Chapter 784
A gentle knock, and the door exploded.
He looked down at his hairy arms, then at his thin frame, and then at the thick arm that Tang Sanzang had used to lift the white dragon horse. His lips twitched twice.
He looked helpless, wondering who the real monkey was.
Sun Wukong sighed, lightly touched the ground with his toes, and transformed into a golden streak, giving chase. The trail of golden light drew a bright arc in the darkening forest before quickly disappearing in the direction of the temple.
Soon, Tang Sanzang and Sun Wukong arrived in front of the Zen temple.
The temple was even older than it appeared from a distance. The walls were made of rammed earth, and the surface was mottled from the erosion of wind and rain. Large patches of plaster had peeled off, revealing the yellow mud bricks mixed with straw inside.
The wall was covered with moss and weeds, and a few ferns sprouted from the cracks in the wall, swaying slightly in the night breeze.
The main gate was a large black lacquered door, the paint cracked into fine lines, like wrinkles on an old man's face. Most of the copper nails on the door were covered in green rust, with only a few still showing their original yellow color.
The door knocker is a pair of bronze animal heads, with bronze rings through their noses. One of the bronze rings is broken in half and hangs crookedly.
The words on the plaque are still faintly discernible, reading "Guanyin Zen Temple," but most of the gold paint has peeled off, leaving only a few tattered strokes hanging on the plaque, indicating that it has been neglected for a long time.
A thin layer of spider web covered the plaque, with a few withered flying insects stuck inside.
Tang Sanzang gently placed the white dragon horse on the ground, straightened his monk's robe, and patted the dust off his body.
He suppressed the wild arrogance on his face and put on a gentle and calm expression—a skill he had honed over the past two months: to be fierce when necessary and gentle when appropriate, switching between them with ease.
Tang Sanzang knocked on the door very gently. He raised his hand, his fingers slightly bent, his knuckles pressed against the door, and carefully knocked three times.
boom.
The door burst open.
The moment the door collapsed with a crash, wood chips and dust flew everywhere. The two black lacquered doors shattered from the frame and flew three or four meters inward, crashing heavily onto the bluestone ground in the courtyard with a dull thud.
The brass ring on the door rolled a long way before hitting the base of the incense burner in the courtyard and falling to the ground with a clang.
Tang Sanzang's hand remained in the knocking posture, three fingers bent and suspended in mid-air, his whole body frozen in place.
He looked down at his fingers, then at the two door panels lying in the yard. The gentle smile on his lips hadn't yet faded; it froze on his face, giving him an extremely awkward expression.
"oops."
Tang Sanzang let out a dry sigh.
The white dragon horse behind him silently took two steps back, its hooves rustling on the gravel. Its eyes clearly conveyed the words "I knew this would happen," and it snorted heavily, its ears pressed back into a thin line.
Sun Wukong descended from the sky and landed on the back of the white dragon horse. His golden eyes glanced into the courtyard, then looked at Tang Sanzang's stiff back, and said with a hint of schadenfreude, "Master, are you knocking on the door or tearing it down?"
"This humble monk only tapped it lightly."
Tang Sanzang lowered his hand, turned to Sun Wukong and explained with a very innocent expression, "Really, I just tapped it lightly. You saw it yourself, I didn't even use any force."
"You haven't even used your strength yet."
Sun Wukong pointed to the two door panels on the ground that had been cracked into several pieces, "If you use too much force, this courtyard will be gone."
Tang Sanzang wanted to say a few more words in his defense, but commotion had already broken out in the courtyard. A chaotic sound of footsteps surged from the depths of the monastery, mixed with the clanging of metal and heavy shouts.
The footsteps were dense and rapid, like a large group of people rushing towards the gate, and the running was accompanied by the clanging of weapons being drawn.
In no time at all, a group of monks rushed out from behind the screen wall in the courtyard.
There were about thirty monks in the group, all of them burly and fierce-looking. They wore monk robes, but the sleeves were rolled up above their elbows, and the collars were open, revealing crisscrossing scars and messy chest hair on their chests.
Some were bald, while others wore monk's hats, but the hats were askew on their foreheads, making them look more like a rag draped over their heads.
They carried knives, spears, and clubs, the blades reflecting a cold, menacing light in the setting sun. Each of the knives was gleaming, with several nicks on the blades and dark red rust clinging to their edges.
The spearhead was made of iron, and the shaft was wrapped with hemp cloth repeatedly. The grip area was blackened and shiny from sweat.
The sticks were even more varied, some were eyebrow-level sticks, some were whistle sticks, and some were simply sharpened hardwood stakes with rough chopping marks on the front end.
After the group of monks rushed out, they lined up in two rows in the middle of the courtyard, swords and spears raised, exuding a murderous aura. Their eyes first fell on the fallen gate, then they all raised their heads to look at Tang Sanzang standing at the gate.
The air in the courtyard instantly became quiet.
Two rows of fierce-looking monks stared at Tang Sanzang, and Tang Sanzang stared back at them. They stared at each other across the broken door frame for a good five or six breaths, neither of them speaking first.
Tang Sanzang scrutinized the group of monks, and the more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. Their posture was loose, but their eyes were fierce. The way they held their weapons wasn't the proper way Buddhist monks held their weapons; rather, it was more like the posture of mountain bandits, ready to chop someone down at any moment.
Several monks were tapping their palms with the backs of their knives, making a crisp cracking sound; their expressions were exactly like those of bandits about to rob someone on the road.
The group of monks opposite were also sizing up Tang Sanzang.
They saw a burly, bald man. He stood in the setting sun, his silhouette outlined in orange-red light, his shoulders as broad as a city gate, and his neck so thick it formed a straight line with his head.
He was wearing a tight-fitting monk's robe, beneath which bulged out muscles, the muscle lines on his arms clearly visible even through the fabric.
Behind him lay a white horse, its eyes far more lively than those of ordinary horses, looking at them with a strange expression.
Even worse, in front of this big man lay two shattered doors. The doors had been blown off the doorframes, with splinters of wood sticking out haphazardly, and the iron nails on the doorframes were bent and twisted into a pretzel shape.
This level of destructive power is beyond the capabilities of ordinary people.
The monks exchanged glances, a hint of apprehension creeping into their eyes.
A thin monk squeezed out from the crowd.
The monk was short, a full head shorter than the burly men around him. He was as thin as a stick, and his robes hung loosely on him. His face was sharp and thin, with high cheekbones, but his eyes were exceptionally bright and constantly darting around, giving him a cunning and mischievous air.
He squeezed to the front of the line, looked up at Tang Sanzang, cleared his throat, pointed his finger at Tang Sanzang's nose, and shouted in a very strange accent, "What kind of idiot are you? What are you doing at my Guanyin Temple?!"
Tang Sanzang was taken aback.
This accent was completely unlike the elegant speech of the Central Plains; the syllables were heavy and hard, with a rustic feel to them, and the last "ma" sound was even raised slightly, as if it were being forced out of the nose.
Tang Sanzang had traveled all over the country and had heard many dialects, but he had never heard this accent before.
He was about to answer when someone from the crowd behind the skinny monk quietly tugged at the back of his shirt. The skinny monk turned around, glared at him, and asked in a low voice, "What are you tugging at?"
The one who tugged at his clothes was a fat monk with a face full of scars. The fat monk leaned close to the thin monk's ear and mumbled a few words in the same strange accent.
Tang Sanzang vaguely heard the gist of it. The fat monk said, "Brother Guangzhi, look at this bald man, he's bigger than that black bear on the mountain. Look at his arms, they're thicker than our kitchen cutting board."
And that door! Our main gate is made of three-inch-thick hardwood, with three layers of iron nails, and he tore it down in no time. This guy might be a newcomer from the next mountain; let's not mess things up.
After listening, the thin monk named Guangzhi frowned and carefully examined Tang Sanzang again. His gaze lingered on Tang Sanzang's arm for a moment, then he looked at the broken door panel on the ground, and his expression changed from impatience to caution.
When he spoke again, his tone softened, but his strange accent remained heavy: "Don't just stand at the door without saying a word. I'm asking you, which mountain are you from? Where are you from? What are you doing at our Guanyin Temple?"
Tang Sanzang then came to his senses, put his hands together, and tried his best to look like a proper monk. He cleared his throat and replied in standard Buddhist etiquette, "This humble monk comes from the Great Tang Dynasty in the East, and is on a mission to the Western Paradise to worship Buddha and seek scriptures at Mount Ling."
It's getting late, and I'm passing by your esteemed temple. I'd like to ask for lodging for the night. I hope you can grant me this request.
After he finished speaking, he bowed slightly and performed a standard wai (hands together in prayer).
After hearing this, Guangzhi's expression became even stranger. He tilted his head, looking at Tang Sanzang with the eyes of someone looking at an idiot, his lips pressed into a thin line, and remained silent for a long time.
The group of monks behind him exchanged bewildered glances, and some began to whisper among themselves: "From the Tang Dynasty in the East? What kind of place is that?"
"I don't know, it sounds really far away."
"He speaks strangely, unlike what we say."
"What are you talking about, this pilgrimage to the West? What is this person saying?"
Guangzhi turned around and yelled, "Shut up!"
Then he turned to Tang Sanzang again, put his hands on his hips, tilted his head back, and asked, "You said you are a monk from the Great Tang Dynasty in the East? What scriptures are you going to Mount Ling to retrieve?"
"Exactly."
Tang Sanzang nodded.
Guangzhi blinked, then suddenly grinned. His smile revealed a set of uneven, yellow teeth, one of which was missing, the dark gap making his smile look particularly comical.
He turned to the fat monk behind him and said, "This man says he's going to Mount Ling to retrieve the scriptures."
The fat monk also laughed, his face trembling with laughter.
Guangzhi turned around, pointed behind him with his thumb, and said with a hint of teasing, "That Ling Mountain you mentioned is far away. We don't know what kind of place it is, and we've never been there. But you monk, you're quite amusing."
Tang Sanzang frowned slightly. He noticed that Guangzhi had changed his way of addressing him, from "hero" to "monk," which meant that the other party no longer considered him one of their own.
Moreover, although this group of people were dressed in monks' robes, their every move exuded the air of bandits and they spoke in slang such as "which mountain they came from" and "the Dragon King Temple they've broken into," showing no semblance of being monks.
Sun Wukong remained perched on the back of the white dragon horse, his arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes coldly scanning the group of monks in the courtyard.
He let out a very faint hum through his nose and said in a voice that only Tang Sanzang could hear, "Master, something's wrong with these guys. Look at their palms."
Following Sun Wukong's suggestion, Tang Sanzang noticed several details. The monks wielding knives had thick calluses on the base of their thumbs, the result of years of holding knives.
The monk holding the gun had old scars on the inside of his wrist, marks left from cuts in battle.
The monk standing at the very edge had a deep, thick scar on his neck that stretched from his ear to his collarbone. The flesh that had been exposed after healing was dark red, clearly indicating a near-fatal injury.
The calluses on the palms of a proper monk in a temple are from the friction of their hands clasped together in prayer position, located in the center of their palms. Or they are from striking a wooden fish, appearing on the fingertips and knuckles. They would never be calluses from the web of the hand between the thumb and forefinger.
Tang Sanzang's gaze gradually turned cold. He slowly lowered his clasped hands, letting them hang at his sides, and asked calmly, "May I ask, fellow disciples, how many fellow disciples are there in this monastery?"
Guangzhi paused for a moment, feeling that the question was a bit strange, but still answered casually, "There are seventy or eighty people in our compound, why?"
"Seventy or eighty people."
Tang Sanzang repeated the number and then asked, "What kind of homework do you usually do?"
"homework?"
Upon hearing those two words, Guangzhi's smile widened. He pointed to the group of monks behind him carrying knives, spears, and clubs, "Our job is to guard this road and collect things from passersby. Since you've come to ask for lodging, monk, we must follow the rules."
"If you have anything you can offer the brothers for drinks, bring it out now, don't dawdle."
His words caused the monks behind him to burst into laughter. Some struck their shields with the backs of their swords, creating a series of clanging sounds. Others blew a sharp whistle, the sound echoing through the twilight forest.
The atmosphere instantly shifted from confrontation to a hunt, with over thirty pairs of eyes fixed on Tang Sanzang as if he were prey caught in a trap.
Tang Sanzang remained silent for a moment, his face turning completely somber. He glanced back at Sun Wukong, whose face clearly said, "I told you so," and he shrugged, indicating that he had seen through it all along.
"I thought it was a real temple."
Tang Sanzang's voice was soft, but his tone carried a distinct chill, "So you've stumbled into a bandit's den." (End of Chapter)