King of Tomb Raiders

Chapter 93

Looking north towards the "Marrow Cleansing Hall," the smoke grew thicker and thicker, as if thousands of incense sticks and candles were lit simultaneously. Yet, strangely, no chanting or striking of wooden fish could be heard in the air. Any religious ceremony, besides burning incense and paper money, must include chanting and striking of wooden fish; these are essential and fixed procedures.

“Alright, let’s offend each other this once—” Without any preparation, I lifted my front foot and inserted it between Bingjian’s legs, then bumped my shoulder into his chest.

Bing twisted his body to avoid my collision, placed his hands on my shoulders, and twisted them with force, using a ruthless technique from judo. Although he was a monk, he had no concept of "mercy" in his attacks. His purpose in twisting me was to dislocate my right shoulder and render me unable to fight.

His reaction was exactly what I had anticipated, so when his hand touched my shoulder and he started to exert force, I suddenly yelled, fell backward, and hit the back of my head hard on the stone slab, causing blood to flow freely.

I dusted off my sleeves and sneered, "Monks are supposed to be compassionate, but your attack is more ruthless than that of a street thug. Is this the level of cultivation at Fengge Temple?" The more ruthless his attack, the stronger the force of my "Eighteen Falling Steps" technique that sent him flying. The milky-white stone slabs were immediately stained with a line of bright red, mottled and patchy, like cherry blossoms in full bloom in spring.

Bingjian stubbornly sprang to his feet, his arms spreading wide in a karate "hand chop" motion, still blocking my way. Blood stained his monk's robe, flowing continuously down his back.

"I'm very sorry, I only asked to see Master Shenbi, why are you blocking me like this?" I stepped forward, unable to help him with his injuries. His insistence on preventing me from going to the "Marrow Cleansing Hall" was like "biting the hand that feeds you," and to attack a foreigner I had just met so harshly, he should be punished a little, otherwise he would become even more lawless.

Bing gritted his teeth, a desperate, bitter smile suddenly appearing on his face: "Mr. Feng, letting you pass would be my dereliction of duty. Master Shenbi said that no one is allowed to step into the 'Marrow Cleansing Hall' without his permission. This is my responsibility. Even if I let you pass, it would only be by stepping over my dead body..."

The gray wound on the back of his head was bleeding rapidly; within the time it took to say a few words, a small pool of blood had formed at his feet. At this rate of bleeding, without immediate medical attention, and if he were to engage in further combat, he would likely bleed to death very soon.

I sighed in frustration, just as I was about to give up on the idea of moving forward. I had no grudge against Bingjian, so why should I harm his life?

Just then, the phone in Bingjian's pocket rang. He took several steps back, glancing at me sideways as he answered the phone, his tone extremely respectful: "Yes, this is Bingjian. What? The abbot wants to see this Mr. Feng? Very well, I'll invite Mr. Feng in immediately, right away!"

After he hung up the phone, his expression changed from worry to joy: "Mr. Feng, Master Shenbi invites you in. I'm so sorry to have taken up your precious time..." This 180-degree turn of events surprised me as well. I took out a handkerchief and handed it to him apologetically.

That black and silver ring is now in my hand, heavy, just like my current mood.

Seeing that the soldier had temporarily covered his wound with a handkerchief, he led me quickly through the overlapping corridors, heading north.

I could feel the terrain rising steadily, with the center of the pagoda being the lowest point in the entire temple. At that moment, I really wanted to take out my phone and exchange a few words with Xiao Keleng. With her in charge of Xunfu Garden, she must have many unique ideas about the complex layout of Fengge Temple. But this thought only flashed through my mind; before I could even put it into practice, Bingjian pointed forward with a wry smile: "Mr. Feng, go through that moon gate ahead, and you'll find Master Shenbi's 'Marrow Cleansing Hall.' My level is too low; I can't be summoned and dare not go in."

I nodded apologetically to him, strode forward, and passed through the moon gate, which was mostly hidden by a giant cherry blossom tree. What appeared before me was yet another extremely strange scene—

At least three hundred gray-robed monks sat cross-legged in the courtyard, hands clasped together, facing due north, their lips moving incessantly in silent chanting. What met my eyes were only rows of dull, bald heads, occupying most of the exquisitely decorated courtyard. Behind the monks, thirty-odd workers in various garments sat haphazardly, their hands also clasped in front of their chests, their expressions utterly blank, showing no sign of meditation.

There were about 350 people in the courtyard, plus 20 wrinkled old monks sitting upright under the porch, making a total of 370 people sitting silently, their postures surrounding the gray-white meditation room facing due north.

The meditation room has an ordinary paper sliding door at the front, but it is decorated with a giant cherry blossom painting, extremely bright and beautiful. Large clusters of fiery red cherry blossoms rise and fall, sparkling like a never-ending, never-extinguishing bonfire burning in front of the door. The background of the painting is the rolling hills of Mokuwan-zuri and the "Tower of the Dead" of Fuge-ji Temple, which are depicted with remarkable realism.

I walked straight to the door of the meditation room without stopping. No one in the courtyard reacted, as if I were just an invisible person who didn't stir up any dust in their eyes.

Upon reaching the door, I paused briefly, unsure whether to knock and visit.

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a short, white-haired, white-bearded monk stared at me coldly for half a minute before slowly speaking: "Is this Mr. Feng? The young man who saved Princess Tengjia in the Egyptian desert?"

His eyebrows weren't fully white yet, and with each word he uttered, they twitched menacingly. When he looked up at me, he stood as firmly as a cast-iron statue.

I've seen his photo in tourist brochures; he is Master Shenbi, the abbot of Fengge Temple.

I nodded, and he took a step back and nodded as well, gesturing for me to go in.

After taking a few steps forward, I realized that it wasn't that he was too short, but rather that the ground inside the gate was three steps lower than the ground in the yard. In fact, his height was about the same as mine.

Upon entering, there is a spacious living room, about ten meters square. A crystal coffin is placed upright in the center of the living room, covered with a layer of almost transparent white gauze.

I strode forward to the side of the coffin and looked down. There lay Fujika, peacefully, still encased in those strange golden garments. The golden helmet and shoes that the fake Tanino had taken were all beside her. She was still asleep, but her condition didn't seem to have worsened; she was exactly the same as she had been in Cairo.

A faint smile graced her face, and her chest rose and fell gently, as if she were truly fast asleep, as if she could sit up, talk, eat, and work as soon as the sun rose tomorrow…

I sighed dejectedly, "Master Shenbi, if the goal is to awaken Miss Tengjia, sending her to the hospital would be more effective than blindly burning incense and kowtowing here, wouldn't it?"

Japan's medical technology lags behind only the United States globally and is on par with European powers. Their "brain activation" technology is said to be becoming increasingly mature and stable, and could potentially perform such surgery on Fujika, even if it is only in the conceptual experimental stage.

After I finished speaking, I noticed that in each of the four corners of the living room sat an elderly monk, at least eighty years old, with half-meter-long white hair growing on their bald heads, their eyes cloudy and drowsy. My words did not attract their attention at all, as if they regarded me as invisible or as if they themselves were invisible.

Master Shenbi replied expressionlessly, “We’ve already tried your idea. We’re more anxious about Princess Fujika’s revival than anyone else on Earth. If you can help me, a large reward is inevitable, plus an invincible gold medal bestowed by the Emperor, granting absolute green light power that allows you to travel freely throughout Japan…”

He stood on the other side of the coffin, looking at Fujika with deep anger and disappointment in his eyes.

Part 2: Tower of the Dead

— Chapter 9 — The High Monk —

The golden sleeves wrapped around Tengjia's body were still two separate pieces, tightly binding her body. She also had an extended pair of wrist and knee pads on her forearms and calves, and her whole body radiated a golden light. Her eyes were always closed, and her hair, which had been haphazardly cut short, was spread out messily on the metal pillow.

There is a square LCD screen on the top of the coffin, which continuously displays the temperature, humidity and oxygen content inside the coffin.

At this moment, she is alive, but in a "vegetative state," and her body's various metabolic functions are no different from those of a living person.

I did not awaken Fujika's special abilities, and of course, I had no interest whatsoever in the Emperor of Japan's reward.

The old monk in the left corner of the room suddenly yawned, uttered the Japanese word "No," and then curled up in his robes, seemingly falling back into a deep sleep.

Master Shenbi frowned deeply: "What? Fourth Uncle, it wasn't him? It wasn't Mr. Feng?"

No one responded; the four old monks seemed to be asleep silently, completely ignoring Master Shenbi's words.

Master Shenbi's disappointment deepened, and he placed his hands on the coffin lid, letting out a slow sigh.

The "resurrection sand" that Suren had scattered on Tenga's body was no longer visible, presumably having been removed during the several times her body was moved. It's puzzling why the dragon would be so careful with a bag of sand, entrusting it so cautiously to Yelan. Was it merely due to the religious beliefs of a mysterious cult?

If modern Japanese medicine cannot revive Fujika, then we can only wait for a miracle to happen.

Master Shenbi gestured for me to walk towards the small living room on the side. It seems that I, as Tengjia's "savior," am still receiving special treatment at Fengge Temple.

The small living room is decorated in a typical Western style. Instead of tatami mats and beds, there are Western-style sofas and coffee tables. Furthermore, the paintings on the walls are no longer traditional Japanese ukiyo-e style paintings, but rather Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" and the famous "Mona Lisa".

After they were seated, a handsome young monk offered them two cups of coffee and then silently withdrew. They were wearing soft-soled cloth shoes, and the thick beige carpet on the floor made the silence even more profound.

Master Shenbi's face gradually broke into a smile: "Mr. Feng, according to Commander Watanabe, it was you who risked your life to enter the ancient well in Egypt and rescued Princess Tengjia. Everyone in our temple is deeply grateful to you, Mr. Feng, and we dare not express our gratitude. If you need any help from us, please do not hesitate to ask. In a little while, the temple will have a small gift for you. Please accept it."

Even with a smile, the murderous intent in his eyes remained intense, and his every move exuded a fierce aura, clearly demonstrating his exceptional mastery of external martial arts. Looking at his hand holding the coffee cup, his fists and fingertips were covered in thick calluses, and every hand movement involved a series of actions in his elbows, arms, and shoulders, proving his impeccable coordination.

I nodded and smiled in return: "Master Shenbi, you are too kind. It's a pity that Miss Tengjia cannot be fully awakened. She had a very complicated and bizarre experience before she fell into a coma. If we could obtain some information from her thoughts, it would be a major gain for human civilization."

To this day, I still don't understand how Tengjia was able to traverse over a hundred meters of sand and soil, pass through the sturdy outer wall of the pyramid, and then reach the ancient well over a hundred meters deep beneath the giant gold ingot in the underground tunnel. Of course, the great god Tu Liehan said that it was a necessary process for absorbing energy from Tengjia's body, but why could her body generate inexplicable power that canceled out the energy in the Saturnian's body?

According to the Saturnians, Tengjia is not a human being in the true sense of the word, just as he pointed out that my physical structure is not exactly the same as that of a typical human being.

No two individuals on Earth are exactly alike, just as the philosopher said, "No two leaves in autumn are exactly alike."

"Mr. Feng, according to the diagnosis of Tokyo's top medical experts, Princess Fujika's physical indicators are all completely normal, including the activity level of her brain cells and brain tissue. What puzzles the experts most is that the scientific instruments show that Princess Fujika is a completely normal person, even a conscious normal person. In this state, she can stand up and speak, walk, and do things at any time, because the current activity level of her brain tissue proves that she is alive and conscious..."

Master Shenbi frowned and struggled to explain the passage, which basically meant that Tengjia's body was perfectly normal and he was not in a vegetative state.

I gave a wry smile: "Really? Could it be that she doesn't want to wake up because of personal reasons?"

That's strange. No normal person would like to lie upright in a coffin for others to admire, let alone a beautiful young woman in the prime of her life.

I leaned back on the sofa, closed my eyes, and pondered deeply. Suddenly, I exclaimed, "Master, could it be those golden armors causing this trouble?"

Such strange decorations wouldn't exist on Earth; they could only be products of Saturnians. If we could bring those things down, perhaps something new would happen.

Before Master Shenbi could speak, he let out a few dry, bitter laughs: "What a pity..."

Suddenly, the four old monks in the next living room let out a shrill scream, like the raging waves of the sea, rolling and crashing like rocks splitting and clouds piercing, almost rupturing my eardrums.

I quickly dropped the cup and covered my ears with both hands, but I still felt my blood boiling in my chest, unable to control myself. These four old monks looked unremarkable, even sleazy and dirty, but the power of their continuous howling was no less than the authentic "Buddhist Lion's Roar" of Shaolin Temple.

Master Shenbi's expression suddenly changed. He jumped up, took a step to the door, overturned the coffee table, and spilled the cups and coffee all over the floor.

"Uncle-Master, has that person arrived?" he asked, while his body's dozen or so joints made strange cracking sounds like popping beans, and his gray monk's robe suddenly swelled up several times its original size, like a giant sail that had caught a lot of wind.

At this moment, the more than three hundred monks outside the door also roared in unison. Although their voices were not as loud and powerful as those of the four old monks, the roars of so many people mixed with the mountain wind and sea wind, reverberating and soaring together, creating a truly astonishing sound.

For a good ten minutes or so, all I could hear was a deafening buzzing sound; I couldn't hear anything else. It was as if a formidable enemy of Fengge Temple had come to challenge them and seek revenge. With the advent of firearms and warships, the old ways of martial arts and swordsmanship have faded away, but the unique dealings among martial artists—hatred, killing, revenge, and provocation—continue from generation to generation, never truly disappearing.

A veteran of the martial arts world once said: Where there are people, there is martial arts; where there is martial arts, there is hatred.

"Hahahaha... Hahahaha... Hahahaha..." A burst of increasingly loud laughter rang out, seemingly coming from outside the meditation room. The person's internal strength was unfathomable; his voice instantly suppressed the shouts of all the monks. And as soon as the laughter stopped, he spoke clearly, word by word: "Friends from Fengge Temple, you invited me here to comprehend Zen principles. Why first act like a bully, a dog relying on its master's power, shouting and intimidating? If you anger me, I'll tear off your dog heads one by one and feed them to the dogs... Hahahaha..."

The laughter grew louder and louder, shaking the paper doors and partitions.

Master Shenbi entered the main living room, and I followed closely behind.

The four old monks had already stood up, holding hands beside the coffin, their bodies hunched over, trembling violently. They no longer had time to let out a howl; they were simply trying their best to circulate their inner energy to resist the laughter of the newcomers.

This kind of internal martial arts combat is extremely exhausting, depleting one's essence, energy, and spirit. The loser often dies from exhaustion. However, what martial arts practitioners value most is "integrity" rather than "life," and they consider "face" more important than anything else.

Master Shenbi strode forward and thrust his palms out, pressing them onto the back of one of the old monks. Instantly, all four old monks let out a long breath, their bodies slowly straightening as if the pressure on their shoulders had been greatly relieved.

"Host... Host... Host..." It was Bingjian's anxious cry as he rushed over, finally crashing into the paper door with a bang, tearing a large hole in the cherry blossom picture. He fell straight in and collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Although Bingjian is skilled in conversation and interpersonal communication, he lacks practical experience in the martial arts world. His hurried and frantic running will only point the way to the person who broke into the temple, and they will probably be able to find this place within a few seconds.

"What is it?" Master Shenbi asked slowly but authoritatively.

“Water…water…the divine tide has appeared again, this time exceeding two feet, it has already reached the first step…” Bingjian’s monk robe was still stained with blood, and the white handkerchief I gave him was tied around his head, making him look ridiculous. Moreover, his speech was incoherent and illogical.

I heard the Japanese phrase "the tide of the gods," and for a moment I didn't understand what it meant, but then my phone in my pocket started ringing.

"Very good...you may leave!" Steam was rising from Master Shenbi's head.

A gust of wind blew in from the doorway, and the long, snow-white hair of the four high monks suddenly fell off, silently covering the coffin, leaving only their bare bald heads. In the battle of internal energy just now, they had exhausted all their strength, only to be able to barely defend themselves, and their bodies were severely damaged. They had lost all their ability to restrain the hair on their skin, which was why all their hair had fallen out.

I retreated to the small living room, took out my phone, and saw that it was Xiao Keleng's number. I couldn't help but feel annoyed: "Why did she have to come at this crucial moment!" I immediately turned off the phone, not daring to make a sound and disturb the battle outside.

When the laughter rang out again, it should have come from the courtyard where the pagoda stood.

The soldier, who had already gotten up, was ashen-faced and trembling, completely at a loss.

Master Shenbi shouted, "Get out! Useless thing!" With his shout, a strong whirlwind suddenly swept up from beside him, carrying Bingjian's body outward and tumbling to the ground in the middle of the courtyard with a thud, unable to even get up a second time.

"Even if it costs us our lives... we cannot... lose the reputation of Fengge Temple..." An old monk suddenly spat out a mouthful of dark purple blood, then sang a song to the sky. His voice was monotonous and mournful, and it was even more devastating to the ears than the howl he had just uttered.

Japanese folk songs are inherently rough and monotonous. When an old monk shouts at the top of his lungs, there is no discernible syllable or melody, just like the howl of a wild wolf in a snowy mountain.

Only then did I notice that the four old monks' gray robes were embroidered with patterns on the front of their robes, depicting four ferocious beasts: a dragon, an elephant, a tiger, and a lion. The old monk who had just coughed up blood and sang loudly had a fiery dragon embroidered on his chest. With a splatter of blood, the dragon was wet and stood out even more fiercely against the gray background.

In harmony with the old monk's chant, the other three, along with Master Shenbi, simultaneously opened their mouths and sang, creating a spirited melody reminiscent of a boatman's work song that drifted outwards. The four remained in a circle, with Master Shenbi providing support from the outside, as the five slowly moved towards the door, seemingly preparing to rush out and meet the enemy.

I didn't want to get entangled in these pointless conflicts of the martial world, so I quickly walked to Teng Jia's coffin and bent down to examine it closely.

Back in the Egyptian desert, I felt a natural aversion to her arrogant demeanor. After all, she represented the official Japanese government at the time, with Watanabe Toshio's political background involved, making her clearly not an ally on my side. Now, after the series of bizarre events at the Turkic pyramids, she has become a patient, and this barrier between nations seems to have become extremely thin, or even nonexistent.

As she slept, Fujika's expression was serene. Two small, round moles, each the size of a grain of rice, adorned her brow bones—one red, the other black—both hidden deep within her smooth eyebrows. To be fair, her features were exquisitely beautiful, her skin delicate and fair, far surpassing that of some of the most sought-after actresses in the current Japanese entertainment industry.

Such a beautiful girl, ending up in a vegetative state, can't help but remind me of the famous Chinese saying, "Beautiful women often have tragic fates." If Su Lun were here and saw my regretful expression, she would definitely be bursting with jealousy.

After her haircut, Fujika's expression had a strange melancholy about her. I would rather see her with long, flowing hair—a girl as delicate and perfect as her is only suited to long hair, just like Guan Baoling...

I couldn't help but wonder at my own wandering thoughts: "The monks in the temple are already locked in a fierce battle with the enemy, while I'm just here letting my mind wander! Sigh, ever since I arrived in Hokkaido, my mind has been a mess all the time. Shouldn't I stop what I'm doing and get some peace and quiet...?"

At that moment, with both hands pressed against the sides of the coffin, I suddenly felt Fujika's eyelids flutter slightly, as if she were waking from a dream. For a split second, my breathing became labored, and I stared intently at her face. However, Fujika didn't magically wake up; it was just my imagination.

After staring for a minute, my eyes started to ache unbearably, but I didn't see anything unusual about Tengjia. Disappointed, I turned back to look at the five people blocking the doorway.

The large living room was so empty that all five of them were crammed behind the doorway. The walls were bare, with only the coffin sitting alone in the center of the room. Looking up, the beams and rafters were neatly arranged, typical of a Japanese all-wood structure. The only thing that struck me as odd was a golden mirror, about twenty centimeters in diameter, embedded at the intersection of the beams and pillars, shining brightly directly at the center of the coffin.

The Japanese flag features a white background with a red sun, and sun symbols like this are ubiquitous. However, a golden sun is relatively rare.