Chapter Fifty-Three: A Fierce Battle by the River

Hui Zhu took the book and, upon seeing it, was instantly overjoyed, crying out, “This is the very scripture! Buddha bless us, Buddha bless us!”

On the other side, a burly monk called, “Hui Zhu! The Master-Uncle is about to cross the river, why aren’t you coming?”

Hui Zhu shouted, “Senior Hui Zhi, this benefactor has returned the scripture!” All the monks were astonished. Soon, they all hurried over. Hui Zhi, quick-handed, snatched the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Classic from Hui Zhu and brought it before the elderly monk at the head of the group, saying, “Master-Uncle, please look!”

The old monk examined it carefully, confirming it was the authentic copy and undamaged. His heart settled, he stepped forward, pressed his palms together, and said, “Benefactor, I am Xuan Fa and I thank you.”

Li Chongyuan quickly returned the gesture. Xuan Fa said, “For returning our monastery’s scripture, your virtue is great. Upon my return, I will report to the Abbot and our gratitude will be profound. May you tell us your name, so that our monks may burn incense and pray for your blessings.”

Hui Zhu interjected, “Master-Uncle, this benefactor is Li Chongyuan, and the two ladies are Lin Qingli and Lan Wutong. Previously, when I was in Sanhu Town, they once gave me food.”

Xuan Fa was about to reply when Hui Zhi suddenly cried, “Something’s wrong, Master-Uncle, come look!” Xuan Fa went over and saw a blot of ink on one of the pages of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Classic. Hui Zhi, being clever and of a rank seldom allowed to see this book, had taken the opportunity to quickly leaf through it, hoping to glean even a fragment of its martial secrets to greatly improve his own skills.

But on the last page, he found a drop of thick ink, which startled him into his outcry. Lin Qingli inwardly lamented: this must have happened when she copied the text, but though she was young, she was shrewd and showed no sign of distress.

In any case, the book had fallen from Zhu Shitian; any blame could be pushed onto him. Xuan Fa’s expression grew solemn as he pressed his palms together, “May I ask, benefactor, was a copy made of this scripture?” Li Chongyuan, unaware of Lin Qingli’s involvement, denied it at once. Xuan Fa continued, “May I ask how this scripture came into your possession? Please explain.”

Li Chongyuan briefly recounted how, the previous night, Zhu Shitian had stolen a boat, was discovered, and in the ensuing fight, lost the book. Xuan Fa said, “Buddha has protected us! Zhu Shitian plotted carefully, yet in the end, through Buddha’s will, the scripture returned to us by your hand. Your merit is boundless.”

Hui Zhi said, “This ink blot may not have been left by Zhu Shitian. Since he stole the book, he’d want to keep it for himself. Why would he make a copy? Unless…” His gaze grew sharp as he looked at Li Chongyuan.

Li Chongyuan, unable to restrain his anger, said, “If I meant to keep it, why would I hand it over?”

Hui Zhi replied, “By now, word has spread throughout the martial world that Zhu Shitian stole the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Classic from Shaolin. You know the monastery will soon track him down. By then, Zhu Shitian will claim the scripture was in your hands. You couldn’t hide it if you wanted to. So you might have copied it, returned the original, and when things quiet down, find a place to secretly practice until your skills are unmatched—then none could oppose you. But in your haste, you left this ink stain, which I have uncovered. Now you seek to deny everything. Isn’t that so?!”

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Xuan Fa was a senior monk of the Damo Hall, devoted to martial studies and rarely setting foot in the world, knowing little of its intrigues. Hui Zhi, however, was the chief disciple of the Discipline Hall, and spent more than half the year traveling, investigating the conduct of Shaolin’s disciples. Not only was his martial skill formidable, but his worldly experience was deep.

His words stoked suspicion in Xuan Fa, who fixed Li Chongyuan with a silent, searching gaze. Hui Zhu, anxious, exclaimed, “Master-Uncle, these three benefactors are good people. They would never do such a thing. Please judge wisely.”

Hui Zhi barked, “Hui Zhu! Stand aside! Hold your tongue!” Hui Zhu, clearly afraid, retreated and dared not speak, anxiety written across his face. Li Chongyuan, suppressing his anger, said, “What would it take for you to believe us?”

Hui Zhi’s sharp eyes had already noted that the three carried nothing hidden. He thought, “They’re just passing through; they wouldn’t stash something so important elsewhere. It must be in their luggage.” He said sternly, “Forgive us, but we must search your belongings.”

The three travelers had only a single bamboo trunk. Li Chongyuan himself carried only a small bundle with a few changes of clothes. Lan Wutong had brought nothing at all; carefree by nature, she’d simply buy new clothes when hers got dirty, tossing the old ones to poor girls along the road. She wore only a valuables pouch at her waist.

Lan Wutong’s eyes sparkled as she laughed, “So be it! The sooner you search, the sooner we can be on our way.” She untied her pouch and tossed it over. The young monks, rarely seeing women, now found themselves before two lovely girls and couldn’t help sneaking glances. When Lan Wutong threw her valuables pouch, they scrambled for it like a tossed silk ball. One quick monk caught it, opened it, and found only loose silver and several small jars—no manuscripts. Curious, he picked up a glass jar, only to find a large, blood-red spider inside, waving its legs menacingly. Startled, he shrieked and tossed the pouch back. Lan Wutong caught it and fastened it again at her waist, smiling, “Finished looking?”

The monk stammered, “Finished. There’s nothing like a copy inside.” But even as he spoke, his eyes swelled red, his vision blurred, and tears streamed uncontrollably. Suddenly it dawned on him: what woman would carry such a terrifying spider? She had to be a sorceress from Miaojiang, renowned for their mastery of poisons and curses. The more he thought, the more terrified he became. He began to wail, “Master-Uncle, save me! I’ve been poisoned! I’m going blind!”

The monks were thrown into chaos; none had expected Lan Wutong to harm someone from afar without lifting a finger.

Hui Zhi, furious, seized a Shaolin staff, shouting, “Demoness! You dare use poison! I will subdue you and rid the world of evil!”

But Xuan Fa, steady and experienced, intervened, “Venerable lady, my disciple was rude and offended you. Please, grant us the antidote and release him from his plight.”

Lan Wutong laughed, “This old monk speaks sense. Otherwise, I wouldn’t give you the antidote, even if you seize my valuables pouch. With so many medicines inside, who could tell which is the cure and which the poison? You wouldn’t dare eat them at random.”

She took out a pill and tossed it over. Hui Zhi caught it, sniffed, and said in surprise, “This is croton seed, not an antidote.”

Lan Wutong replied, “The spider’s venom is fierce. He must swallow the croton and have a violent purge for three days to expel the poison. And for three days, he must not see any women.”

Hui Zhi asked, “Three days without seeing women? Why?”

Lan Wutong explained, “The spider is yin, women are yin too. See a woman and the yin doubles—the poison will flare and his blindness will be beyond cure, even by the gods!”

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The young monk, who had been glaring at her despite his pain, now squeezed his eyes shut in terror, afraid that opening them even by accident would doom him. He even clamped his hands over his eyes.

Lan Wutong struggled not to laugh, whispering to Lin Qingli, “See how frightened that little bald-head is? I only used a bit of tear-powder—he’ll be fine in an hour at most. He shouldn’t have rummaged through my things and stared at us so rudely; now he’ll learn not to do it again.”

Lin Qingli covered her mouth, trying desperately not to laugh aloud. Li Chongyuan, not wishing for further trouble, simply tossed over his bundle. Hui Zhi caught it, rummaged thoroughly through the clothes, found nothing hidden, and hastily balled the garments up to toss them back. Hui Zhu took the bundle, carefully folded the clothes, tied it up neatly, and returned it to Li Chongyuan with both hands.

Li Chongyuan felt a great appreciation for Hui Zhu, while Hui Zhi only snorted coldly on the side. Now only the bamboo trunk remained—Lin Qingli’s clothing chest. After what happened with Lan Wutong’s pouch, no one dared search it. Hui Zhi ordered a novice to do it. The novice, no more than seventeen or eighteen, dared not disobey the Discipline Hall’s chief disciple. He nervously opened the chest and found only a jumble of women’s garments. Lifting away the dresses and skirts, he uncovered undergarments—a girl’s bodices and short trousers.

At his age, he had never seen such things in the monastery; the faint fragrance unique to young women clung to them. He blushed fiercely and, unable to help himself, brought the undergarment to his nose for a deep sniff.

The monks were stunned into silence, eyes wide with shock. Lin Qingli was mortified and furious. Xuan Fa shouted, “Kase! What are you doing?” The novice jerked as if struck by lightning, instantly coming to his senses. He dropped the undergarment, knelt before Xuan Fa, and stammered, “Master-Granduncle, there’s nothing with writing in that chest.”

Xuan Fa grunted. Hui Zhi barked, “Get to the back!” Kase dared not linger and hurried to the rear of the group. Lan Wutong giggled, “Kase? Yes, quite appropriate—how very amorous indeed.” Hui Zhi roared, “Demoness, do not slander Shaolin!”

Lan Wutong feigned surprise, “Oh? When did I slander Shaolin? Just now, that little monk was clutching my sister’s clothes and wouldn’t let go—everyone saw it. Will you deny it? Shall I tell my sister to gift him an old bodice she can’t wear anymore, so he doesn’t pine day and night for it?”

Lin Qingli shot her a fierce glare, but Lan Wutong was thoroughly amused. Hui Zhi was left speechless, nearly choking.

Li Chongyuan said, “You’ve searched us and the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Classic has been returned. I have other matters to attend to and will take my leave.” With that, he turned to go.

Hui Zhi, unwilling to let it rest, argued, “Who knows if you’ve memorized the scripture and will one day write it out from memory?”

Li Chongyuan, enraged, turned back and snapped, “How rude you are! I respected you as accomplished monks of Shaolin, and have held my peace, but you show no self-respect.”

Lan Wutong sneered, “These baldies are arrogant just because of Shaolin’s reputation. It’s about time someone taught them a lesson!”