Chapter 20: The Naive Monk Accompanies and Shares

Upon slowly awakening from his stupor, Li Dong found himself lying in a tranquil meditation chamber. On the wall hung a large character signifying “Buddha.” The bedding was coarse, rough to the touch, and woven from simple cloth and flax. The floor was spotless, and slanted beams of sunlight slipped through the window lattices, casting quiet patterns across the room. A profound stillness reigned, making it a true sanctuary for self-cultivation—far from the clamor of the mortal world, far from strife. Unconsciously, his heart settled into calm.

He gingerly turned his neck left and right, confirming that his head still sat securely upon his shoulders. Probing with his fingers, he found no trace of a blade wound. He realized he had escaped death by a hair’s breadth, but the surroundings were utterly unfamiliar.

A meditation chamber—was it not a retreat where monks practiced in seclusion? Had Buddhist monks spirited him away from the execution ground to this place? Then Li Dong recalled the wad of rag that Lu Rou had stuffed in her mouth; it had been the same color as a monk’s robe.

Were those who framed him and those who saved him one and the same? If so, why go to the trouble of rescuing him after orchestrating his downfall? And if not, what purpose did his rescuers have? What lay beneath these tangled events? Life grew ever more perplexing, the truth harder to grasp.

Rising from the pallet, he flexed his limbs and found them as nimble as ever. His thoughts were clear, as before, and confidence soon returned. Was this not the outcome he had longed for?

Li Dong opened the door and stepped out. The courtyard was lush with flowers and greenery, all carefully pruned and neatly arranged into small plots by winding paths. Beyond the foliage, grand and imposing halls loomed. The solemn toll of a bell mingled with the distant chanting of sutras and the steady clack of a wooden fish, intensifying the serenity.

Whoever had the patience and refinement to tend this garden so meticulously must surely be a monk of great cultivation.

A young novice, perhaps not yet ten years old, hurried toward him, cradling a bundle of neatly folded clothes. His shaven head gleamed, giving him an endearing air. Seeing Li Dong at the threshold, the boy’s face lit up. “When did you awaken, benefactor? I must go inform my master at once!”

Li Dong quickly called after him. “Little master, may I ask the name of this temple, and your esteemed master’s Dharma name?”

The novice’s face grew serious. “My master’s name is Hui Tong. This is the Great Ming Monastery. If you wish to know more, you may ask my master when he arrives.” With that, he handed the clothes to Li Dong and hurried off.

Li Dong mused, “Hui Tong?” He saw no clear connection between himself and these monks.

Moments later, four middle-aged monks appeared. The foremost was tall and powerfully built, with thick brows and a commanding presence. He intoned, “How long has it been since you awakened, benefactor?”

Li Dong bowed in return. “I have just awoken. Are you Master Hui Tong?”

“My Dharma name is Yuan Tong,” the monk replied, introducing the three behind him. “These are my junior brothers: Shen Tong, Zhong Tong, and Qiu Tong. The Hui Tong you mentioned is our abbot and eldest brother.”

The three junior monks pressed their palms together and chanted “Amitabha,” then fell silent.

Li Dong struggled not to burst out laughing. Good heavens! With Yuan Tong, Shen Tong, Zhong Tong, and Hui Tong, the four great couriers have all gathered—has the monastery become a delivery company? And if one of them bore the secular surname Quan, the joke would be complete: Quan Qiu Tong, the “global courier.”

Perhaps “Tong” was a common character among the monks of this temple. He wondered if there were others with similar names. He said, “Thank you, venerable sirs, for your timely rescue. Should fate allow, I will surely find a way to repay you.”

“There’s no need for such weighty words,” Yuan Tong replied. “Your gratitude is not important—we were merely following orders…” He broke off, saying no more.

Following orders? Whose? Was it the abbot, Hui Tong? Shouldn’t monks refrain from embroiling themselves in worldly affairs? Yet, history records the tale of the thirteen Shaolin monks rescuing the Tang emperor, so perhaps their intervention was not so outlandish. Still, something significant must be at play. When the time was right, he would have to uncover the truth.

Li Dong asked, “May I ask if Master Hui Tong is here in the monastery?” He scrutinized the four men. None matched Lu Rou’s description of a monk with a furtive, villainous look—only the abbot remained unseen, and Li Dong was keen to meet him.

“Amitabha, I am here,” intoned a deep voice. In a flash, a large, broad-shouldered middle-aged monk appeared before him, radiating benevolence and dignity. When he stood there, an aura of authority filled the space. The other four monks bowed deeply. “Greetings, Abbot.”

After returning their salute, Abbot Hui Tong addressed Li Dong, “May I ask what guidance you wish to offer?”

At first sight, Li Dong felt a twinge of disappointment. Of course, a man with a shifty, villainous face would never be made abbot. He asked, “Might I inquire what prompted your temple to intervene on my behalf? I am but a nameless country bumpkin, lacking any refinement, unworthy of such esteemed aid.” His tone was humble.

Abbot Hui Tong pondered for a moment, then replied, “Since you wish to know, I see no harm in telling you. We acted at the behest of Zhi Shilang, rescuing you from Zhangqiu. The intent is to invite you to join the uprising. One word of counsel: the Sui dynasty’s days are numbered, and war is spreading everywhere. Only those of virtue are fit to rule. For the sake of the common people, now swept into endless conflict, I urge you not to take the wrong side—never aid the wicked.”

His words answered many of the questions that had long troubled Li Dong.

If the monks of Great Ming Monastery supported Zhi Shilang’s cause, their abduction of Lu Rou—without violating her—was consistent with their monastic principles. After all, monks should be detached from worldly desires. Placing her in his own quarters and sowing discord between him and Lu Lier, then launching an attack on Zhangqiu, all fit a careful strategy. With him gone from the city, the county constable—inept as he was—would be no match for them.

Thinking of the constable, Li Dong conceived a plan: why not borrow the monks’ hand to rid himself of that troublesome official? It would spare him from dirtying his own hands, and, given the circumstances, the monk with the villainous look was likely still in Zhangqiu and could act more swiftly than he.

Decision made, Li Dong said, “To capture Zhangqiu, you must first remove one man. He is cunning, full of tricks, and always manages the unexpected. Even I owe my small successes to his advice.” He proceeded to describe the constable’s appearance, character, and likely whereabouts.

Abbot Hui Tong listened in silence, then said, “On behalf of Zhi Shilang, I thank you in advance. My youngest disciple, Xiao Lingtong, is still in Zhangqiu. I can send him word to see this task done. However… tomorrow at dawn, I must take you to meet Zhi Shilang. What say you?”

Li Dong nearly leapt up in astonishment. My heavens, this Great Ming Monastery truly was a rare wonder—there really was a monk named Xiao Lingtong!