<h4>Chapter 266</h4>


    “Dude, there’s something off about this ce!” Dali whispered through gritted teeth. "Let’s just get the hell out of here!"


    "Where are we supposed to go?” I asked. “It’s raining like cats and dogs out there. We might as well wait till the weather eases up."


    I walked over to examine the wooden fish that was covered with ayer of dust and cobwebs, showing no traces of having been drummed. Yet as soon as I ced it back down, the loud creaking of a door broke the silence of the prayer hall. The creak sounded dragged out, as if a door was being pushed in slow motion. I was certain there weren’t any doors in the hall. So how exactly did the sounde about?


    The scariest part of a horror movie isn’t the ghost itself, but the sound effects. If you don’t believe me, try watching "The Ring" with any song from Phoenix Legend. I promise you won’t feel a thing!


    The inexplicable sounds had Bingxin frightened like a little rabbit, hands clutching my shirt as she cried, "Song Yang-gege, let’s stop moving around. As soon as the rain stops, we’ll leave, alright?"


    “Okay!” I nodded.


    The storm quickly subsided, but the rain continued in a light drizzle. Outside, the sky was still dark, overcast with heavy,rge clouds. We huddled together, waiting as three or four hours dragged on. Finally, Dali stood up and cried, "I can’t stand it anymore!"


    I thought he meant the gloomy atmosphere, but then came his next sentence, "My dder is about to burst! Dude, follow me to the backyard so I can relieve myself!"


    "Just use an empty incense burner," I suggested.


    Zhu Xiaohao immediately shot me an angry re. "I’ll fight you if you dare!"


    Dali had long grown impatient with his nonsense and couldn’t be bothered to deal with him. "You’re acting as if you built the temple!” he mocked. “The Buddha isn’t so narrow-minded to hold it against me for pissing in his territory. I think you’re making a fuss out of nothing!"


    "You dare disrespect the Buddha?!" threatened Zhu Xiaohao, the veins in his neck throbbing from anger.


    "Fine, let’s just go round the back,” I said. “Bingxin, do you have to go too?"


    "No, I’m alright." Bingxin’s cheeks colored with embarrassment.


    When we went to the back, I noticed another smaller hall to the side. In the middle of the courtyard was arge incense burner made out of stone, sitting somewhat crookedly on the ground that was filled with overgrown weeds. There were wings on both sides of the courtyard that appeared to house the monks, though they were now unupied.


    Dali and I found a secluded corner where he quickly unzipped his pants and pulled out his little guy. Thud! A sudden noise reverberated through the courtyard, frightening Dali so he jumped in shock and lost control of his aim, almost getting piss all over me.


    After a brief pause, the thud sounded again and again in a weird rhythm. Dali quaked like a leaf as he asked, "What’s that?"


    I heard footsteps that resembled Bingxin’s and immediately urged, "Hurry up! Put away your dick!"


    True enough, a few secondster, Bingxin came running towards us. "Song Yang-gege, did you hear that? There are really strange soundsing from God knows where!"


    "Let’s go and check out the situation!" I said.


    We passed the side rooms and found an abandoned smaller courtyard in the rear. There were odds and ends piled up all over the ce, and unfinished Buddha statues carelesslyid on the ground.


    "Fuck! It’s a ghost!" shouted Dali.


    With that, he scurried behind me and pointed with trembling fingers.


    I looked in the direction of his finger and gasped, shocked to see a monk standing under an old locust tree. Half of his face had beenpletely disfigured, his features mashed together like melted wax. Part of his gums was exposed from his mangled lip. But the other half of his face was perfectly intact. Like abination of angel and devil on the same face, he reminded me of the viin Two-Face from Batman. Just a glimpse of that face was enough to give anyone nightmares.


    The monk was chopping up wood with a sharp axe, a pile of firewood heaped near his feet. So that was the sound we heard earlier!


    I walked over and politely said, "Hello, venerable one, we’vee to take shelter from the rain. I’m sorry to disturb you. We’ll leave some incense money before we go."


    The monk paused his actions and flicked a gloomy gaze over me. Then, as if he hadn’t heard anything, he went on chopping wood wordlessly...


    Dali tugged my sleeve. "Dude, the rain isn’t as heavy. Let’s go now. This guy looks like he’s off his rocker."


    As soon as the words left his lips, a deafening thud sounded, almost scaring the living daylights out of a timid Dali. Two-Face pounded the axe onto the tree stump he used as a chopping block, his voice cold and harsh as he growled, “My face might be disfigured but my ears work perfectly! Watch your mouth kid. If you make me unhappy, I might just use this axe on you! Get the fuck out of here once the rain stops!"


    I almost couldn’t believe my ears. Would a monk use such derogatorynguage? I was suddenly struck by a thought–perhaps this “monk” was really a wanted criminal in disguise?


    I tried to recall all the fugitives wanted within the province but I didn’t remember evering across this face.


    "Amitabha!" came a mellifluous greeting. At once, a stubby monk walked over and rebuked Two-Face. "Jingkong, monks shouldn’t use expletives. How can you speak like this to our guests? Go back and copy the Diamond Sutra ten times, and make sure you reflect on it."


    Two-Face walked off with a cold snort and entered one of the rooms.


    The stubby monk looked kind and amiable with the disposition of a wise master, his hands held together in the Anjali Mudra. "I am Jingwu, the abbot here. Fate must have brought you our humble temple. Please stay for a vegetarian meal before you go!"


    Since we skipped lunch, we had been starving for three hours now. Dali said, "That won’t do, we’ll just be troubling you. We’ll donate some money for sesame oil!"


    The abbotughed, "Everything is as fated. Please,e in and have a seat."


    Zhu Xiaohao had quietly appeared in the yard while our attention was focused elsewhere. He exchanged a few words of courtesy with the abbot before we were led into one of the wings named, "Heavenly Scents Kitchen,” where the monks ate.


    There was another monk in the room with a scar across his ferocious face. His eyes were fixed on Bingxin, almost boring holes through her. "Be careful!” I grabbed the edge of Bingxin’s T-shirt and warned in a low whisper. “This temple seems a bit suspicious!"


    The abbot turned to Scarface, "Jingneng, please prepare some vegetarian food for our four honored guests."


    "Should I prepare the radish we pickled this year or the one fromst year?" asked Scarface.


    "The former will do,” replied the abbot. “Make sure to prepare more rice and don’t forget to ask Jingci to slice some pickled cabbage as well."


    "I never knew monks were so particr about food, even categorizing their pickled radishes!” chuckled Dali. “If they’re out of this year’s, would they have some from 82’?"


    Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the mood forughter. My grandfather once warned me that if someone spoke in a strange, specious manner much like this, it was most definitely Jianghu code. Take the fortune tellers in the past for example. Before a fortune reading, the assistant would request for the client to fill out a form before bringing them in to see the master. Then, the assistant and the fortune teller would proceed to chat about some meaningless subjects such as what the weather was like outside or whether the client would like some tea. While their conversation sounded perfectly normal, it was in fact code for the client’s family information in full detail. Of course, outsiders remainedpletely in the dark.


    I had a nagging suspicion these “monks” were imposters, most likely wanted criminals in disguise!


    Zhu Xiaohao soon found a seat and continued the niceties with the abbot, asking him how many monks there were in the temple.


    Grinning from ear-to-ear, the abbot exined that the temple was once home to many monks in the early years but as fewer and fewer devotees visited each year, the number of donations and incense they received decreased and the temple gradually declined. Many of their monks eventually left to wander and spread the word, leaving only a few of them to continue watching over the temple. As for their daily needs, the monks would travel down the mountain to beg for alms. After all, monks found happiness in poverty and contentment in simple food.


    "The Buddhist perspective of attaining peace and happiness through poverty is indeed worth learning from,”mended Zhu Xiaohao. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to practise Buddhism ever since I was a child. I would visit and pray in every temple Ie across. If it’s okay with you, I’ll help clean up the prayer hallter."


    The abbot folded his hands. "How could we dare to trouble you?"


    “What a pretentious prick!” Dali snorted, not forgetting to lower his voice.


    While they were chatting, I weighed the abbot’s words and watched his microexpressions. Right then, I interjected, "Abbot, are you and those other monks disciple brothers?"


    "Of course not, I am their master."


    "Forgive me, I’m not very knowledgeable about Buddhism,” I sneered. “If you’re their master, then why are you all named ‘Jing’?"


    The abbot’s lips seemed to twitch, arge bead of sweat appearing on his shiny, bald head. He chanted a few Buddhist mantras under his breath before exining, "Strictly speaking, I am their senior disciple brother. But since I started on this path earlier than them, I was the one who performed all their initiation ceremonies."


    1. Amon way of addressing monks.


    2. Amon gesture of cing the palms together, usually in greeting or prayer.


    3. Jianghu is themunity of martial artists in wuxia stories and, more recently, ouw societies like the Triads.


    4. Students of the same generation under one master or teacher, like the twelve apostles.


    5. Usually, disciples of the same generation share the same character in their names, for example, “Jingci,” “Jingneng,” and “Jingkong” in the text.