Chapter 121: The Bell Tolls in the Zen Monastery

Kang Ning turned around, startled to see the old monk, who had been walking toward him with a smile from only four meters away. Given the old man’s gentle appearance and light, silent footsteps, Kang Ning realized that had this been an enemy, he would have been in grave danger.

Suppressing his shock, Kang Ning composed himself and smiled, "Are you the Abbot who gifted the fresh tea?"

The old monk nodded approvingly. "I am indeed the Abbot of this temple. Though your attire is simple, your bearing is extraordinary. You remain calm in the face of the unexpected—a rare quality in these times."

"You are too kind, Master! I trespassed into your sacred grounds and drank your tea; I feel quite embarrassed. Is there something you require of me?" Kang Ning asked with a humble smile.

The old monk laughed heartily. "Your sincerity and kindness make my earlier intentions seem petty, haha! Earlier, in the Mahavira Hall, I happened to see you visiting with the friend who just departed. I was struck by your demeanor, and upon seeing the ornament on your chest, I felt a wave of associations and emotions. I had assumed you would leave quietly, and I dared not impose, but destiny brought you to my private courtyard. I offered tea, hoping that, with the Buddha’s blessing, I might have the chance to meet you."

Kang Ning looked at the silver totem hanging around his neck and, without hesitation, unclasped it and handed it to the monk. "If you wish to see it, Master, please do."

The old monk, surprised by Kang Ning’s generosity, took the silver piece with a grateful smile and studied it intently for over five minutes. He returned it to Kang Ning, sighed deeply, and asked, "May I ask your name, young donor? Are you of the Yao people?"

"My name is Wu Xiaohua. I am Han Chinese, originally from Laiyang, Shandong," Kang Ning replied calmly.

The old monk’s long white eyebrows twitched slightly. "Mr. Wu, could you tell me how this item came into your possession?"

Kang Ning answered, "A year ago, while passing through Lao Village, south of Libo in Guizhou, an elderly Yao man named Jin gave it to me. He said it was an heirloom with little use, and asked me to keep it as a memento. Does this item have some special significance, Master?"

The old monk surmised that Kang Ning must have done a great kindness for the Yao people to receive such a precious gift, and that perhaps, due to the passage of time, the giver had forgotten its true value.

Observing the young man’s tall, steady frame and clear, calm eyes, the monk noted that he possessed not only an aura of martial competence but also a pure heart. What surprised him most was a subtle, haunting familiarity in the young man’s features.

"If you have the time, Mr. Wu," the monk said kindly, "I would like to accompany you to the main hall. Perhaps there, you will find the answers to your questions."

Kang Ning, thinking he was in no hurry to leave, figured that understanding the meaning of the mysterious totem would be a welcome surprise. "I shall trouble you, Master. Please, lead the way."

Pleased by Kang Ning’s receptiveness, the monk smiled and naturally took hold of his wrist, walking together toward the main hall.

Kang Ning didn't think much of it and continued walking. However, after a few steps, he felt the monk’s grip tighten, his hand feeling like a red-hot iron vice. Startled, Kang Ning leaned his left shoulder into the monk, threw out his left leg, and unleashed a powerful, jolting strike. With a dull thud, the monk was pushed back two steps, while Kang Ning retreated five before regaining his balance. Both stood in stunned silence, staring at each other.

The monk had not expected the polite, twenty-something-year-old to react with such profound power and speed. He watched Kang Ning, momentarily stunned, finding his movements and footwork hauntingly familiar.

Kang Ning, for his part, was shocked that the seventy-year-old monk possessed such deep, hidden strength. Feeling tense, he scanned his surroundings, calculating an escape route.

Noticing Kang Ning's alarm, the monk laughed and nodded in praise. "A young hero indeed, Mr. Wu! It seems I underestimated you. Might your internal power stem from the Xingyi style of the Hebei Li family?"

Kang Ning was astounded. He had never met anyone who could identify his school of martial arts from a single clash. How could he not be amazed that this smiling monk had named his lineage so easily?

While the Xingyi style shares a common root, it has branched into many factions over the centuries across Henan, Shaanxi, Anhui, Shanxi, and Hebei, each with distinct specialties. That this monk knew the nuances of the Shandong-Hebei lineage spoke volumes of his profound learning.

Recovering his composure, Kang Ning asked humbly, "How did you know my lineage, Master?"

The monk walked closer, smiling. "Many heroes visit from all corners of the land, so I have learned a thing or two. But your power far exceeds what is expected for your age. Who is your master?"

Kang Ning hesitated. After a moment of silence, he replied apologetically, "Master, I have my reasons, but I can tell you that I learned these skills from an old doctor of Chinese medicine named Kang. I cannot say more, and I hope you understand."

Jue Ming’s eyes lit up. "I understand! To think that my old brother Kang left behind such a fine successor—he would be satisfied in the afterlife! Do not be surprised; I met brother Kang in Sichuan back in '49, haha! Forgive my rudeness, my name is Jue Ming. Twenty years ago, a month before he passed, I visited him one last time. Surely his descendants remember. Come, let us go to the main hall."

Kang Ning immediately recalled his grandfather’s stories of the monk Jue Ming—the only bandit his grandfather had spared out of admiration during the anti-bandit campaigns in Sichuan. However, to avoid complications, Kang Ning feigned ignorance and followed Jue Ming into the main hall.

The monks in the hall were astonished to see their Abbot leading a young man in worn-out work clothes, but at a gesture from Jue Ming, they respectfully bowed and dispersed.

Jue Ming held Kang Ning’s hand and pointed to the murals. "Ganju Temple is a Chan Buddhist site, built in the Tang Dynasty, renovated in the Ming, and twice more during the Qing. This hall is fifteen meters high. Look at this mural—painted by a master in the late Qing. Does it not resemble the pattern on your silver piece?"

Kang Ning looked closely and saw that while the murals depicted Buddhas and flying deities, the decorative clouds and patterns in the background were identical to his silver totem.

"Master," Kang Ning asked, "what is the connection between this mural and my silver piece?"

Jue Ming led him into a side hall and pointed to a painting that had hung for over a century. "Look closely and tell me what you see."

Kang Ning observed the painting of Yao people trapped in endless mountains by Qing soldiers, the ground littered with bodies, and soldiers setting the forests ablaze. He immediately recalled the stories of the Yao people’s suffering that he had heard before.

"I know this," Kang Ning said. "Starting in the spring of 1861, the Qing army besieged the Yao people for four years. Unable to capture the pass to the Great Yao Mountains, they feigned a retreat and sent people disguised as peddlers to sell rice cakes laced with smallpox. Over a thousand died, and the virus spread to every village, killing over forty thousand people in half a year. A tragedy!"

Jue Ming, impressed by Kang Ning’s knowledge of history, nodded. He moved the scroll aside, retrieved a sandalwood box from a wall niche, and opened it to reveal another silver piece identical to Kang Ning’s, but attached to an elegant silver chain.

Jue Ming asked Kang Ning to remove his piece. He joined the two halves together, and with a firm press, they clicked into a seamless whole.

Jue Ming sighed in relief, draped the silver chain around Kang Ning’s neck, and said solemnly, "Returned to its rightful place. I have finally fulfilled the wish of my predecessors! Child, this token is not just silver; it contains meteorite metals. It is said that this totem is a command seal. Whoever holds the complete token commands supreme authority among the Yao people, like a general of old."

"My predecessor was a vanguard officer who refused to use smallpox to harm the innocent and was expelled from the army. He rescued over four thousand women and children. A Yao leader, moved by his righteousness, gave him this half-token before he died, telling him it could command the Yao people to resist or migrate. But the leader died before he could explain further, and the epidemic broke out. My predecessor spent years searching, only to be hunted by the grieving Yao, eventually dying in regret after entering the monastery."

Feeling the weight of the token, both literal and figurative, Kang Ning said, "Master, I am not the rightful owner. In the Muhe Village on the border of Guangxi and Guizhou, there is a Yao clan that maintains the most authentic traditions. When I return, I will give this token to them."

"Good! Good! Good!" Jue Ming exclaimed, his eyes bright. "Child, though you keep your identity hidden, I believe our destinies are intertwined. My old brother Kang had one regret: he never learned the Qingcheng Taoist techniques. I shall make amends through you. I see his spirit in your eyes; let me repay his kindness through you."

Jue Ming took out a silk-wrapped parchment and began to teach him. Within an hour, Kang Ning had memorized the three-hundred-character secret manual. When he began reciting the hundred-plus acupoints he had learned from his father since age five, comparing them to the charts, Jue Ming was lost in wonder.

By the time evening fell, Kang Ning bowed to the Abbot as a nephew would to an uncle and departed, looking back at the temple with lingering affection. As he reached the bottom of the mountain, the resonant tolling of the temple bell echoed in the air.

"Dong—dong—" the sound of the Zen bell rang out, again and again.