CH 90

Chapter 90: Peace for a Hundred Years (I)

Xuanmin twitched his finger, and accordingly, the wizard Songyun's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell unconscious.

Xuanmin laid down the wizard onto the black pebble shore, then swept his sleeve. The enormous waves rolled through the sky and crashed violently onto that spell design, emitting a deafening clang, but the force field that protected the spell from the wind and the rain did not budge.

Xuanmin's magic was so strong that the towers of stone even remotely close to him were instantly pulverised. As he brought the waves into the force field again, slight golden cracks began to appear all along that invisible arch.

Those cracks rapidly spread everywhere, and, suddenly, the force field seemed about to shatter and explode, yet was somehow suppressed by some other force.

The Great Priest, sitting on the black pebble beach, stopped his prayer and parted his hands, pushing his palms out toward his spell, and then clasped them together again.     

In that brief instant during which he'd stopped praying, those dots of blood streaming up his neck had also stopped moving –– and when he resumed his prayers, the blood began to move again too. The whole sequence of actions had taken place very quickly, but those enormous gusts of wind attacking the spell were even quicker. They changed directions and came charging straight toward the Great Priest.

Dang––

When, previously, the Great Priest had worn only his monk's robe and no protective armor, he was now encased within a bronze bell, which repelled the oncoming wind.

The great force reverberated back onto the powerful red waves, so that they were knocked back the way they came and receded thunderously all the way back across the river.

Xuanmin grasped his copper coin pendant, then made a tugging movement. The relentless power of those waves were all connected to his one hand, and tore at him so strongly that it seemed about to rip his hand off altogether. 

He felt a searing pain, yet revealed none of it on his face, instead tightening his fingers into a fist and tugging backwards again. Those enormous waves crashing toward the other side of the river stopped in their tracks and were rigidly pulled back. Nor did he let this distract from the spell, which he continued to assault over and over with gusts of savage wind that shattered the surrounding stones and boulders and sent the broken pieces flying through the air.

As Xuanmin injected more and more strength into his attacks, the force field began to wobble, and the bronze bell around the Great Priest also began to weaken. It appeared that the gusts of wind were about to slice through the Great Priest's armor.

Yet, as the force field around the spell threatened to break, Mt. Jiangsong as well as the rest of the chain of mountains alongside it suddenly began to tremble –– as though this small circular spell were tied to some larger, greater spell, so that attacks on it sent the whole world quaking.

Xuanmin frowned. His robes billowed amidst the howling wind all around him, yet no matter how powerful the elements were, they could not penetrate onto Heishi Shore.

Just as he was about to press his thumb down onto his copper coins again, the Great Priest, encased within his bronze bell, suddenly stopped praying. Casually, the Great Priest said, "Do not continue in your futile efforts. This blood spell is linked to the great spell. If you continue to force it, then there will have been no point in my burying dragon bones beneath this mountain."

Earlier, when the mountain range had shaken, Xuanmin had faintly seen a thread escape from the silhouette of the mountain, similar to the "spider silk" that they had observed at Mt. Lianjiang –– the ones that demonstrated all the locations linked together by a great spell. As he glanced over at the direction in which that thread had gone, Xuanmin understood––

Bones Buried in the Rivers and Mountains.

The enormous spell that ran through the entire mountain range behind him was a "Bones Buried in the Rivers and Mountains" design. Xuanmin could not yet remember the details about this spell, but he could deduce the basic principles from its design. This spell reached across mountains and rivers in the four cardinal directions, and, similarly to a small spell, it needed some magical item to anchor it. There were many magical items in the world, but to be able to anchor such a vast spell, there were only two.

Which of the two the Great Priest had chosen was obvious.

Xuanmin's gaze glided across that mountain range and knew that the thin thread that had flashed across the mountains earlier had come from the very foundations of the spell –– dragon bones.

As the Great Priest finished speaking, Xuanmin's thumb nonetheless pressed down upon his coin.

A deafening, earth-shattering noise emerged, sending a violent jolt across both the force field around the spell and the bronze bell that protected the Great Priest. The silver mask on the Great Priest's face split in half and clanged to the ground, revealing that pair of long-hidden eyes, which slowly fluttered open.

He and Xuanmin both wore cloud-like monk's robes, and looked the same, and appeared the same. One sat, and one stood.

In the instant that their eyes met, both of their gazes suddenly held a sense of terror, which quickly disappeared.

In Xuanmin's sparse memories, he knew that he had only seen this "Shifu" take off his mask once or twice, and that had been when he had been very young. Despite the fact that they had been in the reclusive secret courtyard, where strangers were prohibited, the monk would still rarely reveal his true face. Thus, when it came to this "Shifu"'s appearance, Xuanmin's impression had always been rather vague.    

Now that he could take a good look at the monk, Xuanmin realised that his impression had been extremely vague, and that he had missed out a great deal.

Finally, it was the Great Priest sitting on the ground who, after a brief moment of fear and confusion, shook his head and scoffed cynically.

Although Xuanmin's impression of him was indistinct, the same could not be said for his impression of Xuanmin. After all, in the beginning, he had been the one to bring Xuanmin home, to raise him from childhood all the way to adulthood.

At the very least, he could clearly recall what Xuanmin had looked like as a child and as a youth. Even in those years when Xuanmin had inherited his title of Great Priest, he had been able to see Xuanmin's face.

The name "Tongdeng" had been taken on by a total of four people up until today, or, more precisely, three people. The so-called Great Priest had never, in fact, been the same man, and the faces of these successive monks had not been identical, though in their childhoods they had all taken magic medicine to alter their appearance and thus looked slightly similar.

Most of the time, the Great Priest wore a mask, and the number of people who had seen his true face could be counted on the fingers of a hand. Even if someone saw him one day, the next time they saw him may be many, many years later, and would not find his change in appearance abnormal. Besides, no one dared to look straight on at the Great Priest's face, and most of the time, even when he did wear his mask, those speaking to him would look slightly below his head, afraid to meet his gaze.

In addition, the Great Priest's life habits and general aura were highly intimidating and made him unapproachable, so that nobody had the chance to detect if anything was amiss.

The only thing that these Great Priests needed to pay attention to was the transition period between two Great Priests. During that time, the predecessor would already be quite old, in high contrast to the successor, who would be young and spry. When a Great Priest began to reach middle age, he would begin to use wax masks and human skin masks to control the ageing of his face. When Xuanmin had taken on the role of Great Priest, his face had still been too youthful-looking, and so he, too, had needed to wear masks in order to reduce the differences between his appearance and that of the previous Great Priest.

At first, the young Xuanmin, out of deep respect for his master, had done all he could to model himself on his predecessor. But afterwards, once Xuanmin had become the dominant Great Priest, the roles had reversed: suddenly, it was the previous Great Priest who began to try to make himself seem more like Xuanmin.

And after that, too much had happened between the two of them, so that they could no longer take off their masks in front of each other. Now that they were face to face again, they suddenly discovered that the other's true face was unfamiliar to them. How funny...

Eventually, Xuanmin's gaze calmly moved down and settled onto the dots of blood on the Great Priest's neck. This was the means by which he was transferring the hundreds of people's fortunes and virtue onto his own body. As long as the blood ultimately clustered at his life pressure point on his forehead and became one small dot, the spell would be a success. And this spell was tightly enmeshed with the "Bones Buried in the Rivers and Mountains" spell. If this spell succeeded, then nothing could change the great spell again either.

Before, when the Great Priest had stopped praying, the dots of blood would stop moving –– but now that the blood had crept up to his face, they seemed invigorated with some new life. Although the Great Priest was no longer praying, the blood continued to crawl slowly up his face.

As Xuanmin rolled up his sleeve to act, the Great Priest did not hesitate to immediately stand up, still encased within his bronze bell.

In the moment that they both attacked, a powerful force rippled out onto the spell. The enormous red waves resumed their tide and flowed toward Mt. Jiangsong, covering the entirety of Heishi Shore underneath them.

In that instant, the earth began to shake and the waves thrashed back and forth.

But Xuanmin could not get the upper hand: one of the copper coins on his pendant was still sealed, and, for some reason, with each attack, he could feel a strange sense of connection between him and the Great Priest –– not the same kind of thought and emotion connection he had with Xue Xian, but he felt that, no matter how hard he attacked the Great Priest, the effect would always be much more subdued.

Besides, even as they fought, Xuanmin continued to focus some of his attention elsewhere, so that the river would not suddenly flood everything around it and cause a great disaster.

Of course, just as he could not harm the Great Priest, the Great Priest could not harm him. The two appeared to be equal matches, with no clear winner and no clear loser.

The copper coin pendant in Xuanmin's hand began to feel hotter and hotter, and the coin whose seal had not yet been broken was humming and thrumming ceaselessly, glowing so hot that it seared his skin. He felt that just another round of magic would utterly destroy that final seal.

The red dots of blood on the Great Priest's face had reached the middle of his face, and were now creeping toward the bottom of his eyes. Even the world's most beautiful face would become hideous in such circumstances: the Great Priest's bloodied cheeks appeared evil and terrifying. 

As they fought, Xuanmin kept an eye on those blood stains, and noticed that they were moving increasingly fast. As they reached the middle of the Great Priest's face, something seemed to have been unlocked within them, and they quickly streamed past his cheekbones.

And then his eyes.

And then his brow.

Suddenly, a shock ran through that final copper coin as its seal shattered. The old, dull shell around it fell broken onto the ground, revealing a shiny, yellow glow beneath it...

And an overwhelming rush of memories came rushing into Xuanmin's mind.

In his memories, he was a child again, still copying sutras in a hall. The desk had been prepared especially for him, and was just the right size for his height. He stood, holding a brush in one hand, writing with a practiced, skilled calligraphy. Although he was but a child, he behaved as though he had already done such a thing thousands of times before.

In those times, the copying of sutras had not really been to make him memorise them, nor had it been a calming, meditative exercise –– indeed, even as a child, he'd been aloof and untalkative. He copied sutras in order to practice his handwriting, so that his handwriting would look exactly the same as the handwriting from which he was copying.    

But the strange part was, even without too much practice, his calligraphy already looked highly similar to the model.

As he finished a page, he remembered this strange detail. He looked up to the Great Priest, who stood to his side, and asked, "Shifu, who copied these original sutras?"

The Great Priest, who had been tapping his own copper coin pendant, suddenly stopped and glanced back at him. They stood in a dim room, so Xuanmin could not clearly see the Great Priest's eyes, and did not know how the monk was feeling. After some silence, the Great Priest finally said, "Tongdeng."

Xuanmin was stunned. "Tongdeng?"    

"Yes," the Great Priest said as he went back to tapping at his coins.

That shiny yellow light flashed across the coins, brimming with magical energy.

Xuanmin did not understand. "Shifu, you copied these sutras?"

"How many times have I told you not to call me Shifu?" the Great Priest replied without looking up. Then he added, "These books were copied by the previous Tongdeng."

"The previous?"

"The role of Great Priest is passed down from generation to generation, but, to outsiders, he remains the same person. Naturally, his Buddhist name does not change, and remains Tongdeng. Of the Tongdengs that have lived, I am the third." The Great Priest paused for a long time, then said, "Someday, you too will be Tongdeng."

As he said this, his expression continued to be submerged in the shadows, unclear and unknown.

Xuanmin faltered. He was not a lively child, but he was still a child, full of unbridled curiosity. "So... what was your original Buddhist name?"

He had wanted to call the Great Priest Shifu as usual, but had remembered what the monk had said, so had decided not to do so.

The Great Priest mildly replied, "Zuhong. Or perhaps that was someone else's name. I forget."

And then Xuanmin remembered the first time he had been called Tongdeng. He had just turned nineteen, and his face had still been that of a green youth. He carefully stuck the human skin mask onto his own face, then placed a silver mask in the shape of a beast's face on top of that one, and proceeded to lead a long, winding ritual procession to Taishan.

From then on, he began to take the Great Priest's place more and more often, as Zuhong had begun to weaken with age, and the time had come for him to take over.

In those fragmented memories, Xuanmin saw that he had become the overseer of all activities within the Ministry of Ceremonies. It gave him the feeling of looking into an idealised past life. If Zuhong had not changed his mind, Xuanmin would probably have lived out the rest of his days within the Ministry.

Despite the fact that the Great Priest Zuhong had never wanted to be called Shifu, Xuanmin still considered him to be his master. So when Zuhong continued to postpone his retreat, and then expressed his wish to return to the Ministry, Xuanmin did not say no.

Indeed, he had never coveted the position of Great Priest. Instead of travelling and administering, Xuanmin preferred to be secluded, alone, in the mountains.

So after ten or so years as the head of the Ministry, he had given the secret courtyard back to Zuhong and moved himself into the bamboo building in the mountain hollow. Because he had been born with the Buddha's bones, his innate magical energy was stronger than that of Zuhong, and, for some things, Zuhong still required his help.

Thus, although he lived alone in the mountains, he continued to maintain relations with the Ministry... until Zuhong asked him to calculate a dragon's catastrophe date.

"Why do you need a catastrophe date?" At the time, Xuanmin had been invited back to the secret courtyard. He was standing at the top of the pleasure pagoda, and frowning, as he asked Zuhong this.

Zuhong, standing by the table, wore a different costume so that, in case anyone happened to see the two together, it would not be suspicious. Zuhong calmly replied, "A few days ago, I divined that a great calamity will occur in three years' time. It appears to be related to the catastrophe period of a dragon. If I know when that is, I will be able to prepare better, and save lives."

For a moment, Xuanmin felt that something was off.

When he had been living alone in the bamboo building, he had detected some things, but had still not been able to confirm anything. And what Zuhong was saying did not sound wrong, so, although he hesitated briefly, he ultimately agreed.

And much, much later, when he heard that someone had maimed a dragon during its catastrophe period, that gnawing doubt that he'd kept hidden deep in his heart for all those years suddenly burst out. The respect and gratefulness that he'd felt for his master when he'd been young completely disappeared, and all the small hints and clues that had raised his suspicions suddenly became crystal clear. The truth was far worse than he'd ever imagined: the trail of bones that Zuhong now held in his hands seemed to come together into one great whip, utterly destroying the peace in the world.

Xuanmin had never been an indecisive person. He hid his fury beneath that cold face and strode into the secret courtyard, immediately casting a spell onto Zuhong in order to seal away his magic powers. But the connection between the two engendered by the Spider of the Same Name had been so strong that the effects had spread back into him as well, causing him to lose his memory.

Before losing all of his memories, he'd hurriedly written a sheet of notes for himself, and had placed a series of seals onto his copper coin pendant, so that it could not be harmful if it fell into someone else's hands.

Those chaotic, fragmented memories flew across his mind, taking him from his childhood all the way to the recent past, and filling in all the gaps that he'd previously had. He felt as though he were finally waking up from a deep dream.

Xuanmin finally understood –– everything. Yet the scene before him still made him frown.

Zuhong held a thunder flag between his fingers, and he suddenly waved it slightly; a dozen flashes of thunder rumbled down from the heavens. Zuhong did not want to kill Xuanmin –– instead, the bolts of lightning came together to form a net above Xuanmin's head.

Without changing his neutral expression, Xuanmin tried to move.

He could not escape this thunder attack, and knew that its purpose was to force him back onto flat ground. Earlier, when Xuanmin had been having visions of his memories, Zuhong had drawn a talismanic spell on the ground beneath his feet, knowing he would land there and become trapped.

The spell was not a lethal one, but a puppet spell. If Zuhong's thunder drove him down from the air and into the spell, he would lose all control over his faculties and be at the mercy of Zuhong's control.

"I would never kill you," Zuhong's calm voice floated over to him amidst the raging wind. "I just want you to be obedient––"

Just as the thunder was about to push Xuanmin into Zuhong's spell, there came a deafening roaring sound as a black shadow pierced through the roiling waves. In the blink of an eye, Xuanmin had been swept away from the trap. Then, a long tail like a whip.

Zuhong stopped speaking, and ducked, barely avoiding this new attack.

In the next instant, hundreds of bolts of lightning crashed down from the dark clouds above.

"A thunder flag?" came a sneer. "Child's play!"

As the voice reverberated across the tempest, something placed Xuanmin down onto the peak of Mt. Jiangsong. That black shadow suddenly landed onto Heishi Shore, accompanied by more startling, shaking thunder. With one hand, that black-clad figure split the enormous red waves in half and brought them hurtling in Zuhong's direction.