Chapter 55: Ashes (I)

Ji Ye did not believe in Buddha, yet the capital was filled with temples, and the people of the Great Yan Dynasty held Buddhism as their sole faith. Today, as if driven by fate, he found himself walking to the Grand Buddha Temple.

Since childhood, any Buddhist scripture that passed his ears would be etched in his memory, growing clearer with time rather than fading. It was as though he was born with this gift, yet ironically, he neither believed in Buddhism nor liked it. In fact, he despised it. Still, he could not restrain the urge to draw near. This contradiction had plagued him since he first became aware of the world.

Before she appeared, this inner conflict only troubled him occasionally. But after her arrival, he was tormented by it every day and night. Only when he embraced her could he forget the Buddha, forget his inner struggle, and sleep soundly until dawn.

Within the Hall of Great Hero, the towering golden Buddha stood with a lotus gesture, its visage dignified and compassionate as it gazed upon all living beings. On the floor sat over a hundred shaven-headed monks, draped in yellow robes and cassocks, their lips moving softly as streams of scripture seemed to float out. He saw golden swastikas shining, gathering in the air to form a river.

The Buddha’s teaching is boundless, saving all sentient beings.

But, O Buddha, I have encountered a piece of rotten wood.

Nowhere in heaven or earth can another be found with an obsession as deep as hers.

I do not understand her, nor do I understand myself.

The Buddha bells and wooden fish resounded, sandalwood incense curling upward, pausing at the golden Buddha’s eyes, as if the smoke stung them. He saw the great Buddha weeping.

Tears—compassion.

Buddha, for whom do you weep?

Do you pity me?

Do you pity that I have no place for you in my heart?

But then, how do you explain my gift? Was I a monk in a previous life?

The great Buddha remained silent, only holding its lotus gesture, gazing solemnly at mortals.

Believers adore you, thinking you can dissolve all suffering, but I know you are only a clay statue, gilded with gold leaf yet hollow within.

You show mercy to all, teaching them to rid themselves of the seven woes and eight sufferings by believing in you. Yet, do you know? Without greed, anger, or ignorance, without longing, resentment, love, or separation, life would lose all meaning.

Buddha, can you tell me what I am?

Human? Demon? Immortal? Buddha?

Where does my path of cultivation lie?

Buddha, what am I to do with that little beast?

Supreme Dharma filled his ears, golden Buddha filled his eyes. He stood lost at the Buddha’s feet.

Both the Buddha and she resided in his heart, and he did not know what to abandon or what to keep.

At that moment, a young monk in white Buddhist garb approached, a compassionate smile on his face, without a trace of arrogance. Seeing Ji Ye, he chanted “Amitabha” and said, “Good sir, the sea of suffering has no shore; turn back to find salvation.”

Ji Ye parted his lips, intending to respectfully chant in return, but instead, a cold smile tugged at his mouth and he swept his sleeve to leave.

Just then, an elderly man in white Buddhist attire entered from outside, something draped over his arm. As he reached Ji Ye’s side, he gently unfolded it—it was a Buddhist robe. Without a word, the elder raised the robe above his head with both hands in reverence. Ji Ye gazed at the robe for a long time, his eyes clear as glass. He put his palms together and softly intoned, “I understand.”

He draped the robe over his own shoulders and strode out of the hall.

The Grand General of the Imperial Guards, who had been searching the mountains, awaited him outside the hall. Upon seeing Ji Ye in Buddhist robes, he started in surprise, then quickly lowered his head and reported, “Your Majesty, I am incompetent—I did not find her.”

The Hall of Great Hero was built atop a high mountain; the altitude lofty, the sky seemed within reach from the stone steps, and looking down, the masses appeared as tiny as ants.

He looked up at the sky and issued a cold command, “Set fire to the mountain. Force her to come out. That monster—I have resolved to destroy her.”

The general accepted the order and left.

In the Flower Valley, Daidai suddenly looked up at the sky, her heart thumping wildly.

The sky was blue, the clouds white as cotton, birds occasionally swept past, but she saw nothing else. Still, unease gripped her heart.

She bent down, gathered the herbs she had collected into her arms, and hurried back.

It was dusk again. Qiu Yun and the other three were tending a fire, roasting meat. From afar, their lively chatter could be heard.

“Miss, where have you been?” Hearing footsteps, Qiu Yun hurried over to help.

Daidai handed her the herbs. “These will heal the scars on Xia Ji’s face and your own wounds. Take them and leave this place. I’ll have the black python show you the way.”

Everything happened so suddenly that Qiu Yun was stunned. When Chun Mo and the others heard, they hurried over, four pairs of eyes fixed on Daidai, hoping she would explain.

Daidai swept her gaze coldly over them. “You can leave on your own, or I’ll have the python drag you out of Mount Fallen Phoenix. Your choice.”

Her tone was firm, allowing no argument.

“But…” Chun Mo began, but Daidai had already lost patience. She hissed several times, and four black pythons slithered from the woods. They would not reason with the girls. With a flick of their tails, they wrapped around the four and dragged them away.

“Miss!” the four cried.

“Go!” Daidai didn’t look at them, but lay quietly atop a large blue stone.

The forest canopy was dense, the stream murmured, birds and beasts called all around. Once, this wild mountain had brought her the comfort of home, but now she felt only danger, as if something dreadful was about to happen.

As darkness closed in, she heard the sound of axes. Soon after, flames blazed in the southeast.

She sprang up, fists clenched in fury.

“Monster, come out!” the soldiers’ shouts echoed through the mountains. Daidai felt ice cold—she understood now what those searching for her intended.

The fire turned half the sky red. She heard the anguished cries of the mountain’s spirits.

All this disaster, she had brought upon them!

Hatred surged in her heart.

She could pursue him, obsessed for countless lifetimes, but she could not drag the others down with her.

A flat-necked snake, burned black with its tail reduced to ash, struggled to her side, hissed weakly, then died.

Daidai’s eyes reddened with fury. Gritting her teeth, she tore a strip from her skirt, bit her finger, and wrote a line in blood, then tied the bloodstained message around the imperial python’s neck. “Go, take this letter to them. Tell them to put out the fire. When the fire stops, I will come out.”

The imperial python hesitated for a moment but, seeing its dead companion on the ground, sped away as fast as lightning.

Outside the forest, on the high ground, the army had set up camp. In the center stood a yellow tent, imperial banners flying beside it, signifying the emperor’s presence.

The imperial python’s slender body flashed through the night like lightning. Unless it wished to be seen, no human would notice it.

Within the camp, where men bustled about, it took some time to find a familiar person. Who knows how it got in, but at that moment, Li Fuquan was serving tea. “Your Majesty, please have some.”

Suddenly, the python’s hissing startled Li Fuquan so much he nearly dropped the cup. Ji Ye turned sharply and immediately saw the cloth tied around the snake’s neck.

“Bring it here,” he ordered, though it was unclear whom he spoke to. Li Fuquan, terrified of venomous snakes, dared not approach. The imperial python did not delay; it rolled on the ground and the strip of cloth slipped off.

Li Fuquan was delighted, waving his horsetail whisk to shoo the snake away. Hissing, perhaps in disdain, the python turned and shot out the door like lightning.

The guards outside were none the wiser.

Ji Ye took the cloth strip in hand but did not look at it. “Tell them to put out the fire. Prepare.”

As for what to prepare, Li Fuquan, being involved, knew all too well. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Your Majesty, are you truly willing?”

“I am. She should have died long ago.”

“Yes, sir.”

With orders in hand, Li Fuquan could be ruthless.

Mount Fallen Phoenix was thick with trees and precipitous slopes, waterfalls and caves as plentiful as cattle in the field. The deeper one went, the easier it was to get lost. Ferocious beasts and birds prowled its depths—no wonder even with so many soldiers, Ji Ye could not find Daidai.

When they set the mountain alight, they had already cleared a firebreak. The first burn targeted the outer forests. If Daidai did not emerge, the second would burn deeper still. If she persisted, the third would be a raging inferno, destroying every living creature on the mountain.

With the army present, the flames were quickly suppressed, but by then night had fallen.

The moon rose full and round, the night of the full moon, a time for reunion.

In the burned forest, charred ground and smoldering trees marked the devastation. With every step, Daidai saw corpses—snakes, rabbits, pheasants, and others—all turned to cinders.

She mourned for her kind, her eyes burning red.

“The monster is here!”

A rough-voiced soldier shouted, quickly summoning many others. They pointed their swords, spears, and halberds at her, murderous intent in their eyes.

Since she had promised the Yu family she would not die, she cherished her life, retreating slowly toward the heart of the forest, though not truly fleeing. She stopped beneath a phoenix tree.

To the soldiers, she said, “I want to see him.”