Chapter 58: The Luo Book (II)

Sometimes, listening to a strange and mysterious person speak in incomprehensible words can be quite puzzling. Yet a few of the youths understood one thing: they were Tang people and did not need to bow their noble heads before any foreign race.

After all this turmoil, the youths lost interest in eating. Faced with a large plate of bright red, spicy dishes, none of them wanted to lift their chopsticks again. After hastily finishing lunch, Li Kuo and his group left the tavern and headed to Jianfu Temple.

Following the crowd, they soon arrived in front of the Mahavira Hall. Apparently, a high monk was teaching Buddhist teachings, and several layers of people surrounded the area. Li Kuo managed to squeeze through and stood on tiptoes to get a glimpse inside.

On the central platform, sitting cross-legged in a red robe, was a Tibetan Buddhist monk with a broad forehead, thick ears, and a plump build. He held a flower in one hand, teaching the believers Buddhist teachings.

“Buddha is merciful and compassionate toward all beings in the world. Those who follow this religion can go to the sacred land of Shambhala after death, where they can enjoy endless wine and meat. Joining this religion is simple—just pay five dou of fine rice, dip it in clean water, and apply it to your cheeks, and you can become a follower of this religion.”

The monk’s words seemed very persuasive. The believers below whispered among themselves, their expressionless faces gradually showing signs of joy.

“What kind of nonsense is this? How can a monk encourage people to drink and eat excessively?”

Zhang Yanji muttered under his breath. In his view, the teachings promoted by this Tibetan monk made no sense from either Confucian or Buddhist perspectives—it was simply misleading.

“In the far west, atop the snow-capped mountains, at the end of the world, lies the sacred land of the lotus—Shambhala. There, there is no distinction between high and low, no poverty, no hunger, no war…”

The red-robed monk kept speaking, his words highly tempting.

“They dare to spread such deception in the peaceful Buddhist grounds of our Tang Dynasty. Doesn’t the Jingzhao Prefecture do anything about it?”

Zhou Wucui could no longer stand it either. His fists clenched as he stared at the so-called “high monk” on the stage. “Remember, the teachings of my religion can be summarized in six sacred words.”

The red-robed monk shook his robe and chanted loudly, “Om—Ma—Ni—Pa—Mi—Hum.”

These words seemed to possess magic. After hearing them, the believers knelt before the monk. Dust rose in the air, and tears flowed everywhere.

“How could they be so spineless!”

Li Kuo gritted his teeth in anger. In his view, a true man should bow to heaven, earth, and the emperor above, and to his parents and elders below. Nothing else should force a man to lower his head. It was utterly humiliating that this demon monk had managed to make the people of the Tang Dynasty kneel and bow.

“Om—Ma—Ni—Pa—Mi—Hum.”

“Om—Ma—Ni—Pa—Mi—Hum…”

The believers began to chant along with the red-robed monk, their voices mixed together in a chaotic mess that filled hearts with frustration.

The red-robed monk’s speech grew faster, his intonation more pronounced. The ancient Sanskrit sounds seemed to come from Shambhala, piercing through the believers’ skulls, passing through their meridians, and filling their entire bodies.

“Those who believe in my Buddha shall live forever. Those who defy my Buddha shall go to hell. Those who believe in my Buddha shall live forever; those who defy my Buddha shall go to hell…”

The atmosphere at the scene was boiling. The believers were nearly in a trance, constantly shaking their heads and murmuring sacred texts.

“Brother Kuo, what are we waiting for? Let me go up and kill that demon monk!”

Zhang Yanji could no longer bear to watch. As a Tang man, he could not tolerate his compatriots being exploited recklessly. He wanted to defend the dignity of the Tang people with his sword.

“Wait a bit more!”

Grabbing his friend’s sleeve, Li Kuo said with a bitter smile, “Let them continue their deception. We’re already struggling to find any clues. Since the fish have already bitten the hook, why not happily reel them in?”

Night had fallen, and the weather was extremely cold. Seven men in black moved swiftly along the imperial walls without making a sound. They had obtained blueprints of the palace in advance, allowing them to easily navigate through narrow alleys and climb over high walls. To them, the patroling guards were like scarecrows, posing no threat at all.

After dodging two groups of guards, the seven men stopped in front of a locust tree about ten steps away from the Honglu Temple in the palace. The leader nodded slightly, and everyone took out a one-foot-long bamboo tube.

“Swish! Swish!”

Silver needles were blown out, piercing the necks of the guards. The poor guards didn’t even make a sound before collapsing silently.

The leader waved his arm, and the men swiftly moved toward the door. Perhaps to avoid alerting other guards, they didn’t push the door open but instead leaped over the wall like agile monkeys, landing firmly in the outer courtyard of the Honglu Temple.

The night was the best cover, and it was also the easiest time to fall asleep. The men in black wasted no time and headed straight for Anya Hall, where the Second Prince of Tubo resided. Anya Hall was not far from the main entrance of Honglu Temple, and they took a shortcut. Thus, in just half a cup of tea’s time, they arrived in front of Anya Hall. They dipped their fingers in spit and poked several holes in the paper windows, then inserted gun barrels into the room. The fragrant incense from the Western Regions spread through the gun barrels, and soon the guards on duty lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground. The leader in black waved his hand, and everyone drew their curved knives and charged in. They had only one target: the Second Prince of Tubo, Luozanxi. The assassins rushed to Luozanxi’s tent and, with swift slashes of their knives, chopped him and his favorite concubine, Xiao Ya, to pieces. Simple, efficient—no extra cuts, no wasted seconds. After completing their mission, urged on by the leader, they rushed out and disappeared into the darkness. Moonlight shone in, illuminating a line of characters on the floor in front of the bed: “When the Luo Book appears, the Central Plains suffer; when the Buddha begins his fasting, the two capitals fall. Five bushels of rice go to Shambhala, and war breaks out, changing the fate of the land!” Note 1: Five bushels of rice: The Wudoumi Sect (Tianshi Dao) was an important early branch of Taoism. There are two views on its origin: traditionally, it is believed to have been founded by Zhang Ling on Mount Heming in Sichuan between 126–144 AD (during the reign of Emperor Shun of the Eastern Han Dynasty); however, many contemporary scholars think it was actually founded by Zhang Xiu before 184 AD (the first year of Emperor Ling’s reign) in Hanzhong. Here, “five bushels of rice” refers to one of these branches—just for aesthetic effect. Note 2: The pronunciation is as follows: Om (ōng), Ma (mā), Ni (nī), Bei (bēi), Mei (mēi), Hong (hōng)—these are the six syllables of the Mantra in Tibetan Buddhism. Here, Liuyun refers to them as the teachings of Tubo Buddhism. Note 3: Honglu Temple: Established during the Tang Dynasty, Honglu Temple served as a place to receive foreign dignitaries, akin to a high-end government guesthouse today. At the height of the Tang Dynasty, countless people from Khotan, Persia, Silla, and Japan settled in Chang’an. There were even Persian princes who stayed in Chang’an for their entire lives. These nobles likely lived in Honglu Temple. Thinking about it now, the ancient customs for treating foreign guests were truly remarkable—I wish I could go back in time.