The Peach Tree in Bloom Part 2

Seeing him turn away, Jueru asked, "What are you doing? Really putting your backside to your master?"

Liaojing quickly made a joke of it. "Just testing whether my master's virtue holds true," tucking the notebook away as he spoke.

Jueru raised a foot as if to kick. "Talking nonsense, and so odd about it!" Then, "You ought to learn from him. Don't lean on your cleverness and let it make you lazy!"

Liaojing said with a wry smile, "Yes, Master, your disciple will mend his ways at once."

"How will you mend them?" Jueru asked.

Liaojing pulled a long face. "You write me that letter of instruction now, and your disciple will go straight off to learn the Kasaya Demon-Subduing Art."

Jueru laughed heartily.

. . .

The fifth of the fourth month, three days before the Buddha's birthday. At the assembly before the Buddha's relic bone, Bensong again caught sight of that one figure. Whether by fate or chance, she stood in his line as always, and it eased his heart greatly.

A year of waiting, all for these few days of meeting; only these few days together, and they sufficed to soothe a year of longing.

When only a dozen or so people remained ahead, Liaowu came over and murmured in Bensong's ear, "The tea's run out. Abbot Jueji wants tea. Go buy some at the Chan Wind Teahouse."

Bensong said quickly, "But I'm in the middle of blessing the pilgrims."

Liaowu hissed in his ear, "To hell with that, someone will cover for you. Go on, no arguments!"

Bensong meant to refuse, but seeing Liaowu's fierce look he could only bow to the pilgrims and say, "This humble monk has business to see to. I'll be back shortly," and hurried off.

Ming Buxiang was at the assembly grounds answering the laity's questions and pointing out the way. Seeing Bensong leave, he turned his head and saw another monk had already taken Bensong's place to bless the pilgrims.

Bensong was anxious, but with Buddha City thronged with crowds, and being a monk, he could not run about heedlessly without losing dignity and drawing notice; he could only walk fast. He reached the Chan Wind Teahouse to find every seat taken, heads packed together, and hurried to join the line. He waited a full half-hour before his turn came to buy. He took the tea, and though he knew he would surely be too late, hurried back to the assembly all the same, handed the tea to Liaowu first, then returned to his place to bless the pilgrims.

"I've missed her this year after all," he sighed inwardly. "No matter. She should still be lodging at the Puguang Inn tonight." He gathered himself and gave his full attention to blessing the pilgrims who came after.

An hour later, he saw that familiar figure in the line again. She was still among them, moving forward in her turn.

"How can that be?" Bensong marveled. "Could she have had business too, like me, and had to rejoin the line?" The thought came with a joy he could not hide, and a smile rose to his lips, his gaze meeting Ming Buxiang's just then.

Ming Buxiang returned a courteous smile, opening like a peach blossom, warm and gentle.

. . .

Ming Buxiang already knows I suspect him, Liaojing thought.

When he came back to his room last night, perhaps he found me out and only hesitated over whether to act.

The demon helped Abbot Juejian review documents at the Right View Hall and had seen his handwriting; who would have thought he could mimic it so perfectly, lifelike to the last stroke. There was nothing the boy could not do.

At this point there was no more need for concealment. A man this vicious at the mere age of fifteen, if left in Shaolin Temple, would be an endless calamity.

But how to root out the demon, that was the hard part.

Liaojing looked at the manual of the Kasaya Demon-Subduing Art in his hands.

How many days would this take to learn.

If he struck now, the boy was only fifteen, and he himself was a full twelve years older; by rights his skill must be deeper.

Yet this demon defied all reason.

He thought of his seventh senior brother.

His seventh brother had fine talent and had always been the best of them in skill; it was said their master had once meant to take him as his last and inmost disciple. Of course, their master had said as much to every disciple.

In his first three years at the temple, his skill had lagged far behind his seventh brother's. After three years the gap began to narrow, and after three more they were evenly matched. From then on, his seventh brother could never catch up to him.

I really should have studied martial arts in earnest, Liaojing thought with regret.

The gulf in talent between himself and Ming Buxiang was likely greater still than the one between his seventh brother and himself. In a few more years, there might be no one left who could check the boy.

To strike within the temple would not be easy; the moment fighting broke out, someone would come to stop it, and even if he succeeded, he could hardly escape death himself. He wanted as much as possible to avoid coming to that. The best outcome, of course, would be to kill Ming Buxiang and keep his post as annotating monk both, the whole thing passing off light as a breeze.

That was, admittedly, a tall order.

The best chance still lay on the Buddha's birthday, with Ming Buxiang out of the temple and Buddha City in its days of turmoil and confusion.

Best of all, before the festival ended.

He opened the manual of the Kasaya Demon-Subduing Art.

Three moves. Learn three moves first. He would use these three moves against Ming Buxiang, catch him off guard and kill him.

Whether the demon could be subdued was for heaven to decide.

He rubbed his bald scalp and sighed. "I used to think you were good for something. Only now do I see how useless you are."

. . .

She came before Bensong once more at last, bowing her head and letting him bless her.

Bensong chanted "Amitabha" and prayed for her, devout beyond measure as ever.

Ming Buxiang came over, and the young wife raised her head, saw him, and froze for a moment.

Ming Buxiang gave a faint smile and bowed with palms pressed together.

The young wife returned the bow and turned away.

"Poor woman," Ming Buxiang said softly. Bensong heard, and turned to ask, "What is it?"

"Her husband beats her." Boundless pity was on Ming Buxiang's face.

Bensong's heart lurched. "Don't talk nonsense. She looks perfectly fine."

"The wounds are on her back. He's likely a son of some great house, hiding the shame, striking only at the back and chest where it leaves no mark, so her bearing seems unchanged."

"How do you know?" Bensong asked.

"When she bowed her head, looking in at the back of her collar, you could see the bruising."

"Maybe she fell," Bensong said.

Ming Buxiang shook his head. "I don't think so."

Bensong stood rooted in place, forgetting his work for the moment.

To know that you are well, this life would be enough.

If you are not well, then what should I do?

As the sun sank in the west, Bensong returned to the inn, pushed open the window, gazed at the peach trees below, and waited for her to appear.

This year was not so calm as the years before.

After the evening meal, the lovely woman did indeed appear again.

Was she truly being abused?

Before long another figure appeared. Looking closely, Bensong saw it was Ming Buxiang.

His heart lurched. He saw Ming Buxiang raise a finger, pointing toward him, and the lovely woman lifted her head, meeting Bensong's eyes.

Bensong gazed at the woman, and after a moment closed the window.

The candle flame wavered; he could not master himself.

A while later came a knock. Bensong opened the door to find Ming Buxiang.

"I'm sleeping back at Shaolin Temple tonight," Ming Buxiang said. "Is there anything you'd like me to carry back to the temple for you, brother?"

Bensong shook his head. "Nothing." Then he asked, "I saw you downstairs just now. What did you say to that lady?"

"I asked her whether she knew you, brother."

Bensong said, puzzled, "What made you ask that?"

"This afternoon when you left your blessing halfway through, brother, didn't you see? When that lady saw you go, she gave her place to an old woman and waited until you came back to rejoin the line. I thought she must know you."

Bensong started, recalling the afternoon, and asked, "What did she say?"

"She said she knows you, but that you don't know her, that in all these years you've never sought her out to talk over old times."

At these words a troubled doubt seized Bensong's heart.

Ming Buxiang went on, "I came to Buddha City this time hoping to find old friends from my childhood, but to my surprise, after only eleven years, it's hard to find even one acquaintance. Unless it's in some well-known old place, there's really no way to meet again."

With that Ming Buxiang took his leave. Downstairs, passing through the hall, where several monks of the Right Action Hall were eating, he said as if to himself, "Such a beautiful woman, what's she thinking, standing beneath the peach blossoms?"

He was certain the Right Action Hall monks heard; they were Liaowu's men.

Bensong stood blankly in his room a long while, then went downstairs to the peach trees in the back courtyard and stood beside the lovely woman.

The one he had gazed upon in longing for nineteen years.

After a long moment, the woman suddenly asked, "Were the candied haws good?"

Bensong started and turned to look at her.

"That year I asked Lang to take me to buy candied haws, and I was just behind you in line. I saw that because you were one copper short you went without yourself and split two haws between your brother and sister, so I bought that stick of four, and followed behind you. The truth is I wanted to give it to you. But I was timid then, afraid of wounding your pride, and didn't know how to speak to you. You spun around all at once and ran right into me."

She told it gently, like a memory as distant as a past life, and to Bensong too that memory seemed a world away.

"A year later I saw you at the assembly, and for years after that I always saw you. I thought, if I come to the assembly every year, I'll always glimpse you once. Then, not many years on, I saw you'd become a monk."

Here the woman paused, then went on, "After that I married, and you became a blessing monk. I stood in your line, learned you lodged at this inn, and so I always spent my nights here. You love to look at the peach trees, so I stood beneath them. A few times I thought to speak with you, but in the end I thought, it was something from over ten years ago; I was afraid you'd long forgotten."

"It isn't the peach trees I love to look at. What I wanted to see was the one beneath them," Bensong thought, but did not say it. He only said, "I never forgot that. I split that stick of haws, one for my brother, one for my sister, two for me. Just right."

"A pity they fell in the dirt," the woman said wistfully.

"They weren't dirty," Bensong said. "That was the most unforgettable taste of my life."

The two were silent a long while. Then Bensong said, "The night is deep and the dew is heavy. Let's go up and talk."

The woman nodded, and the two went up the stairs one behind the other, separately. They took care to avoid the other monks, and Bensong led her to Ming Buxiang's room, for no other reason than that he did not want to be disturbed.

They did nothing improper, only sat and talked, a pot of tea, a few plates of fruit, telling over these ten-odd years. Her name was Yuan Zhixuan, born of a wealthy family devoted to the Buddha. Bensong said his parents had moved away, and only he remained in their old home. Yuan Zhixuan said Lang was a cousin of hers, a Wudang man who had earned a Hero's Warrant and had looked after her tenderly as a child, now married and gone back to Hunan. Bensong told how he had learned his skills at Shaolin Temple, how his master had cared for him, and of Ming Buxiang, who had spoken with her earlier, once taken for a simpleton as a child and now, against all expectation, grown into a prodigy.

And so they talked until daybreak left them weary, and only then did Yuan Zhixuan return to her room to sleep.

. . .

The sixth of the fourth month, two days before the Buddha's birthday.

Ming Buxiang returned to the assembly to receive the pilgrims. During the midday rest Bensong stole a brief nap, then asked Ming Buxiang where he would sleep that night. Ming Buxiang said he was going back to the temple, and Bensong asked no more.

That evening Yuan Zhixuan came again, and the two fell to talking of all things under heaven, as if their words would never run out. They talked until the hour of midnight, when Bensong asked, "You came up Mount Shaoshi alone. Doesn't your husband's family worry?"

Yuan Zhixuan was silent a while. "He brought me up the mountain and left. It's all Shaolin disciples here; nothing will happen. When the Buddha's birthday is over, he'll come to take me back."

Bensong hesitated, recalling Ming Buxiang's words, then asked, "Is your husband good to you?"

Yuan Zhixuan gently closed her eyes, then slowly opened them, rose, turned her back to Bensong, and undid her clothes.

Bensong hurriedly looked away. Yuan Zhixuan bared half her back; on the snow-white skin, from neck to shoulder blade, was a sheet of bruising.

"He's a son of a great house," Yuan Zhixuan said. "He loves his wine, and beats me when he's drunk. He beats me sober, too."

Bensong glanced back, and at the sight of the bruises on her back his heart ached with pity and tenderness, yet he knew not what to say.

Yuan Zhixuan was just putting her clothes back on when the window flew open with a crack and a masked man burst in. Bensong started violently and rose to step forward. The man's hand was lightning-fast; he seized Bensong by the throat. Yuan Zhixuan was about to scream, but remembering her secret tryst with a monk, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

The masked man took in the two of them and cursed under his breath, "How is it you two?" Seeing Yuan Zhixuan in disarray, he lowered his voice. "So you're carrying on like this!"

Yuan Zhixuan dropped to her knees. "Mercy, hero, we've done nothing! I seduced him. Let him go, it's nothing to do with him!"

There was something odd in the way Yuan Zhixuan spoke, and the masked man saw she was fair of face, plainly a daughter of good family; then he looked at Bensong, who, though not ugly, was only an ordinary-looking man, nothing remarkable. It was more believable that Bensong had been the seducer.

The masked man said, "Tell it plainly. Where's Ming Buxiang?"

Bensong's face was flushed crimson, scarcely able to draw breath. "He, he went back to the temple."

The masked man grunted, then said, "What's all this with you two? Tell me clearly."

The two told their whole story. Frightened and at their wits' end, their lives in another man's hands, not daring to call for help, they hid nothing now, and their feelings for each other showed plain and whole.

When they had finished, the two looked at each other with deep and tender affection.

The masked man was none other than Liaojing. He had come meaning to kill Ming Buxiang, having asked after the room, and had not expected to blunder into this; he listened agape. The first thought to cross his mind was, in fact, "If even a man like Bensong has a beauty pining for him, then how is it that with my looks, the only ones facing me are my master and a pack of monks?" He stewed in private vexation a while. Knowing Ming Buxiang had not gone back to Shaolin and was likely keeping watch nearby, he wondered why the boy had arranged these two so. It was surely no kindly matchmaking; more likely these two were headed for ruin. So he said, "Your six roots aren't clean, so there's no use your staying a monk. Your affairs are beyond my care. Run if you'll run, or accept your lot. If someone catches you, you both die."

With that he leapt out the window again, leaving the two of them at a loss.

Liaojing sprang onto the rooftop, pulled off his mask, and looked all around. Buddha City blazed with lanterns, and there was no sign of Ming Buxiang.

Liaojing thought, "Ming Buxiang moving on these two must have some scheme behind it. There's no telling how he means to harm them."

He stretched lazily and decided he might as well sleep on the roof, thinking, "Maybe I should return to lay life. Might even land myself a wife." Then again, "Ah, but a living's hard to come by. As annotating monk in the Sutra Repository, reading books and honing my skill, the days are comfortable. To give it up for a wife, it isn't worth it, isn't worth it!"

Early the next morning Liaojing woke, rolled down off the roof, and went out of his way to find a mirror. He looked at his sword-straight brows and bright eyes, and especially his fine high nose, and was quite pleased. Then, seeing a woman pilgrim pass by, he stopped her and asked, "Am I good-looking?" The woman started, took one glance, and nodded hurriedly. "Handsome! Handsome!" before fleeing in a fluster.

Liaojing gave a "Ha." He was about to face a fight to the death; nervous, he teased her to ease his mind.

The seventh of the fourth month, the day before the Buddha's birthday.

Bensong had taken a fright the night before and slept poorly. When he pushed open his door, Yuan Zhixuan was already in the hall.

He went down, and seeing him come, she came to meet him.

"My husband comes for me tomorrow morning. Once the Buddha's birthday is over, we leave Shaolin," Yuan Zhixuan said quietly.

Bensong understood her meaning.

Nineteen years of longing, and now it would either turn full circle again, or take some other course.

A few days ago he would never have agreed. She was a married woman, he a man who had left the world; once a year was already an extravagance.

But after the night Liaojing had upended, he understood his own heart at last.

"Pack your things," Bensong said. "When the assembly ends, we go."

Yuan Zhixuan nodded, her face set with resolve.

At the assembly Bensong found Ming Buxiang, meaning to tell him about the night before, but not knowing how to explain why he had been in the boy's room, he only said it seemed someone meant to harm him, and that Ming Buxiang should be careful, perhaps some monk in the temple who envied him.

Ming Buxiang merely thanked him, seeming to think nothing of it.

Bensong thanked Ming Buxiang as well. Ming Buxiang did not ask his reason, and Bensong himself could not have said it clearly.

It was the longest assembly of his life. Mercifully, Yuan Zhixuan knew his heart, and found a moment to come glimpse him, just as in those years past, gazing at each other from the two ends of the grounds, all their love in a single look.

That one look, and Bensong was at peace.

When the assembly ended, Bensong arranged to meet Yuan Zhixuan on a small path outside Buddha City. As night fell, the two met and hurried down the mountain under cover of dark.

They had not gone half a li when several men barred the road. Bensong's face changed; he recognized Liaowu, and behind him four supervising monks of the Right Action Hall.

Liaowu sneered. "Heh. And here I thought the Proper Monks were all such men of great virtue, tireless in their cultivation. Turns out they seduce decent men's wives too. What does the Kunlun Council say? Defile a woman, and all the world joins to put you to death."

What Bensong did not know was that from the moment he and Yuan Zhixuan had met beneath the trees, Liaowu's Lay Monks had been watching him. Everything of his secret meetings with her since they knew full well; they had simply waited deliberately until today to act.

"Those Proper Monks say we ruin the good name of the Buddhist gate. Today we'll just take you and parade you through the streets on the Buddha's birthday, and see who's ruining the good name of the gate," Liaowu barked. "Seize him!"

The four supervising monks rushed forward together. Bensong's skill was no great thing to begin with, and one against four, it was not long before he was pinned to the ground. Beside herself, Yuan Zhixuan could only throw herself on him, weeping; afraid she would be caught by the blows, Bensong turned and folded her in his arms, shielding her with his body. The four rained down fists and kicks, and in moments Bensong was wounded all over, blood spilling from his mouth, spattering across Yuan Zhixuan's fine robes. She could only hold him and scream wildly, powerless to do anything.

Liaowu said, "Beat the man to death, no matter. Take the woman, we'll need her testimony."

Bensong was about to be beaten to death where he lay when, with a sudden whistling cry, a masked figure came flying down. It was Liaojing. He had suspected Ming Buxiang meant to deal with these two and had been trailing them in secret; now he no longer doubted it, and at once moved to help.

Though even he did not know whether what he did was right or wrong.

His two palms wove back and forth, the Left-Right Flower-Threading Palm going left and then right again, and the four supervising monks felt their vision swim, as if lost in cloud and mist; before they could see clearly they had taken blow after blow.

"Run, now!" Liaojing barked, and the sound jolted Yuan Zhixuan awake. She quickly helped Bensong up, and the two limped to make their escape.

Liaowu gave a great shout and strode forward, striking out a palm to cut Bensong off, only to be intercepted by Liaojing. Far stronger than the four supervising monks, and Benyue's own master, Liaowu unleashed the Thousand-Hand Avalokitesvara Palm, its force all the more mighty and fierce; but it ran straight into the check of Liaojing's Left-Right Flower-Threading Palm, struck left and struck right, unable to pull free. Liaojing held off the four remaining monks besides, one against five with strength to spare.

Liaowu, alarmed and furious, cursed, "Which court's hall-monk are you? Do you know that shielding criminals makes you one and the same in guilt?"

Liaojing thought, "I'd be a fool to answer you." He knew that only by felling all five could Bensong get away. But he could not bring himself to strike with killing force, and could only do his utmost to hold them.

In the midst of his hesitation he heard a faint whisper of wind, and the next instant a piece of his mask shattered for no reason, and where it struck he felt nothing at all.

Liaojing went cold. The Flower-Plucking Finger.

In that instant the truth dawned on him. Ming Buxiang's target had been him all along; Bensong was only the bait, brought in by chance. The moment Liaojing acted, he was caught in the snare. If he showed his true face before Liaowu and the rest, shielding Bensong, he would surely be cast out of the temple.

He had no time to look about him; the night was dark, the cogon grass on both sides waist-high, and he had no idea where Ming Buxiang was hiding.

Another faint thread of force came at him, and another piece of his mask shattered.

If his true face were exposed, he could only kill these five to silence them.

Kill to silence, or be cast out of the temple: this was the riddle Ming Buxiang had set him. Either road was one of no return.

But Liaojing had a way of his own yet.

Before the third whisper of wind, Liaojing dodged Liaowu's Thousand-Hand Avalokitesvara Palm, his right hand hooking into a claw to seize Liaowu's robe, and with a rip he tore away the better half of it.

Just as the wind whispered, Liaojing turned the half-robe in his hand. Where his inner strength flowed, the cloth filled and swelled with air, and he swung it like a ball pumped full of wind, sweeping aside the formless finger-force even as he struck, the same motion dissolving the attack and landing a blow to Liaowu's chest. With his breath sealed off, Liaowu gave a stifled grunt and fainted on the spot.

The Kasaya Demon-Subduing Art.

This was the treasure he had meant to use against Ming Buxiang; knowing the boy was close at hand, he could no longer afford to hide the move.

With Liaowu down, the remaining four monks were easier still. Liaojing turned the robe, and in moments the other four lay senseless on the ground as well.

"Come out, Nephew Ming," Liaojing said. "We know each other well enough by now. No more hiding."

Ming Buxiang stepped slowly out of the grass.

Liaojing summoned his true strength, and the half-robe filled and swelled at once.

This devil had to be rooted out today.

Ming Buxiang looked around and said mildly, "I never thought you knew the Kasaya Demon-Subduing Art." Then, "You fought them, and now you mean to fight me. Have you the strength left?"

Liaojing said, "I'm a full twelve years your elder. I can spare you a little."

Ming Buxiang shook his head and said mildly, "Better that I spare you a little. Tomorrow at midnight, I'll wait for you here. You and I, the two of us alone."

Liaojing asked, "What is it you're truly after?"

Ming Buxiang did not answer. He leapt into the grass, and Liaojing did not give chase. Ming Buxiang was right; to fight him now, the loss would still fall more heavily on himself.

Had I known, I'd not have hesitated at the outset, but felled them quickly and not wasted my strength on them, Liaojing thought ruefully. Yet he also knew that for Ming Buxiang to dare let him go, the boy must have his own confidence.

As for himself, he had no such confidence at all.

The eighth of the fourth month, the Buddha's birthday.

When Liaowu came to, he raised an uproar, and the matter reached the Right Action Hall. They knew only that Bensong had vanished; the rest awaited inquiry.

The Buddha's birthday passed without further incident, coming to a fitting close.

Liaojing spent a day on breathing exercises and regulating his energy, bringing himself to his finest condition, then went to the Avalokitesvara Court, ate a few of his master's pastries, and bade him take great care of himself.

At midnight, Liaojing came to the appointed place, and waited for Ming Buxiang to arrive.