Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 15: The Young Maiden

Fucheng, capital of the Yu Kingdom.

Wang Chuan was now going by the alias Yan Huan, having come to explore the neighboring Yu Kingdom west of Wei. The atmosphere here felt suffused with a certain artistic air; years had passed since any wars, and the people lived in peace and relative prosperity.

Upon arrival, he did not stay at an inn. Instead, when he entered the city and saw a temple, he made a small donation and took lodging in a guest room.

After returning from the teahouse, Yang Hao had already sent over the information he requested—details on the Wei Emperor and other important figures.

“Your Highness, is it for the sake of the Yu Princess?” Old Zhong dared to ask.

Wang Chuan frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“The Yu Princess is renowned as the fairest in the land, and her mother was famed for her beauty years ago. Moreover, the Emperor has no heirs, and many say—” Zhong began.

“The former is true, the latter mere ignorance,” Wang Chuan shook his head. “The Lord of Yu indeed has no son, but even if there were a consort prince, he would remain a consort. Historically, succession has not always passed to the crown prince; in the absence of one, the royal family seeks another choice. If, and I do mean if, the Lord of Yu were to pass, the rightful heir would be his younger brother, Prince Guang.”

“But all the other kingdoms have sent envoys to propose marriage, even a prince from our own Jin Kingdom...” Zhong continued. “To marry the only daughter of the Yu ruler is tantamount to securing Yu’s support.”

“I have no interest in such things,” Wang Chuan replied, shaking his head to dismiss the notion. “I’m drawn here by the pull of fortune; there’s something strange about the fate in this place. Perhaps another sage is about to emerge, or some rare treasure will be revealed.”

Zhong no longer dared to press the matter—an immortal’s guidance was not to be questioned.

Yet the Princess of Yu was truly said to be beautiful.

“There’s something odd about this aura... quite out of the ordinary,” Wang Chuan suddenly remarked, gazing outside before striding out.

Leaving the temple, the clamor of the city struck him—a stark contrast to the temple’s tranquil bell chimes and the endless stream of devout worshippers, whose sincerity hushed the crowds. Outside, however, vendors and peddlers bustled about, their shouts filling the air and animating the local economy—a merit in its own right.

Continuing onward, Wang Chuan soon spotted two monks seated beneath a large tree outside the temple, far from the vendors.

The elder monk’s skin was dark and glossy, his eyes shadowed and expression blank, suggesting deafness, muteness, or failing sight.

The younger monk, middle-aged, wore a tattered robe and carried only a begging bowl and the clothes on his back. Seated cross-legged in the open beneath the tree, his frame was thin and small. Wang Chuan sensed a gentle gaze, one that seemed to have seen through the world’s sorrows; frail in body, yet exuding an indefinable strength.

“To see one’s true nature is to attain Buddhahood,” Wang Chuan thought as he gazed at the monk. “Meeting a master like this, I feel as though I, too, could find enlightenment and become a Buddha on the spot.”

The middle-aged monk, meeting Wang Chuan’s eyes, merely smiled faintly, as if his thoughts drifted beyond this world.

Wang Chuan approached and sat beside him in the same posture, quietly seeking insight. A transcendent sense of detachment filled him, his spirit resonating with a power beyond form.

“You already possess a Buddha’s heart, benefactor. Well done,” the monk murmured.

“Each has his path. I seek the Way and rest here only for a glimpse of the Dharma, yet I have gained much,” Wang Chuan replied.

“Buddha-nature abides, but the heart is impermanent. All beings possess permanence, and yet impermanence. The heart is Buddha; Buddha dwells within the heart.”

Zhong, loyal as ever, sat beside Wang Chuan, bewildered. He could only sigh at his own worldliness and his master’s transcendence. Two sages meeting, creating a subtle chemistry between them. They sat in silence, and Zhong worried Wang Chuan might sit there forever.

...

“Hmm?”

A soft exclamation sounded as a graceful figure approached, accompanied by attendants. The young woman was dressed as a man, yet her femininity was immediately apparent—most obviously from the curve of her chest. Such cross-dressing was popular in Yu, where talented women were numerous.

She wore a narrow-sleeved, close-fitting long robe with a turned-down collar, white brocade trousers, and high boots—a masculine disguise, yet one that only accentuated her feminine curves. Without makeup, her beauty still outshone all others.

“Monk, why aren’t you inside the temple? The wind is strong out here,” she asked.

The middle-aged monk only shook his head, giving no explanation.

“And what are you doing here?” she asked Wang Chuan.

He glanced at her; there was something fresh and ethereal about her presence. With a smile, he replied, “I am accompanying this venerable monk in contemplating Zen. He is a true master of the Dharma, unlike those charlatans I’ve met before. Our meeting is by fate, and so is receiving the teaching. As for your question...” Wang Chuan looked to the side. “The master believes Buddha dwells in the heart—what difference is there between inside and outside the temple?”

The monk finally nodded, “The benefactor speaks truly.”

“I don’t understand,” the woman scratched her head, confused.

She thought the monk looked too shabby to be much of a master, yet his bearing was profound and full of subtle meaning. And Wang Chuan, in his fine clothes, sat beside him without concern for dust—quite the incongruous sight.

“To meet a true master is fate, whether in this life or a former one. The lost seek fate but find none; those who have found the Way adapt to fate yet remain unchanged. Let things flow as they will,” Wang Chuan said, closing his eyes to meditate once more.

“So you’re calling me foolish,” the woman pouted.

Wang Chuan fell silent.

An ordinary person might discard a raw jade, mistaking it for a stone—does that mean they lack discernment? It is a matter of perspective and vision. Yet in the hands of a master, with a little refinement, it will shine brilliantly.

“You have a natural affinity with the Dharma, benefactress,” the monk remarked.

Both were surprised—the woman and Wang Chuan alike.

Worried the monk might be lying, Wang Chuan studied him closely, making the man uneasy. At last, Wang Chuan said, “You truly do. I misjudged you. The master’s insight is profound; I have learned something new today.”

He had missed the mark himself.

“You two...” the woman hesitated, unsure if they were praising her. It felt odd.

“My name is Xu Wei. May I ask the master’s Dharma name?” she inquired, still somewhat dazed, but her instincts told her this monk was extraordinary.

“I am Ji Xin,” the monk replied.

Upon hearing the name, the woman’s eyes widened and she glanced at the old monk beside him, her expression full of astonishment.

Wang Chuan raised his eyebrows and asked, “Are you famous?”

He had never paid much attention to this field. In the kingdoms of Wei and Jin, Buddhism had waned. Years ago, the Jin Emperor was a Buddhist and temples flourished. But the next emperor favored Daoism, and temples became Daoist abbeys. Now, with the current rulers, what could Buddhism offer them?

The Yu monarch was not especially devout, ruling with a light hand. The country was peaceful, so Buddhism had thrived. Otherwise, in times of war, who would put down their sword for conversion? Daoists could conduct rituals too—competition was fierce.

“You don’t even know Master Ji Xin?” Xu Wei exclaimed.

She had already sensed the monk was extraordinary, but had not expected him to be a true luminary.

“I am Yan Huan. Have you heard of me?” Wang Chuan asked.

“Never,” Xu Wei replied honestly.

“That’s good,” Wang Chuan said with relief.

Xu Wei paused, feeling that something was amiss.

“Master, since fate has brought us together and it’s nearly mealtime, why not join us?” Wang Chuan clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a vegetarian restaurant ahead that’s quite good. Eat your fill, then you can continue spreading the Dharma and saving the world.”

Ji Xin considered for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”

Decisive and straightforward, the master rose at once to follow Wang Chuan without hesitation.

“I want to come too!” Xu Wei exclaimed.

Wang Chuan did not stop her; she followed as she pleased.

“Where are you from?” she asked, intrigued by his obvious accent.

“Wei Kingdom,” Wang Chuan replied.

“Oh,” Xu Wei nodded. “Is Wei Kingdom fun?”

Wang Chuan glanced at her, thinking she was a rather naive heiress. “Not really. The border is troubled, and there is internal strife. Your Yu Kingdom is better—peaceful, prosperous.”

Yet stability breeds complacency; if war came, would they be ready?

Xu Wei seemed quite content, grinning foolishly.

As they walked through the streets, they noticed a commotion ahead—a quarrel between some people and a peddler. The group was oddly dressed, their attire unlike that of the Central Plains. Wang Chuan did not recognize their style.

“Where are they from?” Xu Wei wondered aloud.

“Probably the Western Regions—they have Buddhist temples too, bordering Yu,” Wang Chuan replied, recognizing some familiar traits.

For centuries, envoys from the Western Regions occasionally visited; relations remained cordial, with little conflict. These must be here for some cultural exchange. After all, Central Plains culture had a deep history.

At that moment, the argument’s voices carried over.

“The tea is five copper coins a bowl. You drank seven bowls—shouldn’t that be thirty-five?” the vendor shouted.

“You said two coins a bowl! Now you say five after we’ve finished?” a man from Wa retorted, his face flushed. “You’re taking advantage of us!”

“Who’s naïve here? You foreigners can’t count?” the vendor sneered. “My price has always been five coins a bowl—ask anyone! Hmph.”

“You’re lying,” another, a woman from the Western Regions with a striking face, retorted crisply. “Two coins means two coins. It’s not about the money, but why bully outsiders?”

“Heh, you savages just want to avoid paying? If you won’t pay, I’ll call the authorities!” the vendor threatened, towering over them and showing no fear.

The crowd began to gather and murmur.

“Go ahead and call them! We came to the Central Plains, drawn by its reputation for courtesy, yet we meet a rogue like you. I refuse to believe there’s no justice here...” the woman protested angrily.