Chapter 175 — The Meditation Chamber

Against the wall on the other side lay Ming Li himself. Here stood a wooden bed, plain and sturdy, without the least ornament—monks, he supposed, cared nothing for such things; the room was plain likewise, for apart from what has been described there was only a round table set in the middle, with four round stools about it. Table and stools alike were black, and on the table stood a teapot and cups of unadorned porcelain.

Just then the footsteps reached the door, and with a creak the door of the meditation room was pushed open from outside and someone stepped in. Ming Li looked at him and started slightly: it was a young monk he had never seen, a stranger, carrying a wooden tray on which sat a fresh water jug. The monk did not glance toward Ming Li but went straight to the table in the room and exchanged the teapot there for the one on his tray.

"You... who are you?" Ming Li asked, but he had barely got out a single word when his throat seized with pain—not the blazing fire of his unconscious hours, but miserable enough—and his voice died away to a rasp.

Even so, it gave the young monk a fright; he spun around at once, and in his haste nearly upset the tray in his hands.

"Ah, you're awake?" The young monk seemed quite surprised, yet delight showed in his eyes. He smiled: "Wait here, I'll go call my senior brothers to come see you at once."

With that he made to run out the door, and Ming Li, at his back, asked hoarsely: "Little master, if I may ask—where is this place?"

The young monk turned his head and smiled, his face innocent and fair, and said: "Here? Why, this is Fan Yin Temple, of course!"

Fan Yin Temple!

Ming Li was struck dumb, as though a thunderbolt had hit him. The young monk trotted off, no doubt to fetch the others, leaving Ming Li alone to lie back woodenly on the bed, his heart in utter turmoil.

Fan Yin Temple...

Astonishment and doubt churned in his heart, and yet, somehow, another bitterness rose from deep within him as well.

Fan Yin Temple... Fan Yin Temple... Pu Zhao...

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Voices came faintly from afar, and several footsteps approached the meditation room; someone seemed to be questioning the young monk in a low voice, and the young monk, plainly young and merry, answered with laugh upon laugh.

Somehow, listening to that question and answer, Ming Li fell into a reverie; he did not think of his present plight, nor of old grudges—at this moment he suddenly, for no reason, found himself envying this ordinary young monk. Innocent and merry as he was, perhaps he did not yet know that the world holds sorrow and hatred too?

Youth and ignorance—and was that, after all, the happiest time of all our years?

The footsteps halted abruptly just outside the door, and someone said to the young monk: "You need not go in. Why not run to the rear courtyard and inform the abbot—tell him that benefactor Zhang Qingyue has awakened."

The young monk laughed: "Very well. But senior brother Fa Cheng, you promised to teach me the Great Brahma Prajna—you can't go back on that."

The one outside laughed: "Little rascal, so greedy—off with you. I gave you my word, and I won't go back on it."

The young monk was plainly delighted; with a chuckle he went off, skipping and bouncing. The wooden door swung open with a creak, and someone seemed to pause outside a moment, drawing a deep breath, and then came in.

It was Fa Cheng indeed, and behind him, still, that tall, burly monk Fa Jing.

In pale moon-white monk's robes, face fair and clean, prayer beads in hand, Fa Cheng looked as though not a hair had changed in these ten years. Slowly he walked toward the wooden bed where Ming Li lay, and when he reached it and their eyes met, for a moment neither of them had anything to say.

The mood in the room turned somewhat strange; after a moment Fa Cheng's lips curved in a faint smile, and pressing his palms together he saluted Ming Li: "Benefactor Zhang, you are awake?"

The corner of Ming Li's eye twitched, and suddenly he said coldly: "My surname is not Zhang. I forgot that name long ago."

Fa Cheng's expression did not change; he only looked at Ming Li, and after a while said softly: "What name you take is of course your own affair. But if you would discard even your surname—have you thought whether that is worthy of the parents who bore and raised you?"

Ming Li's face changed; he gave a cold snort but said nothing more, and turned his head away, refusing to look at him.

Fa Cheng did not seem to take offense. He and Fa Jing, as they regarded this demonic heresiarch, spurned by all the righteous sects under heaven, showed in their eyes nothing but kindness. Fa Jing fetched two chairs from beside the round table behind them and set them by the bed, saying quietly: "Senior brother, please sit."

Fa Cheng nodded and sat down, looking at Ming Li. "How does your body feel now?"

He need not have asked; Ming Li had long since secretly taken stock of himself. The ribs in his chest, shattered by the grievous blow, had been set completely and were now bound tight with thick bandages, plainly to hold them in place; as for the many cuts and bruises on his shoulder and body, all had been dressed, and though pain came from the wounds now and again, a cool sensation stole through them as well—clearly a most excellent medicine had been applied, to work such effect.

Fa Cheng, receiving no answer, was not angered. He smiled: "While you were unconscious I set your broken bones. The other hurts are not serious; it is your inner organs that took the grievous injury, and they must be nursed with care before they mend. It is fortunate your constitution is strong—otherwise, even one of deep cultivation might not have survived such wounds."

He paused, then went on: "My young junior brother has told you, I think—this is Fan Yin Temple. Apart from a few of us in the temple, no one under heaven knows you are here, so you are quite safe. Only rest and heal your wounds here..."

Ming Li suddenly cut him off, looking him straight in the eye: "Was it you who saved me?"

The smile on Fa Cheng's face stiffened; he seemed to hesitate, and glanced back at Fa Jing, who lowered his head and softly invoked the Buddha's name.

Fa Cheng turned back, hesitated no longer, and nodded: "Yes."

Ming Li snorted: "Don't tell me you don't know what will happen if Canglan Gate learns of this."

Fa Cheng said mildly: "Of course I know."

Ming Li laughed coldly: "Then why do you still defy your masters to save a demonic heresiarch like me?"

Fa Cheng glanced at him, and somehow there was something strange in his gaze. Ming Li frowned: "What are you looking at?"

Fa Cheng smiled: "How do you know that I must be defying my masters to save you?"

Ming Li started: "What?"

Fa Cheng said leisurely: "In those days the heads of the seven branches of Canglan Gate were no ordinary men; each had something uncommon about him. Zeng Shuchang, head of Wind-Return Peak, was one of them. To fight him then, to hold him entangled, and in so short a time not to reveal the arts of our sect—such skill as that, I confess, I could not manage."

Ming Li stared at Facheng, watching him long and hard. Facheng met his gaze openly, his smile never wavering. After a long while, Ming Li suddenly closed his eyes and looked at Facheng no more. Facheng gave a slight nod and said, "Your wounds are grave and not yet healed. You still need to rest more than anything."

With his eyes shut, Ming Li suddenly asked, "Why did you save me?"

Facheng was silent for a moment, then said mildly, "That is a question I cannot answer."

Ming Li drew a deep breath and said, "Why?"

Facheng softly intoned a Buddha's name and said, "There is no need to be anxious. In a few days, when your injuries have greatly improved, someone will tell you."

Ming Li opened his eyes and frowned. "Who?"