Chapter Forty-Two: Xiangshan Temple

“Master, this city is enormous...”
“Yes, I've never seen such a vast city myself.”
At this moment, a tall and a small figure stood before the gates of Guizhou, marveling at the sight.
Rain pelted down relentlessly upon them, soaking them to the bone, yet both wore expressions of lively curiosity.
Li Sanjian and Shankui had traveled for over a month, finally arriving in Guizhou.
The hardships of their journey aside, Li Sanjian felt uneasy about the uncertain future that awaited him; his apparent ease was merely a pretense.
This journey to Guizhou marked Li Sanjian's first imperial examination, the beginning of his path as a scholar. Whether fortune or peril lay ahead, whether success would come easily or difficulties would abound, all remained unknown.
What Li Sanjian did know was that, despite the torrential rain, nothing could deter the endless stream of scholars making their way to Guizhou.
And this was merely the Prefecture Examination; the Ministry Examination and the Imperial Palace Examination would be even more arduous.
“Shankui, are you alright? Don't catch a cold,” Li Sanjian said to Shankui, who was carrying a book case, drenched through by the rain.
“Master, it's nothing. Shankui is strong,” Shankui replied with a simple grin.
Shankui had become more fluent in speech, now able to converse normally in Mandarin.
The downpour forced them to cover their books with oilcloth, leaving Shankui himself exposed to the rain.
Li Sanjian held up an oil-paper umbrella, standing on tiptoe to shield Shankui’s head as much as possible.
Though named master and servant, the two were brothers in spirit. Their bond had deepened over the past year, each regarding the other as family.
Li Sanjian had intended to journey to Guizhou alone, but Shankui insisted on accompanying him. Lady Fu, too, was uneasy about Sanjian traveling solo, so Shankui was sent along.
“Brother Hanren, wait!”
Just as Li Sanjian and Shankui were about to enter the city, Zeng Gongming, hurrying with a servant, called out from afar.
“Donglin, what is this...?” Li Sanjian asked in surprise as Zeng Gongming caught up.
With the Prefecture Examination approaching, Li Sanjian had invited Zeng Gongming and Ran Yunbiao to join him in Guizhou.
Ran Yunbiao, intent on a military career, had no such plans, preparing instead to leave the county school for a martial academy.
Zeng Gongming, at the time, had also declined, preferring to linger at the county school, hoping for a recommendation to the prefectural or national academies. After all, the chances of entering officialdom through the national academy were greater than through the imperial examinations.
The Prefecture Examination was highly competitive, selecting perhaps one in dozens, with even fewer spots for the Ministry Examination. The struggle was intense, but admission to the national academy was far more attainable.
Why, then, had Zeng Gongming suddenly come to Guizhou? Li Sanjian wondered silently.
“Haha, Brother Hanren,” Zeng Gongming replied, panting, “I thought the national academy would not be easy either, so I figured I’d try my luck in Guizhou. Perhaps fortune will favor me!”
Li Sanjian laughed, clapping the stout, round Zeng Gongming’s shoulder. “Donglin, surely fortune will smile upon you, you are a lucky star indeed.”
“Not at all, not at all, you flatter me!” Zeng Gongming replied, laughing heartily.
“Donglin, shall we enter the city then?” Li Sanjian asked.
“Let’s go, brother, let’s enter together,” Zeng Gongming agreed.
Thus, Li Sanjian and Zeng Gongming strode into Guizhou side by side, braving the rain and exchanging jokes.
Their servants followed, carrying book cases. Zeng Gongming’s servant was a small book boy, whose stature and strength paled in comparison to Shankui, resembling a giant beside a dwarf...
...
“Brother Hanren, do you mean to stay at such a shabby inn?” After entering the city, the two arrived at a small, rundown inn. Its furnishings were dilapidated, prompting Zeng Gongming’s astonishment.
Li Sanjian shook his head. “My family is poor, unlike yours, Donglin.”
Chen Yide, a merchant from Quanzhou, had forced twenty gold leaves upon Li Sanjian, which were almost spent. Lady Fu had forbidden him from using anyone else's money, or accepting gifts without reason.
Recently, Lady Fu had been spinning day and night, and Shankui working as a laborer to earn a little money or food, barely sustaining their household.
Li Sanjian wished to contribute, but his only skills were reading and painting. Reading earned nothing, and in a remote town, who would buy paintings? Besides, with the examination imminent, he had no time to paint for profit.
Thus, Li Sanjian had little money for the journey, unable to afford a better inn.
“Come, come, such a crude inn isn’t fit for people!” Zeng Gongming insisted, dragging Li Sanjian away. “I won’t recite the Ode to the Humble Room—let’s find another inn, all expenses on me.”
Though only a minor official, Zeng Gongming’s family owned dozens of acres of good land, far better off than Li Sanjian’s.
Otherwise, Zeng Gongming wouldn’t have brought a servant along for the examination.
“My mother always said, the poor...” Li Sanjian protested, but Zeng Gongming ignored him, pulling him from the inn.
Guizhou was a major city of Lingnan, with many large restaurants and inns. As the autumn festival approached, scholars from various regions gathered in Guizhou for the examination, and these establishments vied for their business. If a scholar lodged in their inn and later succeeded in the imperial exams, the inn would gain fame and endless business.
Zeng Gongming and Li Sanjian soon found a larger inn.
This inn was called “Guest’s Delight,” much cleaner and more spacious than the previous one, though more expensive.
Zeng Gongming reserved two rooms: Li Sanjian and Shankui in one, Zeng Gongming and his book boy in the other.
The inn’s attendant eagerly ushered them in, and Shankui busied himself drying the damp book cases and bundles.
Li Sanjian changed into dry clothes, took out his books, and spread them on the wooden table to review for the examination.
The Prefecture Examination was set for the fifteenth of the sixth month, only five days away.
...
The Prefecture Examination generally consisted of four sessions, one per day, over four days—from the fifteenth to the eighteenth. After each day’s exam, scholars could leave the examination hall, but all meals and necessities were provided within.
“Brother Hanren, what are you up to?”
As Li Sanjian studied, Zeng Gongming burst in, squeezing his plump body through the door, flipping through Sanjian’s books with a laugh. “Hanren, cramming at the last minute? Haha!”
Li Sanjian snatched his book back, glaring at Zeng Gongming. “Sharpening the spear before battle is better than not sharpening it at all. Why have you come?”
“Oh, my dear Hanren!” Zeng Gongming laughed. “It’s our first time in Guizhou, shouldn’t we admire its sights? Pay homage to the works of past scholars?”
“But…” Li Sanjian began, only to be dragged away.
“Donglin, Donglin, wait, let me change clothes at least!”
“What clothes have you to change?”
Do you even have spare clothes? Zeng Gongming thought to himself.
...
Xiangshan Temple stood at the foot of Xiangshan in Quanzhou County, Western Guangnan Circuit. Originally called "Pure Land Court," it was built in the first year of the Tang Zhide era by the eminent monk Wuliang Shoufo, known as “The foremost temple of Southern Chu.”
Xiangshan Temple was the oldest temple in Western Guangnan, visited yearly by countless pilgrims as well as scholars and poets seeking its ancient beauty.
Before the temple stood an iron incense burner, with a nearby rack holding an iron bell.
The incense burner was hollow, letting fragrant smoke curl skyward. The bell bore six sacred characters. Following the mountain’s contours, the Grand Hall loomed above; beneath it lay the Earth Store Hall, reached by steep steps leading up to the Grand Hall, where various Buddha statues were enshrined.
Pilgrims wandered the halls, gazing at revered images, while monks swept fallen leaves and dust from the temple’s paths. Chanting echoed, birds sang in the hills, sunlight filtered through foliage, and the temple stood majestic.
“The founding master was Quanzhen, an eminent monk from Jingshan in Hangzhou?” Li Sanjian read the inscription.
Quanzhen was a Daoist sect, wasn’t it? Yet here was a monk named Quanzhen—what did it mean? Li Sanjian wondered silently.
“Brother Hanren, is something troubling you?” Zeng Gongming asked, seeing his puzzled expression.
“Nothing,” Li Sanjian replied. “I’m merely curious about Quanzhen, the monk.”
“I know about him,” Zeng Gongming said. “My father once told me a story about Quanzhen, the eminent monk.”
“Oh? Please share it,” Li Sanjian asked with interest.
“It’s said that during the Tang dynasty, Master Quanzhen came to Quanzhou to build ‘The foremost temple of Southern Chu,’ Xiangshan Temple, and needed a great quantity of fir timber. He went to Caiwan Mountain, where the forests stretched for miles. He found a landowner and sought to buy timber, but the landowner scoffed at monks and raised the price.
Quanzhen said, ‘The temple is newly built, funds are tight. Could you lower the price?’
The landowner sneered, ‘There’s cheaper timber, sure. If you want trees with broken tails, I’ll give you all you want.’
Quanzhen replied, ‘You must not go back on your word.’
The landowner thought, with all the trees in the mountains, only a few had broken tails, so giving them away was no loss. He readily agreed, ‘A gentleman’s word is binding!’
With the promise, Master Quanzhen pressed his palms together, turned around, and muttered a spell. Suddenly, clouds gathered, darkness fell, winds howled, sand flew, thunder roared, rain poured down.
In an instant, the storm ceased, blue sky returned.
When the landowner opened his eyes, he was stunned to see that all the fir trees on the mountain had broken tails. Regret struck him, but his word was given.
Looking at the steep mountain paths, he thought, ‘Even if the monk gets the trees, he won’t be able to transport them.’
As he gloated, Master Quanzhen struck the ground with his staff, creating a huge hole. He drew a circle with his staff, and the broken-tailed fir trees began to move like eels, slipping into the hole and emerging from another opening near the Miaoming Pagoda below Xiangshan Ridge.
Only then did the landowner realize he’d encountered a holy man, and hurried to beg forgiveness...”
“A marvelous tale!”
Before Li Sanjian could respond, someone nearby interjected, “Nothing but a charlatan’s trick, mere parlor tricks, how can they compare to my Wuliang Heavenly Lord?”