Chapter 105: The Encounter of Roles and the Clash of Magic
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Who was the Monk of Dharma Hearing?
The Old Daoist had told Ji Ming that the Monk of Dharma Hearing was the fourth disciple of Master Su Luo. He had only just entered the second realm of Qi Refinement and had yet to temper the Five Qi within his chest. His foundation was still shallow, yet he was an exceptionally gifted man.
Zen Master Tiger-Horse, meanwhile, had told Ji Ming that the monk was wealthy, indifferent to worldly affairs, and inexperienced in the ways of society.
All they needed were a few flattering words and a little theatrical performance. That would be enough to win the Monk of Dharma Hearing’s favor and take a shortcut through the Daoist examination.
Ji Ming entered the hall with his head held high. On either side sat a number of people—or, more precisely, demons. Each had undergone a different degree of demonic transformation.
One had a flattened bird’s beak.
Another concealed a tail beneath his waist.
A third had a single scorpion’s claw in place of one hand.
There were also those with the bent legs of sheep, deer, or wolves.
Seeing such grotesque demon forms, Ji Ming felt greatly reassured. Among a gathering of demons like this, his own pair of claws would hardly attract attention.
He was considering how to seize the initiative with the Monk of Dharma Hearing when a voice came from somewhere in the corner.
“So it’s that Dry-Way Acolyte.”
The so-called Dry-Way Acolyte was none other than himself—or rather, it referred to the episode when the Poison-Hand Boy, Stone Dragon, had served as the catamite of the lecherous monk Empty Bliss, the Old Buddha of Southern Heaven.
There were many wicked practitioners of heterodox arts in the hall, all of them part of Zen Master Tiger-Horse’s circle. They knew the Poison-Hand Boy’s sordid history by heart.
At the head of the hall, beneath the reclining Buddha, the Monk of Dharma Hearing had been smiling with delight. But the smile now faded considerably, as though he were pondering the story behind the name “Dry-Way Acolyte.”
Much of Ji Ming’s good humor vanished, but he continued walking through the hall. Unseen and colorless streams of force slipped silently from him, taking position high above the hall.
A pair of jade-green eyes stared in astonishment at the several currents of force twisting through the air like dancing dragons and serpents.
Sure enough, Ji Ming had taken only a few more steps when that furtive voice sounded again.
“Come out.”
The instant he finished speaking, a figure shot out from behind one of the tables and crashed to the ground at Ji Ming’s feet.
The man looked around in terror, only to meet Ji Ming’s eyes. He recoiled desperately, but an invisible force pressed him firmly against the floor beside Ji Ming’s feet.
Ji Ming smiled.
“Elder brother, there is an ill-mannered guest at the banquet.”
Zen Master Tiger-Horse’s expression darkened. He had never expected someone at the small gathering he had arranged to dare slight him and deliberately make things difficult for his friend.
These wandering practitioners could preserve a measure of peace within the monastery only because of his status as a revered monk. It was through that status that he had established ties with the Monk of Dharma Hearing and learned how to cater to his preferences.
“Five Ghosts, come at once!”
At the Zen Master’s shout,阴 winds immediately swept through the hall, and five indistinct figures appeared within it.
“This guest must have drunk too much. Take him away and let him sober up.”
Before the man could protest, the Five Ghosts seized him and vanished from the hall. Like a violent gust of wind, they carried him deep into the temple, where they quietly drowned him in a well.
With the spoilsport gone, the atmosphere in the hall became lively once more.
The Monk of Dharma Hearing was deeply interested in the technique Ji Ming had just used to draw an object through the air.
“Your secret art resembles one of the techniques practiced in my school,” he said.
“Could it be the Crane-Controlling Art?” Ji Ming asked, pretending not to know.
The monk nodded. His eyes shone as he gazed at the Poison-Hand Boy, Stone Dragon, looking like a hunter who had suddenly discovered prized game.
“I wonder what secret art this is. Would you allow me to seek your instruction?”
Ji Ming glanced from the corner of his eye at Zen Master Tiger-Horse. Seeing the Zen Master give a slight nod, he knew the real performance had begun.
Tiger-Horse had already told him that the Monk of Dharma Hearing enjoyed associating with people from all three teachings and nine professions. He made a point of learning the strengths of others, which was why he had gathered so many heterodox wanderers around Little West Mountain.
To curry favor with the monk, Zen Master Tiger-Horse had assembled numerous wandering practitioners and devoted himself to serving the Monk of Dharma Hearing at Little West Mountain. The following he had gathered was quite substantial.
Yet the Monk of Dharma Hearing mastered every technique with a single hint and learned every art at the first attempt. Unless someone possessed a truly exceptional skill, it was difficult to hold his interest for long.
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Conversely, whenever someone did possess a unique skill, the Monk of Dharma Hearing would immediately offer a hundred talisman coins and six shell pearls as payment for instruction.
Ji Ming glanced around and said, “My secret art is called the Acquired Celestial Qi.”
“What an audacious name!”
“It is merely a secret technique, yet he dares call it Acquired Celestial Qi?”
“Where did the Zen Master find this madman?”
“You don’t know? He is the Mad Butterfly of the Inner Lands, a specialist in plucking flowers.”
The guests whispered among themselves, while the Monk of Dharma Hearing grew increasingly curious.
“Please instruct me!”
As soon as he spoke, he strode forward several steps. His shoulders swayed lightly, setting both arms in motion, and the fists at their ends flew outward like a pair of chained iron balls.
Crack!
Crack!
Explosions rang through the air like firecrackers, carrying an unmistakable force that seemed capable of driving away evil.
“The Year-Chasing Fist of Peaceful Mountain.”
Ji Ming identified the technique from the character of its blows. He had not expected the monk to practice such a fist art.
The two punches swung directly toward Ji Ming’s face, but the moment they neared him, they could advance no farther. They struck an invisible wall, sending ripples through the air.
“Again!”
The Monk of Dharma Hearing grew serious and began to use his true strength. With every punch he threw, explosions erupted in rapid succession.
Many of the practitioners in the hall cultivated sinister arts and yin techniques. When they heard those explosions, it was as though thunder and fire were tearing through their bodies. Crying out in pain, they shoved aside their tables and rolled across the floor, begging the monk to stop.
This was the Year-Chasing Fist, said to have been transmitted by a certain Star Lord before being incorporated into the teachings of Peaceful Mountain.
Zen Master Tiger-Horse silently retreated, signaling to Ji Ming with his eyes to stop once the point had been made and not forget their true purpose.
Ji Ming circulated his force throughout his body, forming something like a wall of qi. No matter how the monk struck, it could not shake him in the slightest. From time to time, a yielding force managed to penetrate the “wall,” but the currents of force within twisted it apart, rendering it useless.
The reason Ji Ming dared pass off the Crane-Controlling Art as Acquired Celestial Qi lay in his subtle command of force. His mastery had reached a realm never before attained.
“Dharma Hearing!”
Ji Ming called softly.
Yet when the voice reached the monk’s ears, it had become far deeper and more severe, bearing the likeness of his master, Su Luo.
“Dharma Hearing!”
Ji Ming called again.
“Master.”
The Monk of Dharma Hearing abruptly halted his fists. He stared at Ji Ming in disbelief, then instinctively took a step back as the battle spirit throughout his body suddenly slackened.
Ji Ming began murmuring under his breath. To the monk’s ears, it sounded as though his master were questioning him.
“Have you completed your studies?”
“Have you recited the Buddhist scriptures?”
“Do you reflect upon yourself each day and sever the three poisons of greed, anger, and delusion?”
“Have you kept track of the Celestial and Human traces, so that you may help your master survive his tribulation?”
The questions struck directly at the heart. The Monk of Dharma Hearing’s young face went deathly pale. He nearly stumbled to the ground, while the surrounding wanderers rose as one, terrified that this dispersal of spirit might injure him.
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This illusory voice had been created by Ji Ming through the Great Mirage Art. It was the first time he had used the secret technique since achieving minor mastery of the art, and he had never expected his first target to be one of Su Luo’s disciples.
It seemed that the Monk of Dharma Hearing was far from mature in mind. Nor did his habit of displaying every joy, anger, anxiety, and fear openly appear to be feigned.
Perhaps, while concealing himself behind the identity of the Poison-Hand Boy, Ji Ming could obtain from the monk some vital secrets concerning Su Luo’s plans against the Celestials.
“This plan may work,” Ji Ming thought.
“What technique is this?”
The Monk of Dharma Hearing was still shaken. He folded his hands and asked the question.
“The Heaven-Changing Earth-Striking Art!” Ji Ming invented another name on the spot.
“What a fine name. What a marvelous secret art.”
The monk praised it enthusiastically, but Zen Master Tiger-Horse felt his scalp grow numb.
He knew exactly how much skill his brother possessed. Ji Ming was probably passing off a couple of ordinary tricks as some profound martial art. But if he wanted to deceive the Monk of Dharma Hearing, so be it—he simply had to stop putting the word “Heaven” into every name. First Acquired Celestial Qi, then Heaven-Changing Earth-Striking Art. Those names bordered on taboo.
“The banquet has begun. Everyone, return to your seats.”
As he spoke, the Zen Master took Ji Ming by one hand and the Monk of Dharma Hearing by the other. He led them before three meditation cushions beneath the reclining Buddha in the main hall, then invited the monk to sit in the center.
Thus, the Monk of Dharma Hearing sat in the middle, the Zen Master on the left, and Ji Ming on the right.
Only after sitting down did Ji Ming notice the jade-eyed female Daoist beside a red-lacquered pillar. Even beneath the bright candlelight, her eyes still shimmered with a green radiance.
Her gaze swept toward him and met his own, as though she wished to pierce through the layer of qi that had always enveloped his body and see his true nature.
Ji Ming suddenly turned his head and met another pair of curious, delighted eyes.
“Pink-Faced Thief, Second Madam Cui!” Ji Ming thought.
When Second Madam Cui saw him looking at her, two blushes rose on her cheeks. Her beautiful eyes curved like hooks, while her folded legs rubbed faintly against each other.
Ji Ming felt his scalp prickle beneath her gaze. He had never expected that, in this little temple, he would encounter two of the Poison-Hand Boy’s acquaintances one after another: his friend, Zen Master Tiger-Horse, and one of his paramours, Second Madam Cui.
The vegetarian dishes were served one after another. Zen Master Tiger-Horse substituted tea for wine and held forth throughout the meal, showering the Monk of Dharma Hearing with extravagant praise and raising Su Luo’s disciple to the heavens.
When the atmosphere grew lively, someone began playing a cheerful flute melody. The Monk of Dharma Hearing, who adored music, personally joined in, striking a goblet drum with his staff while singing softly and dancing with graceful steps.
The jade-eyed female Daoist clearly intended to attach herself to the Monk of Dharma Hearing. Moving to the rhythm of the flute and drum, she performed a celestial fox dance in the center of the hall. Even Ji Ming found himself watching, absorbed.
The demons abandoned all restraint and gave themselves over to wild revelry. If they had not feared frightening the monk, they might well have begun an open gathering of uninhibited pleasure.
At first, Ji Ming had wondered why a dignified disciple of Su Luo would mingle with such a motley collection of heterodox practitioners, accepting all manner of vice without discrimination.
But now, seeing how they praised him and combined music and dance for his entertainment, he understood. They had supplied him with more than enough emotional gratification. No wonder the Monk of Dharma Hearing enjoyed lingering among them.
When the small banquet ended, the monks led the visiting guests to meditation rooms to rest.
“Virtuous brother!”
The demons had all dispersed from the hall. Zen Master Tiger-Horse called out with eager anticipation, his tone barely concealing his impatience.
Ji Ming nodded lightly. He watched the jade-eyed female Daoist being led by a monk toward one of the meditation rooms. Then he patted his storage pouch, and the Banner of Enchanting Maiden’s Sublime Music flew into his hand.
“Watch my marvelous art.”
Ji Ming gave a strange laugh. He felt that he had finally grasped the key to playing the role of the Poison-Hand Boy.
There was only one word for it:
Lust.
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