Chapter Thirty-Two: Each in Their Turmoil

The monks were thrown into great panic, summoning their force of warrior monks to rush out from the main gate, thundering toward the rear mountain valley. This route from the front to the back mountain was nearly a hundred li, and by the time the monks reached the valley, it was already midday. They searched everywhere, but not a single trace could be found—only discarded cloth and fresh horse manure. It seemed those masked men had prepared in advance, hiding swift horses in the valley and, before stealing the scriptures, had circled the monastery to stash the cloth in the trees for later use. The monks returned, crestfallen, with nothing to show for their efforts.

Abbot Xuanzhen, upon hearing of the loss of the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic, was not overly panicked. He merely instructed everyone not to spread word of this incident and ordered the Disciplinary Hall to quietly investigate the whereabouts of the masked men. Xuanzhen was well aware that the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic and the Marrow-Cleansing Classic were originally written in Sanskrit by the ancestor Bodhidharma, and save for a handful of eminent monks, few could comprehend them. During the Zhenguan era, the eminent monk Xuanzang returned from his pilgrimage and set up a translation hall at White Horse Temple, where he translated and revised scriptures, including these two classics into Chinese. Later, both the original Sanskrit manuscripts and their translations were entrusted to Shaolin Temple, in the hope that the monks there could seek enlightenment through martial practice and the contemplation of Chan. During Emperor Gaozong’s reign, the great monk Tan Jing, seeing the extraordinary power of the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic and the Marrow-Cleansing Classic, feared that ordinary warrior monks lacked the necessary discipline and that practicing them might do more harm than good, sowing seeds of delusion rather than aiding cultivation. Thus, on his deathbed, he decreed that the original Sanskrit versions be sealed within the Stupa Shrine, never to be seen by the world again, leaving only the translations by Master Xuanzang.

When Xuanzhen became abbot of Shaolin, seeing the covetous eyes of many martial heroes upon the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic and the Marrow-Cleansing Classic, he worried that storing them in the Library Pavilion was unsafe. He personally selected a page from each of the seventy-two ultimate skills of Shaolin, copying them to create two plausible forgeries under the guise of the two classics, placing them openly in the Library Pavilion. Meanwhile, he concealed the actual translation of the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic within a hidden compartment in the wall of the Library Pavilion. The Marrow-Cleansing Classic, on the other hand, he placed in the Dharma Hall for the contemplation of a few senior warrior monks. Only he, the head of the Dharma Hall Xuanquan, the head of the Arhat Hall Xuanyun, and the head of the Disciplinary Hall Xuanyan were privy to this arrangement. As fate would have it, the secret compartment was directly above the iron chest where Li Duozuo had hidden his belongings.

Though the two books were forgeries, each page contained authentic excerpts from the seventy-two skills, their content profound and the words precious. Yet, when read in sequence, the passages were disjointed and obscure, their meaning elusive. Should the books fall into other hands, none but those who knew the truth could recognize them as fakes. But if anyone attempted to practice these arts as recorded, not only would they fail to master the Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic and the Marrow-Cleansing Classic, but since each excerpt was but a fragment, they could not even acquire any of the seventy-two skills in full.

Even after these precautions, Xuanzhen could not rest easy. He ordered a young novice to guide him to the Library Pavilion. Entering the courtyard, he saw the wall freshly whitewashed and was taken aback. He quickly summoned the attendant warrior monk and asked, “Who whitewashed this wall?” The monk replied, “Last night, Jia Neng from the Repairs Hall did it. Not only did he whitewash the wall, but he also replaced the old bricks inside.” Xuanzhen was seized by terror. He opened the hidden compartment at once, only to find the bottom a chaotic mess of bricks and mud—no sign of the book remained. Fury and distress overwhelmed him; with a cry, he collapsed unconscious to the ground.

The monks hurried to revive the abbot. Xuanzhen gradually regained consciousness and, in a trembling voice, ordered, “Summon Huiguang to see me at once.” A monk rushed off to deliver the command, and soon Huiguang arrived, breathless from running. Xuanzhen asked, “Who ordered Jia Neng to repair the wall?” Huiguang, believing he was about to be praised, was startled by Xuanzhen’s wrathful appearance and dared not breathe loudly, stammering, “Jia Neng noticed the wall was damp and said that if it wasn’t repaired, it would collapse in time, so I allowed him to do it.” Xuanzhen roared, “Where is Jia Neng now?” Huiguang replied, “At dawn, Jia Neng said there was much damage from last night’s battle, so he went down the mountain early to buy bricks and mats and hasn’t returned.” At that moment, monks sent to search below the mountain returned with news: early that morning, a monk carrying an iron chest had paid a high price for a swift horse in the town at the foot of Mount Song, heading southeast. The innkeeper said the monk resembled Jia Neng from the Repairs Hall. Xuanzhen, suppressing his rage, asked, “What is Jia Neng’s secular name? Where is he from? Was he registered upon entering the temple?” Huiguang hemmed and hawed for a long time before admitting, “I only knew he was skilled and we were short-handed, so in my haste… I forgot to ask.” One of the attendant warrior monks interjected, “I heard the masked man call him Zhu Shitian.” Xuanzhen was shocked—Zhu Shitian was a wealthy man from Hengyang who had gone missing days before, and now it turned out he had infiltrated Shaolin disguised as a monk. Xuanzhen realized that Jia Neng and the masked man had used a classic diversion tactic, but he had not anticipated so many twists within the plot. He immediately ordered, “Send word to the Disciplinary Hall and the Arhat Hall—apprehend Jia Neng with all possible force. Take Huiguang and Xuanhui to the Disciplinary Hall for interrogation by Xuanyan himself!”

On hearing these words, Huiguang was so terrified that he wet his trousers and collapsed, unable to move.

Leaving Shaolin Temple in chaos, let us turn to Li Chongjun, Zi Wuzhuo, head of the Xuanji Court Ji Wuce, and Du Xin, who had arrived in Guihua City within the borders of Youzhou. This city was the seat of the Youzhou Governor’s Office and also the headquarters of the Crane God Sect. Zi Wuzhuo deduced that since White Snake and Ghost Sword had kidnapped Zi Lan, they would not linger in the south but would hasten back to their stronghold, where they would be safer. Thus, they decided to go directly to Guihua City to rescue her. To avoid a fruitless effort, Yang Wuji, head of the Thunder Palace, led Song Changkong, Wu Ge, and Ma Beifang to Hengyang City to investigate in secret. Master Wuxin, head of the Mirror Flower Barge, and Wen Wuya, head of the Pavilion of Inquiries, canvassed the martial world for news.

Though Ji Wuce’s name meant “without strategy,” in truth he was full of resourcefulness and deep stratagem. He advised Li Chongjun to openly demand the captive from the Crane God Sect’s headquarters with Du Xin, while he and Zi Wuzhuo provided covert support. He reasoned that once Li Chongjun caused a commotion, the sect would move Zi Lan to a safer place, at which point they could discover her whereabouts and make their move.

Li Chongjun, anxious beyond measure, went straight to the headquarters. In Youzhou, the Crane God Sect had many followers, so finding their headquarters was not difficult. When he asked for directions, the person he approached turned out to be a sect follower, who, thinking they sought to join, eagerly led them to the Celestial Temple—the sect’s headquarters. The Celestial Temple had once been a desolate Taoist temple, but after the Crane God Sect took it over through various means, it became their main base and was now bustling with incense-burning devotees. Believers of all kinds came and went, offering wealth and prayers before the statue of the Crane God. The first great hall housed the statue of the Crane God, and young men in red brocade robes embroidered with proud, silver cranes moved about, attending to the worshippers—these were presumably the stewards of the sect. The second hall behind was a place for lectures; several older red-robed stewards expounded doctrines, blending Buddhist and Daoist legends into the mythology of the Crane God. Their eloquence was remarkable, and the audience was rapt, utterly entranced by the stories.

The third hall beyond was much quieter, with only one steward scrubbing the floor amid scattered meditation mats—a place for followers to sit in contemplation. Beyond the hall was a moon gate, through which tall trees and many red-brick, green-tiled buildings could be seen. Exchanging glances, Li Chongjun and Du Xin proceeded to walk toward the rear. Two red-robed stewards appeared in the moon gate and blocked their way. “Fated ones, you must stop here,” one said. Du Xin replied, “Oh? We’re not allowed beyond this point?” The younger steward answered, “Beyond is the stewards’ private quarters. It would be inappropriate for guests to enter.” Du Xin retorted, “Since you call us fated ones, how could it be inappropriate? If you bar us, perhaps fate itself will be broken.” The older steward asked, “May I ask what brings you here today?” Du Xin replied, “We have heard of the mighty Crane God and have traveled from afar to see him in person.” The steward said, “You may worship the Crane God’s image in the main hall. If you are sincere, the divine one will sense it and bestow blessings upon you.” Du Xin scoffed, “What’s the use of bowing to a clay or wooden idol?” The young steward was furious. “How dare you disrespect the Crane God!” The older steward explained, “The Crane God has wandered the world for centuries, subduing evil and demons, only visiting the Celestial Temple to enjoy incense offerings when he has leisure. At this time, he is not present.” Du Xin said, “So the Crane God is hundreds of years old? Shouldn’t he be a white-haired old man, yet the statue is clearly of a youth.” The steward replied, “You are unaware—the divine one’s powers are boundless, able to take any form he wishes. He favors his youthful appearance, so we have fashioned his image accordingly.” Du Xin asked, “If the Crane God’s powers are so vast, can he bring the dead back to life?” Both stewards replied in unison, “Such trivial feats are nothing to him!” Du Xin laughed, “Excellent. Then let us see the Crane God’s powers for ourselves—allow us to send you two for a visit to the underworld!”

With that, he struck out with two fingers, hitting their vital points. The two red-robed stewards collapsed, dead on the spot.