Author: Zheng Jiao Xiao Hun

Translator: Xuannie Chan

Editor: Adrian S. Mei

 

Chapter 1

 

Lightning streaked across the sky, cleaving the night open, spilling light upon the lands. In its wake came ear-shattering thunder rolling across Mount Tianyu. Then the bolts came down relentlessly, setting the ground ablaze. Trees bent and broke; the land itself crumbled. All was devoured by the fire that seemed to have risen from the very depths of hell, malevolent flames that danced on the corpses of tree and bush, shrub and leaf. All the while, the thunder knocked like a funereal knell.

 

On the mountain, another bell rang frantically, its peals breaking through the cacophony, rippling through the Lanruo Temple, startling slumbering monks. At the sight of the blaze outside, the monks stuffed their feet into their shoes, armed themselves with buckets, and raced into the woods.

 

Amidst the hollering for haste, one monk in particular, Liaoxuan, paused. He heard a faint cry—a fitful song that wavered between a demon’s wail and an infant’s bawl. Intrigued, he went in search of it.

 

Finally, behind a boulder, he found a demon driven into a desperate corner by the fire. The creature had the form of a tailless mongrel, with a coat the colour of blood and fire, now charred black by lightning and flayed open to reveal flesh and bone. Its vulpine eyes were hooded and drooping, its breathing faint.

 

Liaoxuan gazed down with a look of quiet compassion, like that of a buddha. He held out his hand, stirring dust and dirt as his white kasaya shifted.

 

The demon lifted its head warily. A divine aura surrounded the monk, shielding him from feral winds and illuminating him like a beacon in the dark. The monk’s outstretched hand was untouched by smoke and ash—as clean as virgin snow, his fingertips rounded and soft, the lines on his palm as clear as day.

 

The creature’s gaze trailed up. It froze. Its eyes, red with the flames around them, stared at the monk’s face.

 

Amidst the fire turning the heavens ablaze and the urgent cries of his fellows filling the night, Liaoxuan made his way down stone steps in his straw sandals, out of the forest and back to the temple. In his arms was the demon, still as a corpse and barely breathing, its eyes shut tight. Scorched fur and seared flesh ran down its back in black and red, hanging limply from bared bones.

 

At last, the thunderstorm ceased. Light rain fell from the heavens, wetting stone steps and white kasaya, growing steadily until it eventually doused the raging fire.

 

Liaoxuan brought the demon back to his room and placed it on his bed. It remained unmoving, its eyes shut. The room fell into silence, broken only by the steady fall of rain outside.

 

“May the Buddha save you,” the monk murmured.

 

He ground some herbs together and applied the concoction onto the creature’s wounds. As the medicine seeped in like daggers sinking into open flesh, the demon cried. The woven straw under its claws was rent to shreds as it convulsed. Gasping, the demon gazed at the monk, violence poisoning its gleaming golden eyes. All the while, its broken body shuddered under the monk’s ministrations. As a single tear escaped from its eye, it froze, then looked away as though in shame.

 

“Monk,” it said. “Would you come closer?”

 

Liaoxuan did so without a question. Moments later, the demon’s cries of pain stopped. In their place was a muffled whimper.

 

When Liaoxuan was done, the creature’s muzzle glistened with streaks of tears yet undried. Blood painted its lips, red upon vicious red. The same red darkened Liaoxuan’s side as he left the room.

Word spread that on the night of the fire, Master Liaoxuan chose to save a strange demon of unknown origin and nature rather than putting out the fire. For his kindness, he was repaid with not a single word of gratitude but a bite that nearly took a chunk of flesh from his side. What a vicious creature the demon must be!

 

Eyes studied Liaoxuan and the gauze wrapped around his flank as he meditated in the morning and chanted sutras in the evening. But the monk’s mind was as still as an ancient pine, unbent by gossip and unbeholden to their curiosity.

 

As for the tailless demon, it had fallen into a deep slumber since. It lay on Liaoxuan’s bed, curled up by the window like a ragged cushion.

 

 

 

The day came that the Lanruo Temple saw an endless stream of incense rising to the heavens, scenting air and purifying spirits. Worshippers, who had flocked to the temple in greater numbers that day, had come to make their offerings to the buddhas of all realms and listen to Liaoxuan’s sermon.

 

Conducted over three days every year, Liaoxuan’s famed sermons drew pilgrims throughout the Kingdom of Chen who willingly suffered weeks of travel for a few words of his wisdom. Some said that, of the ten who heard his sermons, eight gained instant enlightenment, some even renouncing their secular ties on the spot.

 

By late morn, the lecture hall was filled with an eager audience. Liaoxuan sat before them, his voice gentle and measured in the brimming silence as he imparted truth and wisdom.

 

Beyond the entrance was a figure who stood apart from the rest with his distinctively cold air. His fiery red hair was bound in a golden crown and his white robes held together loosely by a belt, the pale expanse of his chest peeking out. In the middle of his brow was the red mark shaped like a flame.

 

With their backs to the doors, few noticed his presence. Liaoxuan was the only one who met his eyes squarely. The monk’s mild gaze lingered on him for a fleeting moment before gliding away, never to return.

 

Well-versed in the rules of the temple, Fuyan played attentive listener and did not interrupt Liaoxuan’s sermon.

 

He had awoken from his deep slumber hours ago. With what little strength he had, he shifted into human form, threw a robe over his wounded body and left in search of the monk. It was the first desire that seized his mind upon waking—to know if he had been mistaken. He would know the true face and power of the monk whom he had seen that night.

 

Now he had found his monk, albeit in the midst of his sermon, surrounded by his flock and out of reach, leaving him little choice but to loiter by the doors and have his eyeful from a distance.

 

As his scrutiny deepened, so did the twist of his lips. His eyes had not deceived him that night. It was a mighty monk who had found him, one but a few years away from attaining nirvana and ascending to Buddhahood.

 

Siddhartha Gautama had endured years of asceticism in his search for deliverance from suffering before gaining enlightenment under the Bodhi Tree. What had this monk suffered for his?

 

Out of nowhere, a pebble rolled to a stop by Fuyan’s feet, bringing him out of his thoughts. He watched as it listened attentively to the sermon, rocking back and forth as though nodding. His gaze lifted from the pebble to the monk. Apparently, the monk could bring even unfeeling stone around.

 

Just look at the stupid thing nodding along to his every word. What would a rock know!

 

Fuyan scoffed and left.

 

After the third day, the worshippers departed for their homes, returning peace and quiet to the temple. The tranquillity was stirred only by low chanting and the occasional birdcall.

 

True quietude though, was not to be found in the temple or valley but beyond the temple grounds, in a grove of seven-storey stupas on the other side of the mountain. Rising nearly one hundred twenty feet tall like towering pines, each stupa was shrine and silent guardian to a holy relic.

Liaoxuan emerged from the grove to Fuyan’s slim frame, with hair like fire bound in a crown, standing still before a tree. As he approached, he noticed the tree’s gnarly branches—and the fox, freshly deceased, on the branch. Its body was more bones than flesh, its coat dull and grey, and its cheeks sunken.

 

“Hunger killed it,” Fuyan said.

 

With quiet sorrow in his eyes, Liaoxuan murmured Buddha’s name for the creature. It earned a pointed look from Fuyan.

 

“It had gotten too weak. If it hadn’t died of starvation, it would’ve died in the jaws of a tiger or wolf.”

 

“May the suffering it endured in this life ease its next.”

 

Fuyan chuckled. His eyes glimmered like the deep, fathomless and inscrutable.

 

“I heard your sermon. The human desires what is worldly; the demon, to transcend the worldly and gain immortality; and the buddha, the truth. In this, the buddha appears the greediest. He wishes for freedom from mortal chains and a single truth that encapsulates the universe. He wants to spread his word and in return, earn eternal adoration and worship. His doctrine is rooted in avarice and pride. Why should anyone listen or believe in it?”

 

“The Buddha sought and shared truth so that we might know cause and effect and good from evil. He instructed us to free ourselves from our desires so that we may live a good life.”

 

“And if I were to ask you to let go of your desire for Buddhahood? Would you?”

 

“I am but a simple monk who has lived his whole life in the Lanruo Temple. I do not aspire towards Buddhahood, nor do I seek nirvana. I simply desire nothing.”

 

Fuyan’s fists tightened in his sleeves as he stared at the monk. Their exchange ended, and the monk left.

 

Moments later, a feng—a male phoenix—landed on the tree. It peered down at Fuyan, then transformed into a handsome man with snowy skin and a white plumed robe. He eyed Fuyan as he set the dead fox afire and wiped his hands clean of its ashes.

 

“I suppose you’ve found him.”

 

“I have,” said Fuyan.

 

“Why are you still here, then?”

 

“Where else should I be, Jingyun?”

 

Jingyun leapt off the tree and landed easily on his feet. “Faraway. Anywhere but near him.”

 

Fuyan curled his lips. “I have spent a century searching for him. I am not leaving.”

 

Snow-white locks shifted against Jingyun’s pale cheeks. He frowned. “Why would you subject yourself to such pain?”

 

“It matters not. I have little time left to suffer it.”

 

Jingyun’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Impossible!”

 

After a pause, Fuyan said, “Nothing is impossible.”

 

Jingyun’s eyes darkened with sorrow.

 

In his former glory, Fuyan had been a spirited, carefree demon far more gifted than his common brethren. He and Jingyun had made an oath under the celestial parasol tree then—in a thousand years, they would ascend as immortals and find each other again at the celestial banquet, where they would drink the Fairy of Lake Yao dry of her cellars.

 

In a blink, a thousand years had passed, and Fuyan must now renege his promise.

 

“I will speak to Shujue,” Jingyun said. “He always knows what to do.”

 

“You are no longer a nestling. When will you learn not to turn to that decrepit scoundrel every time you need help?” Fuyan tried to steer the subject away from himself as he tucked his handkerchief back into his sleeve.

 

“Fuyan, why do you insist on staying by his side?” Jingyun asked, a look of suspicion creeping onto his face. His eyes widened with knowing when Fuyan met them with a wry smile.

 

He fell silent in the face of Fuyan’s wordless confession—that he was depleted of his powers and dying. His aspirations for immortality had come to an end. The only thing that remained of him—that had survived all nine lifetimes—was this debt.

 

To stop Fuyan from paying it would be a cruelty as terrible as letting him do so.