Chapter 191

Chapter 191

Sensing filthy things approaching him, Ghost Buddha Faceless abruptly opened his eyes in the middle of his chanting.

Against the white snow, the two points of red light in them looked especially glaring.

The hand that had already touched his bronze mask dropped at once, then inched toward the black dagger beside him.

“Kekekeke! Namo Amitabha Buddha! Asura beast, do you imagine there is no Buddha in this place?!”

At that moment, Master Numu-the solemn-faced Chief of the Arhat Hall on Mount Wutai-abruptly stopped chanting.

He opened his mouth in a lion’s roar that shook the wilderness.

“Chituoni! Ajialuo! Milizhu! Banlidaluoyaningjieli!”

It was one of Buddhism’s Five Great Heart Mantras of the Shurangama, specifically used to shatter every evil art of heavenly demons and heretical paths.

The bald mummified corpse went down on its knees as though struck by lightning.

An instant later, however, black qi flashed through its eyes. With great difficulty, it raised both hands and hurled the two black earthenware jars filled with corpse oil at Ghost Buddha Faceless.

But who was Ghost Buddha Faceless?

While alive, he had been a great Buddhist monk the likes of whom appeared perhaps once in a thousand years.

Before his death, his crimes had become so monstrous that neither Heaven nor Earth would tolerate him.

After death, he had struggled bitterly between ghosthood and Buddhahood for nearly two thousand years.

By now, both his baleful qi and his command of the Dharma had reached a level that inspired hatred and fear. How could two mere jars possibly strike him?

(The expression “to draw sidelong glances” is pejorative. It describes the way people look askance at someone out of hatred, or from a mixture of fear and resentment. It appears in the “Biographies of Ji An and Zheng Dangshi” in the *Records of the Grand Historian*: “All beneath Heaven now stand with feet pressed together and look on with sidelong eyes.”)

Laughing strangely, Ghost Buddha Faceless swept out a sleeve of his blood-red monastic robe. The earthenware jars filled with corpse oil shot back the way they had come.

There was a thunderous explosion, and the bald mummified corpse was instantly blasted to pieces.

The moment Ghost Buddha Faceless took a life, the vicious evil within him could no longer be suppressed.

It surged into the sky, gathering black clouds that blotted out the stars overhead. Howling yin winds swept through the surrounding mountains.

Masters Numu and Kongchan exchanged a glance, then chanted even faster.

The animals capable of human speech, along with the wandering ghosts, spirits, and strange beings in the mountain, kowtowed in terror.

“Have mercy, Great Monk! Have mercy! You must not let murderous intent move your heart!”

The young monks in the distance cried out in unison.

“Namo Amitabha Buddha! We unworthy descendants beg our patriarch for mercy!”

Ghostly fire flickered in Ghost Buddha Faceless’s eyes as he slowly turned toward the young monks.

“Ke… Namo Amitabha Buddha! What did you call me? Your patriarch?!”

Master Kongchan led the young monks in bowing to the ground.

“Namo Amitabha Buddha. All the unworthy descendants of Jinguang Temple pay their respects to the great monk who served as our temple’s fifty-second abbot.”

Ghost Buddha Faceless began to tremble. Beneath the mask, the ghostly fire in his eyes gradually died away.

“You acknowledge this humble monk as your patriarch-as your abbot?!”

Reciting the Buddha’s name, Master Kongchan drew a yellowed volume of wooden slips from within his kasaya. He unfolded it to a particular page and handed it to Ghost Buddha Faceless.

Written clearly upon it were the words:

Fifty-second Abbot of Jinguang Temple: Faqing.

(Readers with good memories may recall that Ghost Buddha and his fellow disciples all belonged to the generation whose Dharma names began with “Fa.”)

Born during the cassia month of a Zhenguan year… Year of death: unknown…

Directly above Ghost Buddha’s name was his teacher’s Dharma name. The name of Ghost Buddha’s senior brother, Fajie, was nowhere to be found.

Master Kongchan explained through his tears.

“The temple chronicle records Patriarch Fajie’s instruction: he was only serving as abbot in Patriarch Faqing’s stead. Once Patriarch Faqing completed his studies on Mount Wutai and returned, Fajie would relinquish the position…”

As Ghost Buddha listened, the black qi surrounding him rapidly dissipated. Even his blood-red monastic robe faded to gray.

He threw back his head and cried out in anguish.

“Senior Brother! Faqing is guilty! Faqing deserves to die!”