as though they were merely cobweb. The next thing he knew, a white shadow resembling the white wuch’ang[10] spirit materialized before him.
“It has been a long time, Ch’in-taifu.”
“Well…it hasn’t been that long actually.”
“I was not aware that you had perfect memory.”
“Unfortunately, I have few talents, but I do have brains.”
“Do you?” Shen Liangsheng took a step forward, sword in hand. His face showed no emotion, but the air around him explicitly revealed his cold-blooded, savage intention. The temperature in the hut felt colder than winter itself. “I think not.”
“Whatever you say.” Ch’in Ching knew he could not overpower the man, so he was merely waiting for his death. If he died, Shen-hufa would spend his days moping in regret after they found the pages and learned that the doctor was the blood trigger they had been seeking all along. The next viable vessel would not appear for at least another fifty years, so if he could still see from the underworld, he would be able to laugh about it for a few decades. It would mean his shifu’s efforts all these years had gone to waste, though.
A little impatience spoils the grand scheme – if his shifu knew that his one foolish move ruined the carefully planned game, he would probably be furious enough to breathe fire.
“You are rather composed, Ch’in-taifu.”
“I beg to differ.” Ch’in Ching understood the sneer in Shen Liangsheng’s voice. The man was mocking his stupidity in not running and instead staying in his hut awaiting the reaper. “But where in this big, wide world could I possibly find refuge?”
“Or perhaps you were wagering that I wouldn’t kill you?” Shen Liangsheng’s tone was flat, but his actions were unforgiving. His sword shot forth, piercing through Ch’in Ching’s right shoulder blade, but far from stopping, it kept flying until it pinned the doctor onto the wall.
“I…” Ch’in Ching’s vision went black for a moment from the pain, and he inhaled sharply to finish the sentence. “I am no fortune teller. All bets are off. I hoped only that you would spare me a quick, painless death for old times’ sake.”
“Oh? But you’ve got your huai-meng ts’ao. The accounts have been settled. What old times’ sake is there to speak of?” Shen Liangsheng retorted coldly. Then he leaned in, as close as that day in the cave, their lips a hair’s breadth apart. “Think not so highly of yourself, Ch’in Ching.”
“Whatever you say.” Ch’in Ching repeated. He made as if to avoid Shen Liangsheng, but sadly the sword held him firmly in place, not allowing him any leeway. All the action achieved was to tear further the wound on his shoulder. The sword likely severed a major pathway. Blood welled out like a fountain and kept gushing.
“…”
“…”
As the silence ensued, Ch’in Ching lowered his eyes. His breathing was shallow and his face a sickly yellow. He was not on the verge of death but in excruciating pain.
“This is to teach you a lesson. Do not poke your nose where you should not be poking, and conduct yourself accordingly.”
After Shen Liangsheng spoke, he drew back and pulled out his sword, putting a considerate amount of force into the move. A bloody mist exploded and swirled around in the air.
Through the light, crimson rain, Ch’in Ching seemed to wear no relief or joy on his face. He only remained standing by leaning against the wall, and with his eyes downcast, he said:
“Lesson learnt.”
* * * * *
[1] 11pm to 1am.
[2] A phrase from The Platform Scriptures of the Sixth Patriarch is referenced. http://pages.ucsd.edu/~dkjordan/chin/LiowTzuu/HueyNeng06.html (Verse 17)
[3] The underworld in Chinese mythology.
[4] A bridge that one must cross to enter the underworld.
[5] Late October. The 18th solar term that signified the first frost of the year in East Asia.
[6] A sin in Buddhism akin to anantarika-karma but not as severe. It has entered the Chinese language as an exclamation when a heinous (e.g. murder) or undesirable (e.g. son who turns out to be a good-for-nothing) event occurs.
[7] A holy mountain in Taoism located in Gansu Province. K’ongt’ong is also a fictional sect.
[8] It is said that a man has gold beneath his knees, and he kneels only to the heaven and the earth, and to his parents. This saying exemplifies how weighty a message kneeling down is for the Chinese culture.
[9] Cuculus poliocephalus. The lesser cuckoo is known in East Asia for its cry which represents extreme sorrow. The mouth and tongue of the bird is bright red and it cried throughout the night, and people believed it was bleeding from the crying. In China, the bird represents Wang Di, the king of Shu who, depending on the version of the story, left his country in bad hands and died and became the bird. The people of Shu named the bird and the rhododendron after him, believing the colour of the flower to have come from the blood of the lesser cuckoo.
[10] One of two spirits that escort souls to the underworld. One dresses in white and the other in black
Chapter VII
The truth was that for a moment that day, Shen Liangsheng thought he was going to die.
He opened his eyes and saw an oil-paper umbrella, and painted on the umbrella were yellow reeds.
Perhaps it was his inability to move a single muscle, or perhaps it was the despairing sound of rain; in that moment, he truly thought he was going to die there. In his heart, however, was no regret, no worry. Nothing.
And in that split second, a quiet thought floated to mind. For twenty-six years he had walked the earth and committed countless sins and planted numerous bad seeds of karma. In the end, however, his world was reduced to a tiny microcosm:
A shrine. Summer rain. Reeds.
He did not die, however, and thus the microcosm slowly shrank into a pinpoint, appearing so distant it felt like an old dream.
The summer rain had long ceased, and the paper reeds had succumbed to the mud. Only the person who had opened the window onto this small, private universe for him remained.
Shen Liangsheng had to admit he had been making exceptions for C
h’in Ching time and time again.
Not rejecting him meant silent permission. Not killing him meant he wanted the man to live.
Ch’in Ching sat at the table treating his injury.
With his back turned at an angle to the door, he concentrated only on wrapping the bandage and did not see that Shen Liangsheng had turned around.
His right shoulder was wounded, so he could only use his left hand. Every layer of bandage meant he had to lift his arm which made him hiss from the pain, and by the time it was finally complete, he was covered with cold sweat. His left arm was nearly dead, and he struggled to tie a knot.
Shen Liangsheng watched this from the door. He should have left after seeing the man was alive, but he was still there staring at the doctor who was trying again and again unsuccessfully to tie a knot.
“Don’t move.”
Ch’in Ching had poor neikung and could not detect Shen Liangsheng’s footsteps. He only noticed another person’s presence after hearing the command. Instinctively, he made to look behind him, but the person laid a hand on his shoulder.
Then he watched Shen Liangsheng circle around, bend over slightly and carefully, neatly tie a dead knot for him.
Ch’in Ching’s throat felt dry. Although he knew hydration was to be avoided after blood loss, he still reached for the tea pot on the table and poured himself half a cup of cold tea, emptying it in one gulp. Only then did he slowly prop himself up and fix his clothes.
Without asking the man why he had returned, Ch’in Ching skirted around him and headed towards the kitchen to make himself some medicinal congee.
As if he did not mind being ignored, Shen Liangsheng followed the doctor’s footsteps and stood by the brick stove, watching. Ch’in Ching washed the rice, uncovered the stove, tossed a few handfuls of kindling onto the fire. After the rice and water reached a boil, he put in the medicinal ingredients one by one. Then he covered the pot with a lid before pulling a stool over, sitting down and beginning to absentmindedly poke the fire.
The only sounds in the kitchen were the soft snaps and cracks of the firewood. Perhaps Ch’in Ching was tired, for his eyes began drooping down as he stared blankly at the fire, and eventually they shut closed as though he were asleep.
“I think you probably know, Shen-hufa.”
Just when Shen Liangsheng thought the doctor had fallen asleep, he spoke.
“I love you.”
Nothing more came after that. Under the quiet sunlight, Ch’in Ching’s head dipped down. He really fell asleep.
Then the doctor had a dream. He dreamt he was young again, crying, tugging at the edges of his shifu’s tunic. As he wept he begged,
“I don’t want to die, Shifu. Please, just let me hide in a place where nobody will find me. I don’t want to die.”
How long had it been since he had a dream like this? Ch’in Ching still kept a shred of awareness in the dream, as though his grown up self had flown back in time as a lost soul and hovered in place observing the petulant cry-baby that was his earlier self.
More than two hundred years ago, an evil fiend emerged out of nowhere. The mantra he practised was strange and mysterious but extremely powerful, allowing him to single-handedly establish the Hsing Sect and nearly flip the chianghu upside down.
Ultimately, however, evil could not triumph over good. Having taken one wrong move, the Hsing Sect leader received what should have been a mortal wound but, because of the Five Skandhas, managed to preserve his life, leaving the rest of the chianghu with a weighty concern.
After more than two centuries of feigned death, he was quietly biding the time until his revival, when he would return with abilities a hundred times stronger than before making him well-nigh invincible. In that event, the denizens of the chianghu would only be able to watch helplessly as he brought an end to life as they knew it.
Alas for him, the mantra was missing its final and most crucial two pages. Therefore, the Hsing Sect knew only that the revival of their leader required a soul trigger and a blood trigger. The soul trigger had been passed down to every generation via the deputy leader whereas the whereabouts of the blood trigger was still unknown.
It would have been best if the unholy pages had been destroyed, but rumour had it that the pages included a treasure map. The evil fiend had only utilized a small portion of the treasures to establish the sect, meaning whoever could decode the map would become wealthy enough to rival the state.
Regardless whether this was true or merely a rumour spread by the Hsing Sect, as birds will die for food, so will men die for wealth. Throughout the decades, these pages travelled the land passing through several parties until finally landing in the hands of a powerful recluse of the chianghu. This individual did not destroy them but rather handed them to a good friend in the Buddhist sects so that the secrets behind the mantra could be deciphered.
After much research, it became clear that the blood trigger was the key to defeating the fiend. According to the text, the blood trigger referred to the blood directly from the heart. The vessel of the blood trigger would be an individual chosen by the heavens, and as a mark of his destiny, his heart would be different than that of others. If the evil fiend was to be revived, this person would have to be hung up and his blood drained directly from his beating heart for seven days. Through studying the text, the monks speculated that the one chance to reverse the life-sustaining effects of the mantra was at the end of the seven day period, exactly at the moment of a successful revival.
The evil and the good both waited for two centuries for the blood trigger to be born. The Hsing Sect had little knowledge of where to look, but Ch’in Ching’s shifu so happened to be the pupil of that powerful recluse and knew the art of divination. He took Ch’in Ching away with him while he was still swaddled to rid the infant of all worldly ties, all so that he might test the speculations of those who studied the text. Since he was wagering his disciple’s life against a successful outcome, it could be said that Ch’in Ching’s fondness of risk and gambling had been passed down from his master.
Ch’in Ching’s shifu never kept him in the dark about anything. Ever since he was old enough to think and speak, he knew he had been born to die.
Whether it was dying in order to push the world into chaos, or dying in order to save all the lives of the land, his destiny was painful and potentially pointless death.
Sadly, the young Ch’in Ching was unwilling to accept his fate, often weeping and begging his shifu to hide him somewhere so the demonic sect could not find him. He wept, saying, “I want to live. I don’t want to die.”
But as he reached maturity, he came to terms with his destiny and in turn became an unorthodox doctor. With his excellent healing skills, he saved any bird or beast, any good or wicked man he came upon. In his own words, it was better to stay alive if one could.
And thus, Shen Liangsheng, Shen-hufa, was saved by him. When Buddha said hatred and resentment meet,[1] he likely meant the more debt and karma that had accumulated between two people the less likely they could avoid each other. You must meet, and even if you do not wish to – too bad for you.
The heavens played a trick on Ch’in Ching, and he welcomed it with open arms. Seeing that Shen-hufa was quite good-looking, he was decisive and gave into lust and desire, thinking of it as merely a taste of pleasure before death.
Awaking from the dream of the past, Ch’in Ching was momentarily in a daze. He smelled rice and herbs in the air, and he saw someone standing at the brick stove, head down, stirring the pot of congee.
Staring at Shen Liangsheng’s back, Ch’in Ching praised himself for being so gifted – he had told himself, “he’s the one, fall in love with him,” and he did exactly that.
As for whether his love was true, Ch’in Ching thought it was, just as he thought it was true when he said, “For the land, for humanity, I have no resentment.”
Someone once said that a lie told a thousand times becomes the truth, and Ch’in Ching agreed with this reasoning.
The falsehood blended into truth, and the truth blended into falsehood. Life was too short to waste one’s time figuring out which was which.
“Shen-hufa, if I had known you were not one to shun the kitchen,[2] I would have made you work to pay the rent for the month you stayed here.”
Ch’in Ching rose from his seat and stood flush against the man’s back, resting his chin on his shoulder. He reached around to grab a white porcelain spoon from the countertop before taking the wooden ladle from Shen Liangsheng and spooning out a bowl of congee. Stepping aside, he began eating while blowing on each spoonful.
The taller man watched the doctor sip the congee with a tiny trace of a docile smile about his lips and a shallow dimple on his cheek, perhaps because the nap had done him good.
By then, the sun was sinking in the west, and its remaining rays shone through the windows, hitting the doctor’s face. The thin scar on his cheek looked like a tear streak and along with the light smile formed a smiling sob, or perhaps it was a sobbing smile.
“I do know.” Shen Liangsheng’s utterance was soft but nonetheless abrupt. Ch’in Ching paused with the spoon in his mouth and then recalled his confession earlier. He shook his head while the smile grew on his face.
“So what now?” Ch’in Ching looked at him smilingly while adding a suggestive tone to his question.
“I have a question as well.”
“Oh? I’m all ears.”
Ch’in Ching thought to himself that not even Shen-hufa could escape clichés. Perhaps the man would inquire ‘why do you love me?’ If not, then he would have given a cold retort, ‘so what if you do?’
“Ch’in Ching, how long have you wanted me to fuck you?”
COUGH COUGH COUGH.
Ch’in Ching was in the process of swallowing a mouthful of congee and consequently choked. “Shen-hufa, please don’t tell jokes while I’m eating.”