Iron Bull taucht wieder auf

Kapitel 94

With a whoosh, a strong wind suddenly blew up outside the door. With a long laugh, the five people crowded at the door stumbled back three steps, their bodies swaying rapidly as they struggled against the strong wind.

The white mulberry paper pasted on the living room window frame trembled violently, making a series of cracking sounds, as it had been torn by the strong wind.

With three consecutive "pfft, pfft, pfft" sounds, the three old monks, Elephant, Tiger, and Lion, also coughed up blood at the same time. Although Master Shenbi did not cough up blood like them, when he suddenly squatted down and exerted force, two of the gray bricks under his feet immediately shattered with a "crack," and his feet sank more than ten centimeters down to his ankles.

The man outside the door continued to laugh loudly, as if defeating the combined forces of these people was a piece of cake for him, and that victory was assured with a single, effortless strike.

I believe that as Master Shenbi's uncles, these four old monks were already incredibly skilled in martial arts, but even with the combined strength of five people, they were still being forced to retreat. The martial arts of the person outside the door were truly unparalleled in the world. In this critical moment, I didn't have time to think. I swung both palms and slapped them hard on Master Shenbi's back.

Subconsciously, Tengjia and I have become closely connected allies, because only she can understand the words in the "Blue Heaven and Yellow Springs Sutra" and give me more clues to find my elder brother Yang Tian. Since the monks in Fengge Temple are doing their best to protect Tengjia, they should naturally be my allies as well.

In a duel between martial arts masters, the greatest fear is to strike unexpectedly and catch the opponent off guard. The person outside the door calculated that the monks of Fengge Temple had already reached their limit, and no new masters could possibly emerge, leaving them completely unprepared. But I knew my opponent's strength was immeasurable, and from the outset, I unleashed my full power, propelling Master Shenbi into a desperate counterattack.

With a loud crack, the paper door and front wall of the living room flew off and were torn apart by the surging internal forces of both sides, turning into pieces of trash that were thrown far away beyond the south wall.

"Huh? Who is it? It's you—" With the wall removed from my view, I came face to face with the person, and we were both taken aback.

That person was Zhang Baisen, the Chinese master of special abilities who once saved a car accident from happening. At this moment, he was holding a boy who looked to be only seven or eight years old in his left arm, and with just his right fist, he had defeated the combined forces of five high monks from Fengge Temple.

He was dressed in a gray Tang suit, with golden dragons playing in the water embroidered all over the chest, cuffs, lapels and trouser legs, which looked magnificent and imposing. On his feet were the most traditional black round-toed cloth shoes in China, which was the complete attire of a martial arts hero in old China.

I slowly inhaled and recovered, and my arms began to feel a faint numbness. When I made my move, I felt Zhang Baisen's surging internal energy, like a twelve-foot silver spear, pierce through the bodies of the five monks in front of me and pierce into my palm.

"Little kid, it's you again?" Zhang Baisen raised his eyebrows and smiled, retracting his right fist and exhaling three breaths of stale air before slowly continuing, praising three times: "Excellent skill! Excellent skill! Excellent skill!"

My cheeks were slightly flushed. If I had known that a senior martial arts master from China was coming, I wouldn't have dared to show off my meager skills and embarrass myself, especially since I was helping the Japanese fight against our own people.

"Put me down—" The boy struggled in Zhang Baisen's arms for a moment, then yawned, looking quite old-fashioned.

Zhang Baisen immediately and respectfully replied, "Yes, Master." Then he carefully placed the child on the ground.

The boy was also dressed in a gray Tang suit, with extremely short hair, as if it were a freshly shaved head just beginning to grow new hair. He took a few steps forward, pointed at the four old monks inside the door, and asked clearly, "Which of you is a direct disciple of Master Jianzhen?"

He was indeed only a little over seven years old, and his height barely reached Zhang Baisen's belt, but his demeanor when he spoke was extremely dignified and aloof, as if a person of extremely high status had graced this lowly place, and it was already an honor for the five high monks to be able to speak to this group of people.

Zhang Baisen's appearance and clothing were not particularly striking, but just by standing there, his breath and eyes alone were enough to intimidate the entire audience.

Although there were more than 300 people gathered in the courtyard, including many martial monks who had been practicing for many years, they were all silenced by Zhang Baisen's imposing aura and dared not attempt a sneak attack.

The boy's complexion was unusually ruddy, his eyebrows were jet black, and his eyes were clear and bright, moving with a lively, almost eloquent quality, conveying complex information with each turn. His brow was strangely furrowed with dozens of layers of wrinkles, spreading outwards to the sides of his forehead and the top of his head, appearing highly incongruous with his age. These wrinkles were also deeply etched, as if carved by a knife and axe, leaving an unforgettable impression upon first glance.

"Tell me, who is it?" he said impatiently, pointing forward with a different finger.

I am very familiar with almost all the stories in Buddhism, Tibetan Buddhism, Shingon Buddhism, and Taoism. I was shocked to find that when he changed the direction of his fingers, he was using two of the most sublime hand gestures from Tibetan Buddhism.

The former, with the middle finger extended, the thumb clasped on the index finger, and the ring and little fingers curled together in the palm—this is the "Great Wrath Ring" of Tibetan Tantric Buddhism, symbolizing "enlightenment, guidance, helping others and oneself, and the eternal prosperity of heaven and earth."

The latter type involves extending the little finger, curling up the index, middle, and ring fingers, and deeply tucking the thumb inside. This is the "Sumeru Mustard Seed Finger" of Esoteric Buddhism, which symbolizes "encompassing all ignorance and folly in the world and awakening people to the wisdom of enlightenment."

These two finger techniques are only understood by high-ranking Tibetan Buddhist monks or even Living Buddhas, and should never be used by a child of unknown origin.

Part 2: Tower of the Dead

— Chapter 10 — The Living Buddha —

"Who is this child? Could he be the reincarnation of a new generation of Living Buddha?" I stared at his face and smiled bitterly.

The boy seemed to notice something, frowned, raised his left hand, and lightly flicked the nail of his pinky finger, making a "snap" sound. Without even looking at me, he said briefly, "None of your business, step aside."

In an instant, I felt as if I had been pricked by a needle in my Adam's apple. The pain made my whole body tremble, and all my abundant internal energy vanished without a trace, like a mud ox sinking into the sea.

Zhang Baisen waved his hand: "Young man, the master has spoken, step back a bit!"

Even a seasoned figure like him treated this boy with utmost respect, so what could I possibly say? I could only slowly back away.

Zhang Baisen frowned and looked down at his trouser legs, which seemed to have just been wading through water. The trouser legs were wet all the way up to his calves and were still dripping wet.

The boy asked the question three times—in Chinese, in English, and in Japanese—before Master Shenbi finally caught his breath and coldly retorted, "Who are you?"

I clearly heard the words "Master Jianzhen" in my ears, and suddenly realized: "Master Jianzhen? Could it be... could it be..."

Zhang Baisen had been staring at my face the whole time. He slowly nodded, then shook his head.

I understood what he meant, and my mind suddenly went blank, a jumble of thoughts churning within me: "Throughout the entire Buddhist community, from ancient times to the present, there has only been one 'Master Jianzhen,' the great monk from the Tang Dynasty who made six voyages to Japan and finally succeeded in landing there. So, what profound meaning does this boy, who studied Tibetan Buddhism, imply when he mentions Master Jianzhen?"

The living room, with the front wall removed, had become the same temperature as the yard. As dusk approached, the mountain wind grew increasingly biting and relentless, and my hands and feet were almost numb with cold.

Master Shenbi's comprehension ability didn't seem particularly high. He took two steps forward, head held high, and arrogantly raised his voice, shouting, "Where did this wild child come from—"

The boy's fingers suddenly changed again, transforming into a "thunderous, swaying finger" formation where the thumb and little finger were interlocked, and the index, middle, and ring fingers were pressed tightly together and thrust forward. I only had time to shout half a sentence: "Watch out! Watch out—"

A brilliant flash of lightning suddenly appeared in the dimly lit living room, as if a giant transformer had suddenly short-circuited and sputtered. With a hiss, the lightning struck Master Shenbi in the chest, violently slamming his body into the air. He flew backward for more than ten meters, smashing through the wooden back wall of the living room with a crack, and then crashed solidly onto his back, landing on the ground in an extremely disheveled state.

The "Thunder Eye Finger" is the most powerful attack technique in Tibetan Buddhist finger techniques, but it requires long-term practice and internal energy cultivation to reach such a level of power. How did this seven-year-old boy manage to master it?

"Hmph! You've got quite the discerning eye, kid! Much better than these forgetful bald guys..."

Even he called me "little kid," and I could only manage a wry smile, having no idea who he was.

In Tibetan Buddhism, the profound principle of "reincarnation of Living Buddhas" is upheld. When a previous Living Buddha ascends to heaven, his physical body perishes, but his spirit, at the instant it leaves the body, drifts and transfers to a certain person or a nascent embryo—this is called "reincarnation." Using the "reincarnation clues" left by the old Living Buddha, his followers gradually find the new Living Buddha and, through the "Golden Urn Lottery" system to confirm the identity of the reincarnated child, verify his identity and thus inherit the mantle of the old Living Buddha.

Living Buddhas who have undergone "reincarnation" often possess boundless supernatural abilities from birth, and are more capable of spontaneously comprehending the wisdom accumulated by their predecessors throughout their lives. This is why millions of Tibetans willingly reside in the remote and harsh borderlands to support and worship Living Buddhas. In the minds of Tibetans, Living Buddhas are their sole belief in survival; wherever a Living Buddha is, that is their paradise.

I tried to concentrate and stare at his face, hoping to see the mark of a "reincarnated Living Buddha" on his body.

In fact, all the newspapers and media have reported on it extensively, that the new generation of reincarnated "Living Buddha child" has been clearly born in Lhasa, China. After his identity was verified by his supporters, he was welcomed back to the Jokhang Temple with great fanfare.

The boy in front of me is not only the wrong age, but his appearance and clothing are also completely different from those of the new generation of "Living Buddha Child". So who is he? How can he be so proficient in such profound Tibetan esoteric finger techniques at such a young age?

The boy strode into the living room and went straight to the coffin where Tengjia lay.

He had to stand on tiptoe to see inside the coffin, a very strenuous task. Zhang Baisen followed him in, gently pulling him into his arms, and the two of them looked into the coffin together.

The four old monks, representing the dragon, elephant, tiger, and lion, were exhausted. They helped each other sit down cross-legged, constantly exhaling white mist from their mouths and noses.

"Ieresting..." the boy sighed softly, raising his left hand to stroke the wrinkles on his forehead, as if he were thinking hard.

The monks outside the door fell silent once more. Only Bingjian, who had struggled to his feet, was covered in blood. He walked to the wall and sat down, his face still showing unspoken fear.

The sky was getting darker and darker, and it would soon be sunset.

I remembered Xiao Keleng's call, but at this moment, I simply couldn't find the time to return it. The appearance of the mysterious Tibetan Buddhist sect's boy and the imposing Zhang Baisen brought about a huge change in the entire ritual, almost becoming a catastrophe for Fengge Temple.

"How are you?" the boy murmured to Fujika in the coffin, his hands clasped on his temples, his eyes wide open, staring intently at Fujika's face through the thick, transparent glass lid.

If he is truly the reincarnation of the old Living Buddha, he must possess the extraordinary ability to bring the dead back to life, and then there would truly be hope for Tenga's resurrection. In ancient Tibetan legends, the Living Buddha possesses boundless magical power, capable of "making Mount Sumeru appear as a mustard seed and turning the ocean into mulberry fields," and is the ruler of the entire world, omniscient and omnipotent.

I once visited the Potala Palace in Lhasa, Tibet, and saw thousands of Tibetans, dressed in all sorts of different styles, coming from dilapidated yurts hundreds of kilometers away to worship, performing the grand ritual of "prostrating themselves on the ground," bowing once with each step until they reached the palace gate... Living Buddhas are the soul of the Tibetan people, and this will never change from ancient times to the present.

With a whoosh, the glass cover was pulled open out of thin air, and the data on the LCD screen changed rapidly.

No one spoke up. Everyone from Fengge Temple understood Zhang Baisen's power and dared not step forward to invite further humiliation.

"How are you? How are you? How are you..." The boy kept repeating, each sentence changing to different languages. At first, it was the more common Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Russian, English, French, Thai... But later, it became more and more strange, with more than a dozen languages sounding like birdsong, flowing water, and the howling of monsters.

For about five minutes, he stared at Fujika's face, repeatedly asking the same question, but unfortunately, Fujika remained unconscious and unaware.

The boy's handsome face showed great confusion. He took his hands off his temples and pressed them against his forehead.

His eyes and eyebrows appeared excessively long and narrow, and his lips were excessively red. When he channeled his energy, his facial skin glowed with a magical, almost transparent milky white hue, and the tip of his nose and cheekbones gradually became as white as jade.

Zhang Baisen simply held him silently. This figure, whose status in the martial arts world of mainland China was unapproachable, always treated the boy with utmost respect, never daring to overstep his bounds. To defeat several masters from Fengge Temple with a single right fist meant his martial arts skills, even if not among the top in all of China, were at least within the top ten, truly deserving of heartfelt admiration. Especially noteworthy was the righteous spirit he displayed in every action, unparalleled among all the martial arts figures I had ever encountered.

"She was clearly awake...she could have woken up in an instant...why? Why couldn't she break through this barrier?" The boy's melancholy gaze turned to me, and suddenly a spark seemed to flash in his eyes, like a shooting star that suddenly appeared in the dark night and streaked across the sky.

"Give me...your hand." He slowly reached out his hand to me; his skin was smooth and delicate, and his fingers were long and soft.

I paused for a moment, then involuntarily took a step forward, reached out, and covered his palm with my own.

“Look into my eyes…” I looked up and met his gaze, and suddenly felt an urge to “prostrate myself in worship”. His eyes were filled with a peaceful and benevolent light, a kind of holy light of tranquility that could only be seen in the eyes of a highly accomplished monk, but now it appeared in the eyes of a seven-year-old child.

In that instant, all my memories of my older brother Yang Tian flooded my mind, including many things I didn't know—memories from when I was very, very young, before my memory fully matured.

I gave a wry smile: "How could I possibly remember things that happened before I lost my memory? These things couldn't possibly exist in my mind..."

A faint warmth flowed into my palm, and the hazy memories gradually became clear: I was lying on my older brother's back, traveling on an extremely rugged mountain road, until we stopped at the edge of a cliff.

The wind in the sky was gentle, and the grass in the crevices of the rocks on both sides was just beginning to sprout, filling the air with the fresh scent of tender grass (I felt really small, probably at the age of babbling)...

My older brother held me in his arms, took out a baby bottle, shook it, and brought the nipple close to my lips (Good heavens! Was I still a baby being breastfed back then?).

I turned my eyes to look down the cliff. Below were countless magnificent palaces, towering buildings stretching endlessly.

My older brother spoke, his voice heavy with weariness: "Do you know? This is the greatest palace in Chinese history, hiding the most incredible secrets of prehistoric civilization. You're so young, and I keep telling you these things. Won't you get annoyed?" His eyes were gentle and kind as he looked at me, but I ignored him, focusing only on drinking my milk and keeping my eyes glued to a swarm of black butterflies with red flowers.

Of course, I didn't know those colorful things flying around were called butterflies. I just thought they were beautiful when they flew, and I felt really hungry and needed a lot of food to fill my stomach.

The older brother's face was covered with a beard, several centimeters long, covering his nose, lips, cheeks, and jawline, indicating that he hadn't cut it in a long time.

He gently kissed my forehead, then lifted me up and placed me in a "nest" made of three stones. The stones were cleverly arranged, perfectly trapping my shoulders, waist, and legs, making it impossible for me to move.

"Wait for me here, okay? I'll be back before dark. What should I bring you? The soldiers' bronze swords, the palace maids' ivory combs, or the blood coral from the Wuyue Kingdom? The luminous pearl from the Yelang Kingdom? The Buddhist relics from Goryeo and Ryukyu..."

The sun was blazing, so bright that I sneezed while looking up, and the baby bottle rolled to the side. But my older brother was lost in thought as he continued his story, completely oblivious to me. He was so tall that when he stood in front of me, he blocked out all the sunlight, making me feel as if he were the sole ruler of the world.

I don't know how time passed. When the sunlight was no longer dazzling, a cool mountain breeze howled, the sky gradually turned dusky, and then the twinkling stars appeared one by one. I lay there helplessly, waiting for my older brother to reappear. At that time, I didn't understand anything, I had no thoughts or consciousness, I was in a state of complete bewilderment...

The warmth in my palm disappeared, and the boy squinted, scrutinizing my face. After a long while, he let out a longing exclamation: "Your brain cells have actually... have actually differentiated to such a profound degree? I don't understand... I don't understand..." He lowered his head to look carefully at his palm, and when he looked up again, his eyes showed extreme frustration and embarrassment.

I don't understand how I could have found memories that shouldn't exist deep in my mind—"Master... tell me, where did my older brother go?"

Since Zhang Baisen calls him a "master," this title must be correct.

The boy smiled, then ran his hands across the deep wrinkles on his forehead, answering somberly, "Many questions have answers within your heart. If you could mobilize the five elements of water beneath your brow, rising to the crown of your head and the cerebrum and cerebellum, you would naturally find the answers to everything. What you seek is often held in your own palm. Human life exists in this world, and the Creator has already written the trajectory of all futures in the lines of every individual's palm. Decipher them—you can try to decipher them yourself. I believe you can..."

I've looked at my palm lines countless times, and there are many crosses and three-way intersections. Fortune tellers usually interpret this phenomenon as "a life of toil and worry, with no end in sight"—hearing this too often is completely meaningless and only adds to the trouble.

"I just want to know, in my memory just now, where was my older brother going? Did he never come back?" I smiled bitterly. If I couldn't know all the answers, at least I could solve one question.

The boy looked up and sighed, "The Chu people set it ablaze, leaving only scorched earth. That's where he was going..."

These eight characters are a famous line from an ancient poem. Anyone who hears them will know what they refer to, and I am no exception.

After receiving my memories of my elder brother, his kind smile was deeply etched into my mind. Especially when I thought of a chivalrous hero carrying a nursing child through desolate mountains, a poignant sense of loneliness and desolation welled up within me. With his life's wealth, he could have easily hired servants and caregivers to look after me, while he roamed the world freely. Yet, he always kept me by his side, never leaving my side for a moment.

"So, will he come back? Where is he now?" I continued to press.

The boy sighed three times before replying wistfully, "I don't know. The way your brain cells are organized is extraordinary, impossible to detect. Perhaps someone will help you decipher them in the future. However, the most important thing in life is to rely on yourself, to believe that the mirror within your heart will one day open automatically, allowing you to travel through time and space and truly gain freedom..."

His words were so profound and mysterious that I couldn't fully comprehend them for a moment.

I don't know who he is, whether he's a "reincarnated spirit child" or another master of special abilities, but I just feel that being with such a strange person from the martial arts world, even for only ten minutes, would be very beneficial.

“I think it might be necessary to stay here for the night, what do you think?” He turned and looked at Zhang Baisen.

Zhang Baisen bowed slightly and respectfully replied, "Yes, I will have the temple make the arrangements."

He had just fought a fierce battle with the monks, and the two sides were on the verge of exchanging blows. He really didn't know what other way he could use to force Fengge Temple to keep its guests.