Chapter 53: Salvation

“This is Suzhou? Pathetically rundown.”

The white-robed monk passed through the city gates unchallenged, guards staring through him. Twenty yellow-robed monks lining the street pressed palms together. “Hail Lord Wu Fa.”

His ornate palanquin blocked the entire road.

“Proceed.”

The monk seated himself cross-legged, staff across lap.

“Advance!”

Wooden fish clacked as chants rose.

“Showier than the damn emperor,” a beggar muttered.

Suddenly the white-robed gaze found him – divine, penetrating.

“Fuck your eerie tricks, bald freak!” The beggar spat and gestured crudely.

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“Amitabha.”

The white-robed monk revealed a serene smile, chanted a Buddhist invocation, and his ceremonial procession departed.

“Pah. Mystical theatrics,” spat the beggar as he tightened his ragged garments, preparing to leave.

He’d only taken few steps when the chanting began – faint at first, then swelling with each stride until it echoed painfully in his ears.

“Where’s that coming from?” The beggar halted, scanning the empty street. Passersby skirted wide around his stench. Finding no source for the sound, he scratched his ear and muttered “Witchcraft,” resuming his shuffle toward the derelict temple he called home.

Unaware, his slack features began twisting. By the time he reached the alley’s mouth, an unnatural grin split his face.

“Amitabha,” he intoned suddenly, freezing mid-step to press grimy palms together in prayer. “Today I awaken as myself. When shall I cross sorrow’s sea?”

The spectacle drew murmurs from bystanders.

“Enlightenment?”

“More like possession,” another countered as the beggar began shambling down the road, cackling and chanting while trailing the long-vanished procession.

Beyond the city gates, the lead monk glanced nervously at their growing retinue. Dozens now followed, eyes glazed. Beads of sweat traced his scalp.

“My Lord, these people…”

“All find salvation through Buddha’s grace,” Lord Wu Fa replied from his palanquin, wooden fish clacking rhythmically. “We but guide willing souls.”

Cold Mountain Temple’s influence had mushroomed since Jie Ming’s ascendance. After absorbing the Daoist and Sword sects’ powers, the self-styled Living Buddha’s might eclipsed even imperial authority. Four Dharma Lords served under him – Lord Wu Fa being foremost among them.

The Suzhou branch abbot wrung his hands. “The Dragon Guards already watch us. If this continues…”

“Should those imperial hounds come,” Lord Wu Fa interrupted, “I’ll manifest as Vajra Demon-Subduer to chastise them.”

More converts joined their train with each li traveled.

“Boon or bane?” sighed the abbot.

A junior monk scoffed. “Our Buddha suppresses Great Chu itself! Why fear mortal guards?”

The abbot held his tongue. Arrogance blinded them – Jie Ming’s might made followers forget even dragons have teeth.

At the branch temple, Lord Wu Fa settled beneath the Buddha statue. “What of His Holiness’ former sect?”

“Investigations complete.” The abbot presented scrolls stamped with lotus seals. “The Immortal Palace shelters Jie Nian – Zhang Tu in worldly life. Five Golden Core elders protect their Suzhou stronghold.”

Lord Wu Fa’s eyes gleamed. “A senior disciple belongs not in some heretic den. We’ll retrieve him to… manage Western Pure Land affairs.”

The abbot’s spine chilled. Management of Pure Lands meant only one thing. This “retrieval” would erase every tie to Jie Ming’s mortal past – no masters, no brothers. Only the infallible Living Buddha would remain.

Outside, shears snicked through converts’ hair as temple bells tolled.