Chapter 789
Damn, this monk is too strong for someone who eats vegetarian food.
Another voice chimed in, "Compared to him, even the eighteen bronze statues of Shaolin Temple look like vegetarians."
Someone else said in an even softer voice, "This person is probably a Vajra Arhat from Shaolin Temple who has descended to earth, the kind of Arhat who is specifically responsible for lifting up the temple gate and smashing people."
Although these murmurs were faint, Tang Sanzang's ears were now exceptionally sharp, and he didn't miss a single word.
His face flushed and paled in turns, he wanted to lash out but couldn't think of a suitable reason. These people calling him a member of the Shaolin martial arts troupe was essentially a compliment—just in a way that wasn't what he expected.
He wanted to be a refined and virtuous monk, not a martial monk who could demolish temples with his bare hands.
Seeing Tang Sanzang's ever-changing expressions, Guangzhi felt even more uneasy. He quickly tried to smooth things over by putting his palms together in a gesture of respect—though his hands were crooked and his fingers were trembling.
"Master, please don't be angry."
Guangzhi's voice was high-pitched and thin, as if squeezed out with his back teeth, "This humble monk and my fellow disciples are blind. It's not that the master doesn't resemble a monk, it's just that... it's just that we have never seen a monk like the master before."
"Look at your physique, your frame, your imposing presence! Standing in the doorway, blocking our way, you could practically knock the door off its hinges. Our first reaction, of course, would be to draw our swords in defense. Who knows if it's a monk or some mountain bandit chief coming down from somewhere?"
He spoke haltingly, but his meaning was clear—you don't look like a monk, that's why we resorted to violence. It's a misunderstanding, purely a misunderstanding.
As soon as Guangzhi said this, the remaining thirty-odd monks in the courtyard seemed to have found their leader and nodded in agreement.
A slightly bolder fat monk poked half his head out from the crowd and shouted, "That's right, that's right! Master, with your physique, who wouldn't be afraid? We've been on this path for so many years, and we've seen at least eighty or a hundred wandering monks, and they're all as thin as bamboo poles, ready to fall over in the wind."
We've never seen anyone like you before.
Upon hearing this, Tang Sanzang's expression changed from anger to confusion, and then from confusion to a subtle sense of helplessness.
He looked down at his bulging pectoral muscles, then at his fists that could smash a stone slab with a single punch. His lips moved as if he wanted to explain something, but in the end, it only turned into a long sigh.
“This humble monk’s appearance is indeed quite different from that of ordinary monks.”
Tang Sanzang's voice returned to calm, even carrying a hint of self-mockery, "But you cannot assume that I am not a monk just because I am strong. Even Buddha has Vajra protectors under his seat, and which Vajra is not burly and incredibly strong?"
Guangzhi quickly seized the opportunity, nodding vigorously: "Master is right, Master is right. We were blind, we were ignorant."
The monks behind him nodded in agreement, their heads bobbing up and down, looking as if they were collectively worshipping some kind of deity.
The crossbowmen on the wall had completely put away their crossbows, and the swordsmen had lowered their swords to the ground. A sense of relief, as if they had survived a disaster, permeated the entire courtyard.
Tang Sanzang looked around and saw that everyone had put away their weapons. His clenched fists finally relaxed. He put his hands together and his gentle, compassionate smile returned to his face.
"Since you have all realized your mistakes, this humble monk will not pursue the matter any further."
His tone softened considerably, as if he were speaking to a group of young novices who had made mistakes. "However, the killings you have committed over the years must eventually be accounted for. My methods of deliverance are always ready for you."
The monks' hearts, which had just settled, were raised again.
Guangzhi chuckled twice, not daring to respond to that, and instead said, "Master, you've come from afar, you must be tired. It's not proper for you to talk in the courtyard, please come inside and have a cup of tea to rest your feet."
As he spoke, he stepped aside, gesturing for them to proceed. The monks behind him parted to either side, clearing a path in the middle of the courtyard. At the end of the path was the main hall of the monastery, its doors wide open, the interior dark and the furnishings indistinct.
Tang Sanzang glanced at the passageway, then at the monks standing with their hands at their sides, and nodded slightly. He turned and walked to the screen wall, bent down to pick up the monk's robe he had just taken off, shook off the dust, and put it back on.
The fabric of his monk's robe was stretched taut by his muscles, and the seams at his shoulders and back creaked under the strain.
He fastened his belt, straightened his collar, and resumed the appearance of a proper monk—if one didn't look at his forearms with bulging veins peeking out from his sleeves.
Sun Wukong remained seated on the stone stool beside the screen wall, legs crossed, twirling his golden cudgel, without moving an inch from beginning to end. Even when Tang Sanzang punched the strong monk into the wall, he didn't even lift an eyelid.
Seeing Tang Sanzang following Guangzhi toward the main hall, he lazily jumped off the stone stool, hoisted the golden cudgel onto his shoulder, and followed slowly behind.
"Master, you have such a good temper."
Sun Wukong yawned, his voice laced with mockery, "These people were just about to chop you up with knives, and now you're going in with them for tea."
If you ask me, I should have just killed all those petty thieves with one blow, saving me all this talking."
He spoke softly, but the courtyard was quiet, and every monk heard him clearly. Guangzhi, who was leading the way, paused, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
The other monks also paled. They stared at the golden cudgel on Sun Wukong's shoulder; the two golden hoops at its ends gleamed coldly in the setting sun, clearly no ordinary weapon. What kind of person could a monkey be, to be taken as a disciple by this bald, burly man?
Tang Sanzang didn't even turn his head, and said indifferently, "Wukong, monks are supposed to be compassionate. Your fellow disciples have already repented, so let's not say anything more about this."
Sun Wukong scoffed and said nothing more, but his fiery eyes hadn't left the monks around him since he entered the courtyard. He chuckled inwardly—these petty thieves thought their master had a good temper, little did they know that their master had only temporarily suppressed his murderous intent.
When his master clenched his fist just now, even he found the murderous aura about it somewhat interesting.
Above the clouds, Lin Zhu looked at the scene below and let out a long breath.
"At least they didn't make another move."
He muttered to himself, then tapped the system panel again. The golden text on the panel still indicated that the mission was incomplete, but at least Tang Sanzang hadn't continued killing, which reassured Lin Zhu slightly.
He's still racking his brains about how to create new Buddhist theories. The matter of deliverance can't be rushed; he needs to find a suitable opportunity to instill these theories in Tang Sanzang.
Now that Tang Sanzang has gone inside with the monks for tea, there shouldn't be any more conflicts for the time being. He can use this time to think things through.
Just as Lin Zhu was about to sit down cross-legged to calm his mind and think, he suddenly sensed a strange aura coming from the distant horizon.
He looked up and saw a faint Buddhist light appearing and disappearing in the depths of the clouds to the northwest, as if someone was looking in this direction with their wisdom eyes.
Lin Zhu frowned slightly, then relaxed. He knew who it was—besides Guanyin Bodhisattva, no one else would be watching Tang Sanzang so furtively. "Let them look."
Lin Zhu muttered, "Anyway, you still don't dare to show yourself."
He withdrew his gaze, sat up straight again, took out the small notebook from his sleeve, and began to seriously ponder the matter of the scriptures for the deceased.
And indeed, Guanyin Bodhisattva was watching this place with her all-seeing eyes from among the clouds thousands of miles away.
She saw Tang Sanzang follow Guangzhi into the main hall of the Zen temple, saw the monks serving him like an ancestor, and saw Sun Wukong carrying the golden cudgel and walking behind him, shaking his head. She felt a mix of emotions.
She had just calmed down a bit after wiping away the karma from Tang Sanzang's head, but then she thought of another thing that was giving her a headache—the name of this Zen temple was Guanyin Zen Temple.
Guanyin Temple.
This name wasn't given lightly. The main deity enshrined in this Zen temple is Guanyin Bodhisattva, and the incense offerings in the temple are collected in her name.
In other words, these murderous monks, under the guise of Guanyin Bodhisattva, committed robbery and murder here, and from the perspective of the law of cause and effect, part of their sins should be attributed to her.
Once she understood this, Guanyin Bodhisattva's face darkened even more.
She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing her agitation. She couldn't go down now; the time wasn't right. Her plan was to let Tang Sanzang vent his anger first, and then step in to clean up the mess he'd made once he'd accumulated enough trouble.
By then, Tang Sanzang will owe her a huge favor, and she will have the leverage to put pressure on him.
But the premise is that the trouble Tang Sanzang causes cannot be so big that she cannot cover it up.
Guanyin Bodhisattva gritted her teeth and continued to stare down.
Inside the main hall of the Zen temple, the light was dim and oppressive. There weren't many candles lit in the hall; only two ever-burning lamps sat on the offering table in the center. The dim yellow light shone on the Guanyin statue behind the offering table, making the statue's face appear blurry in the shadows.
Guangzhi led Tang Sanzang and Sun Wukong through the main hall, enthusiastically introducing the layout of the monastery as they walked. The monastery was quite large, with two courtyards behind the main hall, side rooms and a scripture hall on both sides, and a kitchen, woodshed, and vegetable garden—all complete.
The entire Zen temple was built on a flat area halfway up the mountain, backed by a cliff and facing a deep valley. The terrain was treacherous and easy to defend, making it difficult to attack. This was probably one of the reasons why this group had not yet been wiped out by government troops.
"Master, this way please, this way please."
Guangzhi led Tang Sanzang to a side room next to the main hall. This side room was much smaller than the main hall, but it was decorated quite elegantly. There were several wooden chairs and a square table against the wall, and tea set was already set on the table.
Tang Sanzang sat down on a chair, and Sun Wukong, without any hesitation, jumped onto the chair next to him and sat cross-legged, his golden cudgel resting on his knees, his monkey eyes darting around as he surveyed the surrounding walls.
Several paintings and calligraphy works hung on the wall, depicting landscapes, flowers, and birds. The inscriptions were written in a crooked and messy manner, clearly fake works meant to appear cultured.
Guangzhi personally picked up the white copper kettle and poured three cups of tea. The tea was amber in color, and the rising steam carried a rich aroma of osmanthus. He presented the first cup of tea to Tang Sanzang with both hands, a fawning smile plastered on his face.
"Master, please have some tea. This is osmanthus tea grown in our Zen temple. Although it cannot compare to the tribute tea of the Tang Dynasty, it is still quite exquisite."
Tang Sanzang took the teacup, but instead of drinking it immediately, he held it and examined it carefully. The teacup was made of fine white porcelain, with blue scrolling floral patterns painted on the walls and a gold rim around the mouth.
This cup alone is enough to feed an average family for a year.
His gaze moved from the cup to Guangzhi's face, then to the surrounding furnishings. On the altar sat a bronze incense burner and candlesticks, the lacquer on the surface so glossy it reflected a person's image.
Besides calligraphy and paintings, there was also a gold-embroidered Guanyin image hanging on the wall. The necklace on Guanyin Bodhisattva was all embroidered with gold thread and shimmered in the candlelight.
Tang Sanzang paused slightly in the teacup he was holding, and a meaningful smile appeared on his lips.
"Senior Brother Guangzhi."
He spoke, his voice gentle as if he were chatting casually, "Your Zen temple is quite popular with worshippers."
Guangzhi didn't understand the deeper meaning in Tang Sanzang's words, taking it as a compliment. His smile widened even more: "Master, you flatter us. Our Guanyin Temple is quite famous in this area, and devout men and women from all around come to offer incense."
Especially on the 19th of February each year, the birthday of Guanyin, the incense is so plentiful that the door is packed with worshippers.
Tang Sanzang nodded, took a sip of tea, and then asked, "How many fellow monks reside permanently in this monastery?"
"Ah, probably around a hundred people."
Guangzhi answered casually, only to realize afterward that he had let something slip—he had just been knocked down by Tang Sanzang in the courtyard, and now he was saying there were about a hundred people, which was tantamount to admitting that there were usually that many people "cultivating" here.
Tang Sanzang's smile deepened, but there was no trace of amusement in his eyes. He put down his teacup, about to say something more, when the curtain to the side room was suddenly lifted from the outside.
A young novice monk poked half his head in and whispered to Guangzhi, "Brother Guangzhi, our grandmaster has woken up. He heard that a high-ranking monk from the Tang Dynasty has arrived and wants to come out to pay his respects in person."
Upon hearing this, Guangzhi visibly relaxed. He quickly waved to the young novice monk, "Go and help your master out, hurry, hurry!"
Then he turned to Tang Sanzang and said, “Master, our abbot will be here soon. He is the pillar of our monastery, highly respected and with profound cultivation. Master, you can speak to the abbot if you have anything to say.”
Tang Sanzang smiled and nodded, but in his heart he was thinking—this so-called magic staff is probably not a good thing.
While the others were waiting, a series of rustling footsteps and the sound of canes tapping on the ground came from outside the hall. The curtain was lifted again, and two children of about ten years old helped an old monk slowly walk in.
Tang Sanzang looked up and his eyes widened involuntarily.
The old monk's attire was dazzling. He wore a Vairocana hat, with a cat's-eye stone the size of a thumb embedded in the brim. The gem shimmered with a cat's-eye-like green light under the candlelight, clearly worth a fortune.
He wore a brocade monk's robe, the fabric edged with gold thread, which shimmered with light as he moved, like a sunset draped over his body. (End of Chapter)