The screams echoed incessantly through the Great Stone Temple. Despite the temple's preparations for the formidable enemy, Duan Lang, and their gathering of numerous master-level experts—both from the Buddhist community and non-Buddhist families and martial artists with close ties to Buddhism—they were no match for him. Duan Lang, consumed by a boiling desire for vengeance, chose not to wield his Fire Lin Sword but instead opted for a spiked club, a weapon more suited to his current state of mind.
The horrors Duan Lang witnessed at the border—war's brutality, even the unthinkable act of exchanging children for food—were far more visceral than anything he had seen on television or the internet. The stark contrast between the suffering of ordinary people and the Buddhist temples' unchecked wealth and land accumulation fueled his rage.
"Let's see you appoint emperors in the name of heaven!"
"Let's see you evade taxes!"
"Let's see you oppress the people!"
Duan Lang swung his spiked club like a tiger among sheep, with no one able to withstand a single blow. Initially, the Buddhist monks tried to stop him, but the sheer scale of the slaughter soon sent them fleeing in terror.
"Buddhist lands are filled with poor monks,
Empty of all but the true Dharma.
In times of prosperity, their worth rises,
Ancient temples renovated to worship wealth.
In their nests of comfort, they scheme for themselves,
Preying on the masses in forests of greed.
Chanting words without heart,
No ancient Buddha remains by the dim lamp."
As the final verse of the poem echoed, the battle at the Great Stone Temple came to an end. The temple's square was littered with nearly a hundred corpses, with no survivors in sight. Duan Lang exhaled deeply, his expression calm and his killing intent significantly diminished. He had no desire to pursue the fleeing monks or the martial artists who had come to aid the temple.
Though the Great Stone Temple held considerable prestige in Chengdu, it paled in comparison to the Pure Land Chan Sect, both in terms of opulence and the number of martial monks. The Great Stone Temple had at most a hundred martial monks.
"It seems the title of 'Demon' is now firmly mine," Duan Lang muttered, noticing the onlookers who scattered in fear at his glance. The "Kirin Demon" had arrived in Sichuan.
The battle at the Great Stone Temple had drawn many spectators, especially after the events of the previous day. However, since Duan Lang's primary target was the Buddhist community, and given the recent incident at the Duzun Fort, the ruling Ba Meng faction in Chengdu chose not to intervene. As long as the conflict didn't spill over to the common people, Ba Meng typically stayed out of such matters.
In Sichuan, the Song Clan held the highest authority. In peaceful times, they might have shown some deference to the imperial court, but in this era of warlords vying for dominance, they had no reason to respect the Sui Dynasty's authority.
"Unfortunately, it seems the True Words Monk didn't show up," Duan Lang mused. Though the Great Stone Temple was destroyed, his primary objective remained unfulfilled. He decided to wait a few more days, but if the monk still didn't appear, he would have to abandon his plan for now.
"The Hall of Arhats... I guess I don't have Xu Ziling's enlightenment," Duan Lang said to himself as he entered the empty temple, carrying his spiked club. The Hall of Arhats was a massive, independent structure, comparable in size to the palace in Yangzhou. It housed five hundred statues of Arhats, each imbued with martial intent.
Duan Lang had hoped to gain some insight into the Nine-Word True Seal by studying the statues, but after hours of contemplation, he found nothing. Many of the statues were damaged, left unrepaired or unremade, as if the temple had no way to restore them to their original state.
"Perhaps they couldn't replicate the martial intent within them," Duan Lang speculated. These statues were said to have been carved by a high monk from India, and no ordinary craftsman could replicate the martial essence within them. It was akin to the difference between a slash from Song Que and one from an ordinary person—even if the marks looked identical, the underlying intent was worlds apart.
With a loud crash, Duan Lang destroyed dozens of statues with a single swing of his club. He had no time to waste on futile attempts at enlightenment.
Duan Lang wasn't opposed to Buddhist martial arts. In his spare time, he had even practiced a few techniques, including the Great Compassion Palm, a skill mastered by the renowned monk Xiao Zizai.
"The temple has quite a stockpile of grain. I remember during the conflict between Wang Shichong and Li Shimin, Luoyang ran out of food. They really didn't know how to plan ahead," Duan Lang thought. The grain stored in Luoyang's temples could have sustained Wang Shichong's forces for over a year. Of course, Wang Shichong lacked the audacity to confront the Buddhist community, unlike Duan Lang.
"It's a shame I didn't find any weapons, armor, or crossbows. That would have made things more interesting," Duan Lang remarked, though he wasn't overly disappointed. Finding such items would have escalated the situation significantly.
The Buddhist community's wealth accumulation was no secret. People of this era were far from foolish; in fact, they were quite shrewd. Duan Lang's advantage lay in his knowledge and information. For some, amassing wealth wasn't the real issue—rebelling was. The Buddhist community's vast influence, combined with sufficient weaponry, would be intolerable to any ruler.
Historical campaigns against Buddhism, both in China and among other ethnic groups like the Tibetans, often stemmed from the Buddhist community's overreach and ambitions. Duan Lang considered framing the temple for possessing weapons but ultimately decided against it. Such a move would only add to the Great Stone Temple's crimes, and if he wanted to make a real impact, Luoyang would be the place to do it.
"Let's stick to the usual routine," Duan Lang said after looting the temple's supplies. Without hesitation, he set the magnificent temple ablaze.
"Line up, everyone! No pushing, and no taking more than your share. Take your grain and leave quickly."
At the temple's entrance, now reduced to ashes, piles of supplies—grain, jewels, land deeds—were being distributed to Chengdu's poor. Duan Lang had decided to give away everything he had seized from the temple, keeping nothing for himself.
The free supplies attracted a large crowd, and Duan Lang took the opportunity to spread his message: the heavy taxes on the common people were a result of the Buddhist community's tax exemptions. He blamed the imperial court for shifting the tax burden onto the people, though he knew the real culprits were the powerful families and clans. For now, he focused on targeting the Buddhist community.
For ordinary people, abstract arguments were hard to grasp, but when it came to their own interests, they listened closely. The sight of vast amounts of grain, wealth, and land deeds being distributed made a profound impact. The Buddhist community's reputation in Chengdu was irreparably damaged.
The issue of taxation was a fatal blow to the Buddhist community. No amount of rhetoric could obscure the fact that their tax exemptions directly contributed to the people's suffering. However, no one of sufficient stature had dared to raise this issue before, as it implicated too many powerful figures.
In this era, challenging the status quo was akin to a mantis trying to stop a chariot—a futile effort. It was like advocating for the geocentric model during the height of the heliocentric theory's dominance.
"Finally, you've arrived," Duan Lang said three days later, sensing a strange presence in the ruins of the Great Stone Temple. He immediately summoned members of the Song Clan.
Distributing grain was a complex task, and while Duan Lang could have handled it alone, he handed the responsibility over to the Song Clan. The incident at Duzun Fort had drawn the Song Clan's attention, as Song Que was their foundation. Any threat to him was taken seriously.
Song Zhi, the second-in-command of the Song Clan, had personally come to Chengdu. If Song Que hadn't been away from the clan's stronghold, he might have come himself.
The two parties quickly reached an agreement. Duan Lang wanted to diminish the Buddhist community's influence, while the Song Clan, whether out of revenge or a desire to consolidate their power, needed to weaken the Buddhists.
"I didn't expect the Buddhist community to have a Grandmaster hidden away. I wonder what that fool Ning Daoqi would think if he knew," Duan Lang mused.
After briefing the Song Clan representative, Duan Lang made his way to the ruined Hall of Arhats. Among the shattered statues stood an elderly monk with a serene expression, his eyes closed as he chanted softly.
Duan Lang had never met a Grandmaster of this era, but he had encountered figures like Lu Miaozi, Zhu Yuyan, and Shi Zhixuan. From his conversations with Wanwan, he had a good understanding of what a Grandmaster was like.
"Don't you think you've gone too far, benefactor?" the monk asked.
"Too far? I don't think so. It's not me who's gone too far—it's you who've been too greedy," Duan Lang replied, drawing the Fire Lin Sword from his back.
"The state of the Buddhist community is something you know better than I do, so let's skip the empty words. In the end, it all comes down to strength."
No amount of eloquent rhetoric could whitewash the Buddhist community's actions. Figures like Fan Qinghui, Liaokong, and the Four Holy Monks were well aware of the community's flaws, but their positions compelled them to defend it. Without vast wealth, how could they support their numerous disciples, especially the martial monks, whose upkeep far exceeded that of ordinary monks?
This was akin to the Nine-Rank System during the Three Kingdoms period. While some recognized its flaws, they were part of the aristocratic families who had no desire to relinquish their power. Most aristocrats viewed commoners as inferior beings, meant to be ruled and exploited—a weaker version of the Celestial Dragons.
"Benefactor Duan, you've fallen into demonhood. Lin!" the monk declared, forming hand seals and chanting.
"Is this the Buddhist Nine-Word True Seal? Unimpressive. Is this all your community can do? Label anyone who opposes your interests as demons? Unfortunately for you, I'm not a demon."
The monk's thunderous chant had no effect on Duan Lang. The Nine-Word True Seal was meant to intimidate the opponent's spirit, but Duan Lang remained unfazed. For anyone else, even a master, the chant would have sown doubt.
"By the way, let me introduce myself properly. Duan Lang, head disciple of the Kunlun Qionghua Immortal Sword Sect, under the command of the Heavenly Emperor, here to punish the traitors who appoint emperors in heaven's name. All involved will be cast into the animal realm, never to reincarnate."
As Duan Lang spoke, the Fire Lin Sword flew from his hand, hovering above him. The monk's eyes widened in shock as the sword split into a dozen glowing blades, each striking a different part of his body.
"Appointing emperors in heaven's name? How audacious. What do you take the Heavenly Emperor for?" Duan Lang flicked his finger, and the sword blades vanished, leaving only the Fire Lin Sword, which returned to its sheath.
"You call me a demon? That's rich. Have you ever seen a real demon? Let me tell you something: the Heavenly Emperor's orders allow my senior brother and me to judge the Buddhist community as we see fit. We can show leniency or wipe you out entirely. What do you think a demon would choose?"
"Originally, I wasn't planning to destroy the Buddhist community, but since you've called me a demon, I might as well live up to your expectations. Rest assured, the Buddhist community will be eradicated because of your words today."
A sinister smile crossed Duan Lang's face as the monk's body disintegrated into ash, the power of the Fire Lin Sword erupting within him.
"Pulling the tiger's skin to make a banner isn't just your trick. Teasing a Grandmaster is quite entertaining. Is this what they call tax evasion?" Duan Lang despised those who spouted righteous rhetoric while engaging in corrupt practices.
Grandmasters were typically unshakable, but facing Duan Lang's sword techniques, even they couldn't remain calm.
"So this is the Heirloom Seal. I only wanted to see how the Compassionate Peace Nunnery would handle the emperor selection, but now I can't leave the seal with them. If it were damaged, that would be a true tragedy."
In the empty bronze hall of the Pure Land Chan Sect, Duan Lang picked up the legendary imperial seal, a symbol of power that had been passed down through the ages.
(End of Chapter)
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