Chapter 279: The Great Impermanence Seal

Ding Songyan checked on Huien’s unconscious state to see whether another blow was needed.

Then he and Twelfth Madam Luo left the meditation room and closed the wooden door behind them.

Given how unpopular Huien was, no one would disturb him before he woke on his own.

Following the scene revealed in Huien’s dream, Ding Songyan and Twelfth Madam Luo, sharing the umbrella, found the side courtyard on Shilin Temple’s east side without much trouble.

The courtyard gate was shut, but through the Chaos Realm, Ding Songyan reflected most of the rooms inside into his sea of consciousness.

Simple, tidy, with only one monk inside.

Ding Songyan lifted the door ring and knocked three times, lightly.

"Come in." A deep, somewhat low voice came from within.

Ding Songyan pushed open the gate and, with Twelfth Madam, walked over the damp stone path to the eaves facing the main entrance.

A monk stood at the door of the main building, wearing a yellow monk’s robe under a red kasaya. Golden snakes coiled around both his ears, his skin had a faint red-copper hue, his cheeks were gaunt, his brows thick and long, and his eyes slightly protruding. His bearing was quite stern.

"This old monk is Faxin. What brings you two benefactors here?" the monk asked in a low voice after making a Buddhist proclamation.

As Ding Songyan crossed the little courtyard, he had already entered the Celestial Heart state and used Candle-Star Pupils, studying Faxin for a few breaths as he had Huien, and confirmed the man was not Two-Faced and carried no falsehood.

He had also opened his yin eyes to look at the netherworld, in case the Demon Sovereign was hiding in the underworld through some evil entity, but found nothing.

At the same time, as he and Twelfth Madam Luo neared the main building, more of this side courtyard was outlined in the Chaos Realm: Someone had lived here, but apart from Monk Faxin, no one else was present.

"Supervising Monk, the two of us wanted to discuss something with you and asked our way here," Ding Songyan said with a smile, lowering the oiled-paper umbrella.

Faxin’s expression shifted slightly, but he kept a mild manner.

"Benefactors, why not wait in the reception hall? This old monk will first ask the guest-receiving monk about the situation."

Ding Songyan could tell Faxin was faintly annoyed.

Where’s the guest-receiving monk? Where’s his personal disciple? Letting strangers walk right up to the supervising monk like this?

"Of course. Sorry to trouble you, Supervising Monk," Ding Songyan replied courteously.

"Amitabha." Faxin’s expression eased, and he watched the man and woman open the oiled-paper umbrella, turn, and walk toward the gate in the dim, rainy night.

Twelfth Madam Luo gazed at the fine rain in the night and said to Ding Songyan in a normal voice that didn’t go far, "Faxin’s name and reality don’t match."

Name and reality don’t match? This was the first time Ding Songyan had heard Twelfth Madam say that about anyone.

Even with Huien earlier, she hadn’t said that about the "Go Monk."

That was understandable. Huien’s reputation was poor, which matched his "reality."

However, as Shilin Temple’s supervising monk, Faxin, who handled all kinds of mundane affairs, had no great accomplishment in Buddhist teaching, and though he had studied the Nine Realms True Words as a secondary, he had made no real progress. He was formidable with the Great Impermanence Seal as his main art but had never been able to reach the perfected Dharma Realm. No one thought him an eminent monk, only a worldly man good at getting things done.

Even such a worldly monk is a mismatch in name and reality?

Surely Faxin isn’t actually a virtuous eminent monk and great Buddhist scholar?

Ding Songyan was about to ask when Twelfth Madam Luo added on her own, "Wicked. His virtue is severely lacking."

Wicked? He’s done immoral things? Ding Songyan asked in a low voice, "Is he guilty of anything?"

The substance of a guilty man against the reputation of Shilin Temple’s supervising monk would be another kind of mismatch between name and reality. If his virtue is that lacking, then he very likely carries karmic sin, depending on whether it’s great evil or small.

"Only in certain situations and with certain people can I see whether someone carries karmic sin," Twelfth Madam Luo explained briefly.

This wasn’t what her art was good at.

Deputy Chief Luo Feng was in charge of Hu Chaohui’s case. Even if he treated Faxin with courtesy, he should have checked for guilt, great or small. Since Faxin was still at Shilin Temple, that meant nothing serious... which contradicts that severe lack of virtue... Ding Songyan thought as he approached the gate, letting his face take on a bird shape, with several white patterns appearing and his eyes turning deep as a lake.

The anomaly vanished in an instant.

Mirror Lake Divine Reflection!

Ding Songyan suddenly turned and said with a smile to Monk Faxin, who was watching the two of them from behind, "Supervising Monk, I just remembered one more thing."

As he spoke, he held the oiled-paper umbrella and strode toward Monk Faxin.

This was what he had planned to do all along. His earlier "gracious agreement" had only been a way of giving Faxin some rope, so that Faxin would let his guard down.

With Twelfth Madam Luo’s judgment, Ding Songyan walked with great confidence.

Twelfth Madam Luo did not follow and stayed at the gate, sheltering from the rain under its eaves.

She was cooperating with Ding Songyan, using this posture to make Faxin believe the visitor had indeed just remembered something and had not come prepared, so only one person had come back, not both.

"What is it?" Faxin frowned slightly.

Ding Songyan stopped at the foot of the steps to the main building without lowering the umbrella, to show he’d be quick.

He asked with a smile, "Supervising Monk, where is your karmic sin?"

Almost at the same moment, he heard Faxin’s inner voice.

Karmic sin? Why would he ask that? What does he mean?

A normal person’s reaction shouldn’t be "what," but confusion, right? Ding Songyan grew more confident.

Faxin’s expression darkened.

"Benefactor, what do you mean by that?"

Ding Songyan smiled gently.

"Supervising Monk, I was actually invited by the Martial Prohibition Bureau to investigate Hu Chaohui’s death."

The Bureau suspects me? Impossible! Faxin’s eyes narrowed as he said in a low voice, "Do you have proof?"

Ding Songyan answered with a question of his own, "Was it you, Supervising Monk, who told the Accumulated Evil Way that Hu Chaohui seemed to have developed a heart demon, and roughly when?"

What... Faxin blurted out, "Benefactor, you’re spouting slander!"

Ding Songyan looked at Faxin and said in an even voice, "Supervising Monk, the Bureau asked for my help because they value my special ability. What I’m good at is..."

The corners of Ding Songyan’s mouth curled up bit by bit into a slightly mocking smile.

"Mind reading."

Mind reading... No longer concerned with examining what he had just thought, Faxin turned, stepped forward, formed a mudra with both palms, and pressed them toward Ding Songyan.

A gust of unruly wind sprang up, whipping the rain into slanting sheets across the little courtyard. Wisps of vapor, more fog than cloud, drifted into view as well, scattered in ragged patches, one here, another there.

It was inconspicuous on a rainy night and also blocked any gazes that might fall on them.

Faxin’s right palm was above, his left hidden below, eerie and drifting, his five fingers shifting unpredictably.

Ding Songyan, holding the umbrella, took a step sideways. Two wisps of cloud behind him suddenly solidified into palms but struck empty air, while the palm seal that had been in front of him vanished eerily into the clouds and rain.

This was the Great Impermanence Seal: form is emptiness and emptiness is form, form and emptiness converting into each other, ever-changing and impermanent, like the wild wind in the mountains and the clouds it blows.

Faxin followed closely behind Ding Songyan. His faintly red-copper palm slammed toward the other’s chest, vanished halfway, and re-formed from the side out of the clouds.

Ding Songyan, holding the umbrella, stepped back, avoiding the palm just in time.

Faxin followed with a stride. His left palm formed an earth-touching mudra and struck downward from above, while his right hand, fingers slightly curled, seemed to seize and grab.

Both hid in the wild wind and clouds halfway. One became a dark cloud pressing down, its index finger reaching for the enemy’s crown. The other used a rope of cloud mixed with true qi, nearly solid, to grab Ding Songyan’s ankle, unconstrained by Faxin’s own posture.

Ding Songyan stepped back again, before the cloud could catch his ankle, and the descending dark cloud nearly brushed his face.

Clang!

A sword’s ringing sounded, and a flash of cold light blazed.

Ding Songyan finally drew his sword, pulling the 72-cm sword from the umbrella handle.

The cold light shot forward like lightning. The wild wind abruptly died and the clouds dispersed, leaving Faxin, who had been about to press his advantage, standing alone in the cold rain.

His Great Impermanence Seal was defeated instantaneously.

Faxin should have dodged, regrouped, and brought impermanence back, but he had chased too hard, and his eyes were already full of chilling sword light.

After breaking the Great Impermanence Seal, the 72-cm sword lost none of its momentum and landed at Faxin’s throat.

The red-copper sheen on Faxin’s neck suddenly intensified, as hard as metal, stopping the sword tip and letting it pierce only a hair’s breadth.

Though the supervising monk mainly cultivated the Great Impermanence Seal, he had also practiced a bit of the Nine Realms True Words and the Vajra Bodhi Art. His mastery in the Nine Realms True Words was close to none, but his Vajra Bodhi Art was at the level of someone just entering the Dharma Realm, and it saved him from a fatal blow and bought him a chance to turn things around.

Faxin had barely had the thought when he felt the skin, flesh, bone, and true qi at his throat all dissolve into the sword tip, becoming part of a strange darkness.

His true qi surged out with it as if returning home, impossible to hold back.

Returning Abyss? Faxin was horrified, kicked out with both feet and followed with his palms, but Ding Songyan, using the sword tip as a pivot, lifted, pressed, or dissolved each one before it could be launched.

Twelfth Madam Luo, at the courtyard gate, saw this and said quietly, "How can a man of such corrupt character be allowed to preside over a pure Buddhist sanctuary?"

As soon as she spoke, the small courtyard seemed to reject Faxin and turn to the name of the person of greatest virtue present.

The rainy night darkened slightly, but to outsiders, nothing was happening here.

In just a few breaths, a small hole appeared at Faxin’s throat. No blood flowed. It was only a darkness, joined to the sword tip.

The hole kept eating inward, and Faxin’s breath rapidly weakened.

Just then, Ding Songyan heard a strange sound.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

What is this?

Ding Songyan suddenly realized:

It was his own heartbeat.

It was getting faster and faster!

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Like a war drum!

In Ding Songyan’s vision, the monk before him had changed his face. His features were as sharply cut as if carved by axe, his hair black streaked with white, with fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth, yet it didn’t diminish a godlike, demonic charm.

Demon Sovereign Tan Guanchan.

Tan Guanchan reached out his right hand, its fingers like cast cyan jade now stained pure black, and seemingly slowly pointed at Ding Songyan’s forehead.

Ding Songyan, gripped by terror and shock, couldn’t move an inch. Only a point of warm, yellowish candlelight in his sea of consciousness guarded his mind, keeping him from sinking completely.

Suddenly, he heard a clear cry.

It seemed to come from beyond the ninth heaven, clear, lovely, and echoing endlessly, shattering the darkness and scattering stillness over him.

Ding Songyan came to at once, and before his eyes was still the dying Monk Faxin.

At the courtyard gate, Twelfth Madam Luo had drawn her hatchet. The clear cry just now had been made by her flicking the blade with a finger.

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