"Amitabha," Pu Zhu's voice remained cool and unmoved. "Killing is killing, life and death are life and death." Fang Pingzhai was taken aback by his words—monks truly spoke in circles, their words not easily understood by ordinary people. "Since—" Before he could finish, an elderly monk with long whiskers on the ground suddenly spoke up, "If killing is killing, and life and death are life and death, then why kill? Why say life and death are not life and death?" His voice boomed like a great bell, and the question left everyone in solemn awe, realizing a Zen riddle had been posed.
Pu Zhu's gaze swept toward the old monk, who kept his eyes closed, refusing to meet his stare. Coldly, Pu Zhu replied, "Killing is killing. Killing is a sin. To step forward is to kill; to step back is to refrain. People kill, but to step back is to refrain. Are those killed by others killed by me? Or not? To step forward and kill—is the sin of killing mine or another's? Life and death are life and death, yet life and death are also not life and death. Their life, their death; my life, my death. The cycle of heaven and earth—why dwell on it?"
The old monk said, "Killing is killing, life and death are life and death. If you kill, you bear the sin; if others kill, they bear the sin. What difference is there between your sin and theirs?"
Pu Zhu answered coldly, "There is no difference."
The old monk pressed his palms together. "Amitabha, such great compassion." The other monks echoed the chant. Those like Dongfang Xu were utterly baffled, only sensing that after Pu Zhu's lengthy discourse on killing and not killing, the Shaolin monks seemed to approve of him. Fang Pingzhai, however, kept shaking his head.
Yu Tuan'er tugged at Liu Yan's sleeve and whispered, "What is the hairy monk saying?"
Liu Yan stared intently at Puzhu Shangshi. After a long pause, he answered quietly, "He says he can kill or refrain from killing, but people will always kill each other, and killing brings sin. He would rather kill the wicked to spare the innocent, willing to bear the sin of killing in their stead to eradicate evil. This is his Buddha-heart, his compassion."
Yu Tuan'er frowned. "This monk is a good man, but why does he keep talking about killing? I hate killing."
Fang Pingzhai sighed. "Killing, killing—is there no other way to eliminate evil besides killing? You're a monk—can't you enlighten the wicked? Can't you move the world? Can't you turn villains to virtue, make thieves repent? Can't you transform sinners into devout believers? With Shaolin's great reputation, do the monks here only know how to kill?"As these words were spoken, all the monks in Shaolin Temple, young and old, opened their eyes and turned their gazes toward Fang Pingzhai. Though none uttered a word, their collective presence was enough to inspire awe. Unfazed, Fang Pingzhai stood out strikingly in the crowd, his red fan fluttering lightly and his yellow robe dazzlingly bright. Liu Yan glanced at him indifferently—was this man naturally inclined to verbose sophistry, or had he come deliberately to provoke Pu Zhu? Pu Zhu’s gaze also settled on Fang Pingzhai. "Amitabha," he said calmly, as always. However, the young monk San Jie beside him wore an expression of indignation.
"Uncle Da Hui converted 331 evildoers in his lifetime. Uncle Da Bao traveled far and wide, guiding 5,499 people toward virtue. Uncle Da Shi walked among lepers and, with great compassion, led 24 to attain profound wisdom. Senior Brother Pu Zhu’s sword has slain 49 men, each one a heinous criminal. Though Shaolin may occasionally have unworthy disciples, it has never betrayed its centuries-old reputation."
"Oh? Your words are deeply flawed, little monk. Clearly, you harbor resentment toward Monk Da Cheng. Otherwise, why praise Da Hui, Da Bao, Da Shi, and Pu Zhu while omitting Da Cheng? Even among monks who eat vegetarian meals, chant scriptures, sweep floors, wipe tables, fetch water, chop firewood, and seem to do nothing, there are still underhanded rivalries and scheming. Truly terrifying!" Fang Pingzhai laughed, fanning himself.
The seventeen-year-old novice San Jie, enraged, sprang to his feet and pointed at Fang Pingzhai’s nose. "You—you repeatedly sow discord and insult Shaolin! What are your true intentions?"
"I say whatever I please. Life is but a few short decades—one must live freely, eat what one wants, curse or kill as one pleases, indulge in lust or fart without restraint. That’s what makes life flavorful," Fang Pingzhai declared, stepping into the open circle formed by the crowd and strolling leisurely, utterly composed. "Watching supposedly passionless, compassionate monks seethe with anger is another kind of flavor. Don’t you agree?"
"What an arrogant fool!" A burly man in green robes rose from the crowd. "Who are you to spew such nonsense before Shaolin’s venerable monks? This is a sacred Buddhist ground—you have no right to speak here. Leave at once, or my Azure Dragon Saber will show no mercy!"
Fang Pingzhai flicked his red fan. "Are you saying you’ll kill me?"
"Silence, or else—hmph!" the green-robed man growled.
Fang Pingzhai turned his back and shook his head. "Ignorant, stubborn, foolish, utterly unenlightened... Venerable Puzhu Shangshi, he just threatened to kill me. By your earlier Buddhist reasoning, shouldn’t you strike him down first to absolve him of the sin of killing me?"
The green-robed man froze. Puzhu Shangshi rose slowly, his black hair swaying, his gaze cool and steady. "What, pray tell, is your purpose in coming to Shaolin?"Fang Pingzhai flicked his yellow sleeve. "I said I came as I pleased. Since Shaolin Temple has convened this assembly to elect an abbot, must only Shaolin monks be allowed to expound the Dharma?" He suddenly turned, his red fan snapping shut against his sleeve. "If I surpass all present here in both Buddhist doctrine and martial arts... would Shaolin Temple allow me to become its abbot?" As these words fell, the Thousand Buddha Hall erupted like a boiling cauldron. Not only the observing martial artists but even the seated monks paled, murmuring among themselves. Puzhu Shangshi remained expressionless, coldly stating, "Shaolin Temple reveres Bodhidharma Zen Buddhism in doctrine and upholds Shaolin arts in martial prowess. Should the benefactor's Zen studies and Shaolin arts surpass our temple's, Shaolin makes no distinction between insider and outsider. We would respectfully welcome the benefactor to ascend the seat and impart guidance."
As these words settled, the surrounding discussions gradually quieted. Everyone thought to themselves: In comparing Zen teachings, this arrogant man would naturally fall far short. As for Shaolin arts, none could surpass Shaolin's monks. To become Shaolin's abbot, one must indeed be supreme in both Zen studies and martial arts. Thus, Puzhu Shangshi's words could not be said to seek advantage while saving face.
Fang Pingzhai laughed heartily and was about to agree to the challenge when suddenly a voice spoke from outside the Thousand Buddha Hall—soft, delicate, and gentle, devoid of any inner energy: "By that logic, if my Zen understanding and Shaolin arts surpass those of Shaolin's venerable monks and this red-fan gentleman... may I also claim the seat of Shaolin's abbot?"
This amused remark carried no hostility, spoken with calm and even lightheartedness. Both Puzhu Shangshi and Fang Pingzhai turned to see the crowd outside the hall parting to make way as a group entered slowly. At their forefront was a frail, elegant-looking youth whose entrance naturally drew all eyes.
He wore a pale blue robe, almost white, with a thin green thread tied around his left wrist. The thread bore nothing, yet this slender green strand and the six azure-clad swordsmen behind him evoked awe-inspiring imagination. In the silence, someone whispered, "Wan Yu Yuedan!" The hall erupted again—the Azure Fall Palace Lord himself had come to Shaolin's Abbot Assembly, declaring his intent to contend for the abbotship. This was truly shocking.
"Palace Lord Wan Yu." Puzhu Shangshi pressed his palms together in greeting. "The benefactor jests." Wan Yu Yuedan stepped into the hall, his entourage taking seats among the crowd like the others. He stood in the center, facing Puzhu and Fang Pingzhai. "Shaolin Temple is renowned throughout the world. Wan Yu Yuedan holds no disrespect toward it. My earlier presumptuous words were spoken in haste—I ask for the masters' forgiveness." His tone was gentle and humble. Though his earlier remark had not targeted Shaolin but Fang Pingzhai, he still offered an apology. The crowd relaxed at once, their goodwill toward the Azure Fall Palace Lord growing immensely."Amitabha," the seated Dabao Chanshi said slowly. "May I ask why the Azure Fall Palace Lord has personally come to Shaolin Temple?" Wan Yu Yuedan's distinct black-and-white eyes flickered slightly as the creases at their corners smoothed out. "First, I must apologize to all the venerable masters. Indeed, I have come today regarding the position of Shaolin's abbot."
Dabao Chanshi was startled. Though his cultivation was profound, he had never imagined that the succession of Shaolin's abbotship would attract such unusual figures from the martial world. Today's matter would not be easily resolved. "As the Azure Fall Palace Lord, you bear great renown and great burdens, yet you are not of the Buddhist path. Why do you insist on the position of Shaolin's abbot?"
Wan Yu Yuedan did not conceal his intentions, speaking clearly and resolutely: "There is a rumor in the martial world—three kowtows and a poem to the Shaolin abbot can reveal the whereabouts of Liu Yan of the Dissolute Shop. I seek someone, but I do not wish Shaolin to suffer humiliation. Therefore—" His voice rang firm, every word precise, "I have come today to ask Shaolin to temporarily bestow the abbotship upon me. The Azure Fall Palace is willing to offer three kowtows and a poem in exchange for the whereabouts of the dissolute Liu Yan."
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