owlsbooks Chapter 58 Killing Merit and Wealth
Chapter 58 Killing Merit and Wealth
Su Tang frowned and looked at Song Quyou as she spoke quietly.
"Senior sister, I may not understand much else, but I do know that a Buddha who needs offerings for everything wouldn't do good deeds without personal gain."
Upon hearing this, Su Tang frowned even more deeply.
She didn't reply immediately, but instead looked at the blooming red plum tree in the courtyard, and after a long while said, "Junior Brother, do you mean that Lingfo Temple is related to the death of Miss Jing's father?"
"Junior brother doesn't know either, but he does know that he has ill intentions, and all the Buddhas in Qiantang have ill intentions."
Song Quyou glanced at the bright moon in the sky and sighed, "In just over four hundred years, even the ocean can turn into mulberry fields. If you want to know anything, you can only find it in books."
At this moment, a black charcoal, which appeared out of nowhere, climbed onto Song Quyou's shoulder and retorted to him:
"Looking for the truth in books? The most ridiculous thing is looking for the truth in books."
You should know that those who live the longest and live well in this world are always the gods and Buddhas in the hall who are worshipped, worshipped, and revered.
When the temples of these gods and Buddhas are dilapidated, their servants will carry them away to a better one. When the incense offerings are waning, their temple keepers will fabricate stories to deceive people. The gods and Buddhas themselves do nothing; as long as they are in their high places, fools will gild them with thick layers of gold powder.
If you wipe it for a long time, even if there's a stinky dog poop inside, you won't be able to smell it anymore.
And how many of those so-called books haven't been tainted by the incense smoke of these worthless gods and Buddhas? Don't look in books, look on the ground.
The night breeze lingered, and red plum petals fell softly all over the courtyard.
Song Quyou turned his head to look at the black charcoal on his shoulder; its golden eyes gleamed blindingly in the moonlight.
Black Charcoal continued, "There's something beneath Lingfo Temple. Every time I try to go in after stealing fish, that monk Huiming discovers me. Perhaps the truth you're looking for is inside."
"What truth? I think you're just craving what's inside."
When Heitan saw that Song Quyou had exposed him, he immediately opened his blood-red mouth and bit at the hair bun as punishment.
……
Lingfo Temple was quiet and serene under the moonlight.
Song Quyou changed into night clothes and followed Heitan, who blended perfectly into the darkness, to the backyard of the temple.
"This way." Black Charcoal lowered his voice and furtively led Song Quyou over the courtyard wall to the Zen temple where they were stealing fish.
That Zen temple was the place where Huiming had trapped us last time. It was covered in dust and withered leaves, so no one should be living there.
Black Charcoal squatted on the wall, flicking its tail gently to signal Song Quyou to follow.
It led the way with practiced ease, across the lotus pond, and into the dark main hall.
There were no lights in the main hall, only a Buddha statue covered in dust.
Black Charcoal moved silently with cat-like steps, bypassing the Bodhisattva statue and going straight to the back of the lotus seat. It stretched out a black paw and gently pressed it on the dust-free floor tiles.
A soft click.
The lotus platform beneath the Bodhisattva slowly slid away, revealing a secret passage that could only accommodate one person at a time.
A musty, cold aura wafted from the secret passage, mixed with a faint sandalwood scent, like a century-old fermented jar of vegetables.
"This is it." Black Charcoal flicked its tail, its golden eyes shining brightly in the darkness.
Song Quyou gripped his long sword tightly, smelled the musty odor, and stepped onto the damp stone steps leading downwards.
The stone steps were very deep, spiraling downwards. It took about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before my feet finally touched flat ground.
The sandalwood scent in the air grew stronger, almost sticky, as if someone had sealed the entire incense offerings of the Buddhist temple underground.
Black Charcoal's bright golden eyes looked at Song Quyou and said, "It's just ahead."
Song Quyou followed behind, turned a corner, saw a light, slowed down, and slowly walked in.
Inside was a spacious stone chamber with smooth walls covered in faded murals. The paint had faded considerably, but one could still vaguely make out patterns of dragons, clouds, and lotus flowers.
In the center of the stone chamber stood a stone tablet about two people tall. The tablet was dark blue-green, with the two red characters for "merit" in the center. The sides were covered with densely packed images of gods and Buddhas. The base of the tablet was a blooming stone lotus with eighteen petals layered on top of each other, each petal carved with a type of punishment.
Tongue-pulling scissors, iron tree mirror of karmic retribution, steamer copper pillar, mountain of knives and sea of fire, ice mountain and cattle pit, blasting, pressing and grinding, sawing and dismembering, these seem to be the eighteen levels of hell punishments in Buddhism.
Song Quyou continued walking forward and came to the back of the stone tablet. The pattern had not changed, but the red "merit" had been replaced by the black "killing money".
Black Charcoal, swaying his fat, trembling body, approached Song Quyou and said, "The more you kill, the greater your merit; the more wealth you offer, the greater your virtue. This is a Buddhist principle."
Song Quyou stopped looking at the stone tablet and turned to examine the murals closely.
Although the paint on the wall is faded and mottled, the general content can still be discerned. The first painting depicts a green dragon soaring through the clouds and bringing rain, with farmers below cultivating and harvesting grain in a peaceful and tranquil scene, and some inconspicuous ghosts peeking out from the shadows.
The second painting depicts a blue dragon with its bones pierced by chains. At the other end of the chains is a demon's hand beside a large, fat, and round hand. The owner of that hand is depicted indistinctly, with only the fingertips painted with gold powder visible. Below, farmers and ghosts mingle, picking up farm tools and dismembering the drooping blue dragon.
The third image is the most bizarre: the dragon's scales are peeled off piece by piece, and amidst the dripping blood, the scales transform into golden leaves, piling up throughout the hall.
In the fourth painting, all the ghosts and monsters are dressed in robes and sit on lotus thrones. They enjoy the incense burning in the sky amidst the auspicious clouds shaped like giant hands and the dazzling Buddha light, and they enjoy the worship of the ragged little people.
Looking at the murals around him, Song Quyou felt a strange, indescribable feeling in his chest.
The words that came to his lips were only four: "Immeasurable merit!"
Before he finished speaking, a rustling sound suddenly came from the depths of the stone chamber, as if something had been disturbed.
With his sword in hand, Song Quyou moved swiftly, passing through a wooden door and arriving at a stone chamber filled with ancient scrolls.
The stone chamber was smaller than the previous one, but it was brightly lit. The walls were lined with bookshelves, which were piled high with scriptures and booklets. In the center was a sandalwood desk with two booklets on it, one yellowed and the other brand new.
The yellowed one reads, "The Dragon King of the East Sea brings rain and wards off disasters and evil, ensuring the people live in peace..."; the brand-new one reads, "The Dragon King of the East Sea is greedy for wealth and lust, driving out the loyal and killing the good, causing the people of the world to suffer..."
Song Quyou opened the yellowed book. The yellowed pages were densely filled with records of the rain that fell on a certain day of a certain month of a certain year, and the plague that was quelled on a certain day of a certain month. Each record was written in neat handwriting, like an accountant's ledger.
Flipping through that newer volume, with the same year and date, it recorded the demands for young boys and girls and the sabotage of fishing boats.
On the same day, with the same dragon, the two books presented completely different things.
Song Quyou glanced at the ink beside the documents; it was still damp, indicating that someone had been there not long ago.
"One careless move, and you, benefactor, have entered."
Song Quyou looked at the person who came in outside the door. He was dressed in a white monk's robe and had a handsome face. It was undoubtedly Huiming.
"What evil schemes are you plotting now?"
Huiming smiled faintly and walked slowly forward, past the documents and past Song Quyou, continuing to walk inside.
His entire body shone with a brilliant Buddhist light, causing the Buddha statues carved on the four walls of the stone chamber to shine brightly and illuminating the darkness in the depths.
Song Quyou's pupils contracted sharply. It turned out that in the dark depths, there was a blood-soaked dragon head. The dragon head was as big as a giant elephant, dark and bluish, and was tightly bound by iron chains.
"Does the benefactor know who this dragon is?" Huiming's voice was calm to the point of being indifferent.
Song Quyou did not answer; his hand was already on the hilt of his sword.
"This is the Dragon King of the East Sea. More than four hundred years ago, he was killed and dismembered by the Ancestor Lingguang and the Eight Legions of the East Sea." Huiming slowly turned around, his handsome face half-lit and half-shadowed in the Buddha's light.
"Does the benefactor know why this dragon's head is here?"
Song Quyou didn't reply, but quietly looked at Huiming in front of the dragon head.
"More than four hundred years ago, this place was not Lingfo Temple, but the East Sea Dragon King Temple. Back then, the Dragon King Temple was not as grand as the Lingfo Temple is now. It was very shabby, and the offerings it received were only grains, and no meat was allowed."
Huiming calmly picked up the lotus cup beside him, then picked up a golden razor, and went around to the back of the dragon's head.
Judging from his movements, he was cutting flesh. When he came out again, there was some crimson liquid in the lotus cup, which he calmly tilted his head back and drank.
His lips turned bright red, and his white teeth were stained with an indelible bloodstain.
Huiming felt completely comfortable, and suddenly his whole body radiated a Buddha-like light. Under the Buddha-like light, his smooth skin faintly revealed some scales.
"Back then, our Western Buddha promised the Dragon King of the East Sea the position of Buddha, allowing him to obey orders but not summons, but he was ungrateful and refused..."
"So what? He refuses to become a Buddha, but his subordinates and enemies want to become Bodhisattvas and Arhats. So his dragon bones, dragon scales, dragon blood, and dragon veins will have to be used to create another Buddha, a Buddha nurtured by Western religion."
Song Quyou stared coldly at the somewhat deranged Huiming.
"Since you killed the Dragon King of the East Sea, why are you still keeping his descendants alive in the well in my courtyard?"
Huiming waved his hand unhurriedly and said, "That old dragon king of the East Sea is extremely cunning. Under the backstabbing and encirclement of the eight departments of the East Sea, he actually broke out and locked the East Sea Seal in the Dragon Palace. Fortunately, the Buddhist power of the Lingguang Ancestor is boundless. Just as he was about to rush out of the East Sea and fly back to the Celestial Court, he killed the old dragon on the beach."
To reclaim the East Sea Seal, the Dragon Palace must be opened, but the method remains unknown; it is likely to reside with his children.
"Was the Lord of Qiantang also one of the Eight Guardians back then?"
Huiming smiled faintly and shook his head. "It's not worth mentioning. When its master was alive, it was as obedient as a loyal dog. But after its master died, it immediately started to have some ulterior motives. It took advantage of the young girl and dreamed of becoming a dragon."
Song Quyou leaned back on his desk, calmly looking at Huiming: "You've already succeeded, so why are you still keeping these ancient books that record the Dragon King's deeds?"
Huiming sighed helplessly, "The traces can't be erased, so we can only rewrite them. Fortunately, after years of searching, all the records about the Dragon King from four hundred years ago are here. People who remember the Dragon King have died one generation after another. Now, fortunately, people only worship Buddha and no longer worship the Dragon King."
After these documents are compiled in a few years, some original copies will remain, allowing future generations of the temple to know how the patriarchs fought for incense and to know the supreme glory of their lineage.
At this moment, several monks walked in from behind Song Quyou. One of them was an old monk with white eyebrows that reached his shoulders. He was carrying a golden net bag in his hand, inside which a fat cat was constantly swaying.
"Benefactor Song, no one can save you now. We already knew when this fat cat sneaked out. We're letting you know this in the hope that you might convert to Buddhism."
……
Or perhaps I'll go to the deepest hell and die knowing the truth.
Song Quyou drew his long sword, turned to the side, looked at the two monks, and sneered:
"I don't know what's so great about worshipping this Buddha. He's narrow-minded and deceitful, far less satisfying than the ancient saying, 'Those who do evil will find burning incense useless; those who are upright will not need to worship gods.'"
As soon as Song Quyou finished speaking, he quickly took a picture, not using his full strength so as not to damage these precious books.
The drawn sword, like a clear blue wave, drew a crisp arc in the stone chamber bathed in Buddhist light.
The sword, though its killing intent was not outwardly apparent, possessed a chilling aura, directly threatening the old monk with drooping beard and shoulders.
Undeterred, the old monk casually thrust out a palm, which transformed into a golden Buddha's hand. Its five fingers were as strong as mountains, pressing down on the slender sword light until it was broken and severed.
Seeing the sword light broken, Song Quyou did not retreat but advanced, and thrust several more swords at the indestructible Buddha's hand.
In an instant, specks of green light collided with the golden light, causing the golden Buddha's hand to crack with fine lines, and fragments of gold flew like rain.
The Buddha's hand was broken, revealing an old monk behind it, his hands clasped together, calmly chanting sutras.
Just as Song Quyou's sword was about to strike, the surrounding scenery suddenly changed.
The surrounding monks, bookshelves, and stone walls were nowhere to be seen.
Having missed his target, Song Quyou turned and looked around.
But the surrounding scenery transformed into a vast, boundless golden sea, lush and dazzling golden lotuses.
Song Quyou tilted his head back and squinted, looking at the sky against the blinding Buddhist light. It turned out that the auspicious clouds above the sky were filled with gods and Buddhas, who were like a golden dome, tightly surrounding him.
The golden sea was calm, the fragrance of lotus permeated the air, and above the auspicious clouds of the heavens, gods and Buddhas lowered their eyes, their lips all bearing the same compassion.
Song Quyou gripped his long sword tightly, looked up at the sky and laughed wildly, displaying unrestrained arrogance.
He rebuked, "'Thick gold powder covers up decay, and clouds adorn Buddhas with feigned compassion.' I want to see what you bunch of scoundrels are capable of."
As soon as the words were spoken, all the gods and Buddhas in the sky spoke in unison, their voices like a torrent crashing into the world.
"You wicked villain, you have defiled the solemnity of Buddhism! Kneel down and submit to the law!"
As the voice of the gods and Buddhas faded, the golden sea beneath Song Quyou's feet instantly caved in. The immense pressure caused his face to turn red, and he knelt on one knee, unable to hold back the spitting out a mouthful of blood.
The blood seeped into the golden sea, transforming into crimson fish, which were then captured by the Buddha Lotus. The Buddha Lotus, having absorbed the blood, swayed gently, its golden light shimmering.
Song Quyou, filled with resentment, could not bear the humiliation. Suppressing his anger, he said:
"Kneel down and submit to the law? Do you even deserve it?!"
The vast primordial energy within Song Quyou surged like a mighty river, while the green sword in his hand roared like a dragon's cry.
In an instant, the azure rainbow surged three zhang (approximately 10 meters) in size. Under immense pressure, Song Quyou swung his longsword upwards. His flushed skin became congested with blood, his blood vessels burst, and he instantly turned into a blood-soaked figure.
The scattered blue light cleaved through the golden sea of people, severing countless lotus flowers.
But the golden sea was boundless, and the cracks that had been cut closed up in an instant. The broken lotus flowers took root again and bloomed even more profusely.
But was Qinghong really meant to split the sea and sever the lotus? It was merely a scattered blue light.
A blue rainbow pierced the sky, soaring upwards like a shooting star flying in reverse, heading straight for the giant Buddha who occupied the center and whose light shone the brightest.
Facing the blue rainbow, the giant Buddha lowered its eyelids, its compassion undiminished, but the Buddha's light shone even brighter, more dazzling than the sun.
When the azure rainbow and the Buddha's light collided, there was no earth-shattering roar, only a very soft and faint hissing sound, like a red-hot iron needle piercing through ice and snow.
The azure rainbow pierced through layers of golden light, penetrating inch by inch, but suddenly stopped three inches from the center of the giant Buddha's brow.
It was simply because the giant Buddha had finally made its move.