This is an old Buddhist temple with four hundred years of history behind it; a long time ago, when Master Mojia journeyed east from Xiyu, he scattered the seeds of Buddhism over the grass plains, then entering the Central Plain he taught the sutras and passed on his teachings. In his old age he went north past the Great Wall once more, and climbed the westernmost section of the Xianbei Mountains on foot with the aid of a cane, wishing to travel even farther, to the lands north of the Yellow River.
No one knows why, but this was where he stopped, and even chose to build such a monastery at the summit of this mountain range. According to Khitan ancient legends this is a place that birds cannot reach, and over the last several hundred years, this old monastery had been referred to as the “Northern Temple”.
Subsequently, when the founding emperor of Liao marched south, he stopped to pray at the Northern Temple several times to bless his invasion of the central plain. Once victory had been declared at the Battle of Huai River, Great Liao built capitals in Shangjing and Zhongjing; out of great respect they relocated the Northern Temple’s scriptures and monks to Zhongjing, establishing the North Enlightenment Temple as the national monastery. Still, a small number of the former Northern Temple’s monks remain here.
At present, Northern Temple is on fire and bodies litter the ground; the Mongolian army is turning the place upside down, and a negligible number of monks are on guard in front of the Mahavira Hall with vajras in hand.2
There is the whinnying of a horse, and Wanlibenxiao crosses the sea of fire in a single leap, crashing through the main gates. The Mongolian army cries out in surprise, and Li Jianhong on horseback turns at the waist to shoot four arrows at the same time, and then quickly reaching back for more he fires off another two arrows in a row, taking down the soldiers outside the gates.
“Block the gates!” Li Jianhong shouts.
At first, the Mongolian army is greatly alarmed that Li Jianhong has come to the monastery’s aid, but any fear they may have had vanishes when they realise it’s just one adult man who has a child with him. They immediately draw their weapons, closing in for an attack. As one of them is about to chop at Li Jianhong’s back with a sabre, Duan Ling turns the horse abruptly at the edges of the courtyard and pulls the crossbow’s trigger, launching a bolt into the soldier’s right eye. The Mongolian soldier screams and falls onto the ground.
“Amitābha —” a long sigh comes out of the great hall.
The two of them dismount and enter the courtyard. Li Jianhong protects Duan Ling, attacking as they back away. The invading Mongolian troops here are obviously from a core unit and their strength cannot be compared to the scouting party from earlier. Li Jianhong turns his head and Duan Ling shouts, “Dad, watch out above!”
A burning wooden beam falls toward Li Jianhong, who bends at the waist and reaches behind his back to grab it with a backhand. Right there in the courtyard he whirls around, brandishing the great flaming beam so fast it whooshes through the air, and seemingly without premeditation he points it here and there — where the soldiers are struck by this weapon, they immediately fly out of the courtyard, blood spraying from their mouths!
On the steps, Duan Ling launches one bolt after another. Temple guards run to his side holding such things as pot lids and wooden boards to shield him. Li Jianhong drops low, flourishing that giant beam in a great circle around him, and all of the Mongolian soldiers back away. Li Jianhong howls, his voice backed by the force of true qi, and the sound out like the rumbling of Mount Tai bursting open, a quaking that stabs painfully at their eardrums.
Li Jianhong pushes both palms forward, and the wooden beam presses right up against some of the soldiers, pushing them outside, and the tremendous force behind it sweeping the whole lot of them out of the courtyard. Li Jianhong finishes with another push of a palm, and with a loud bloom the beam shatters into sparks that fly off in every direction. Unable to bear the brunt of this attack, the Mongolian forces fall off the cliff.
Only once he hears them screaming outside does Li Jianhong turn around. “Everyone, get on top of the wall, have your bows ready. If they dare try to attack again, kill them all!”
With what little temple guards left, they each take up positions high on the walls, and the remaining workers grab buckets to help put out the fire. The inside of the Northern Temple is in shambles.
“Which general is that outside?” It is an old voice. “War is about to begin again, that someone would actually still remember me at such an uncertain time is greatly appreciated. Please, come in, and let us speak.”
Duan Ling turns to look at Li Jianhong, remembering that the reason he took him on this journey was for the purpose of ‘seeing an old friend’. Li Jianhong nods, as though he knows exactly what Duan Ling is thinking. “Correct, this is him. The old man’s got a bad temper. When you see him, say as little as possible. If you want to cuss him out, hide behind your dad’s back before you do.”
Duan Ling nearly laughs, and nods at him; Li Jianhong fixes Duan Ling’s lapel, smooths out the creases in his gown, and taking his hand, they step into the Mahavira Hall.
It’s quite dark inside the monastery, and one can hear embers crackling away in the distance. When Li Jianhong and Duan Ling step inside, a young initiate first comes to them with a copper basin so they can wash their hands. The two wash their hands, take the incense from the initiate, bowing thrice at the statue of the Buddha.
The monk in charge of rites holds a hammer wrapped in cloth and strikes it against a copper bowl, making a mellow, resonating sound.
“Please speak inside,” the monk says.
And so Li Jianhong steps through the second threshold. Deep within the monastery, at the very end of the steps there is an inner sanctum with its doors wide open. An old monk is sitting on the praying mat right at the center, with eight guardian monks seated to either side of him spread out in a single row, each of them holding a prayer instrument as they murmur and recite the scriptures.
“Oh, it’s Your Highness,” the old monk says frostily, “I’m in no fit state to get up and greet you. Do beg your pardon.”
Duan Ling is momentarily shocked when he hears the title “Your Highness”, but when he looks to Li Jianhong, he seems entirely unmoved. “This is my son. Son, step forward and greet Master Kongming.”
Duan Ling steps forward, and just the way the headmaster taught him, he raises both hands above his head and gives a proper bow.
A small patch of the robes worn by the old monk being called “Master Kongming” has been burned away, and he reeks head to toe of charred things. He reaches a hand out towards Duan Ling. Duan Ling looks back at his father, and Li Jianhong gestures for him to move closer. Duan Ling crouches on the floor and gets a little bit closer to Kongming. Kongming places his hand on Duan Ling’s forehead.
“I bless you with well-being.” Kongming says, “And you will bless all the people with well-being, heavens bless your Great Chen. Whatever, whatever.”
Duan Ling is speechless.
“Your Highness, say what you’ve come to say,” Kongming adds. Thereupon he makes a gesture at the others, and the guardian monks rise from their positions to withdraw outside the door, closing it behind them. The only ones left in the inner sanctum now are just Li Jianhong, Duan Ling, and Reciter Kongming.3
Duan Ling notices that Kongming’s left hand is burnt black, and the skin has chapped and split like charcoal to reveal the dark red flesh on the inside, but Kongming seems entirely unaware of any pain. He hands them a prayer mat with his good hand. Duan Ling takes it from him and lets his father sit down, himself sitting back on his ankles behind his father.
“I’ve come such a long way, but you’re as inhospitable as ever, Master. At the very least you should serve us some tea and let me wet my throat, don’t you think.”
“I had not expected to see Your Highness again at this point in time. Past grudges feel as though they were incurred in a past life. Your Highness may have let it all go, but I never did.”
“You’re a monk. You’re going to have to let go of what you ought to let go eventually. Master, best get over it. It was just a sword, no?”
Li Jianhong takes the teacup when the initiate offers it to him, takes a sip, and hands it to Duan Ling. Duan Ling is terribly thirsty and drinks half the cup in one go. He’s listening to their conversation but his mind is still on his father being addressed as “His Highness”.
“His Highness” doesn’t really intimidate him though. After all, everyone who went to the Illustrious Hall was either a prince or royal kin. Helian Bo, Batu … he hears they’re all part of their ruling families. But his father said that they’re Han, and if he’s a prince of the Han … doesn’t that mean that dad’s dad … is the emperor?!
That is the one thing that has shaken Duan Ling the most, and yet the fact that his dad has another identity doesn’t change him much in Duan Ling’s eyes. He’s still him, and Duan Ling is still Duan Ling. This is something that wouldn’t change at all over this fact.
When Kongming was young, he had a ferocious temper; old age doesn’t seem to have tempered him any.
“I did something. I set a tiger free and let it return to the forest. No idea if it’s a blessing or a curse yet — and I thought it’s about time I come visit. I’ve been thinking about consulting you, Master, about three things.”
“Your Highness wishes to consult me about three things, but first I would like to consult Your Highness about one thing. What do you mean you’ve set free a tiger?”
“I’ve sent the the political hostages Borjigins out of Shangjing.”
Reciter Kongming figures this out right away. “Right. The Mongolians are attacking Liao, and since the Northern Prince’s military exploits are nothing to write home about, he probably won’t be able to withstand Ögedei’s forces.4 When he returns he must take out his anger by killing Jochi. So that’s an acceptable count of merit for your karma. It’s about time Your Highness gave all that blood on your hands a good bit of rinsing.”
Li Jianhong heaves a sigh. “It’s not time for that yet. I saved Jochi and his son’s lives in exchange for his asking for a division of cavalry from Temüjin, and to temporarily deploy them to beneath Yubiguan. He’s to bide his time, ally with the Han, and at the very least obstruct Southern Chen’s reinforcements … if there are any. This can only prove beneficial to the Mongolians to begin with; after all, Ögedei has no wish to be attacked on both sides. That way, once the Mongolians have Shangjing surrounded, I can see Yelü Dashi and have something to negotiate with — help him resist the Mongolians and promise him that once I return to Xichuan and regain my title, I will ally with Liao. I can use that to borrow troops from him to pacify the south. Without that, I won’t be able to win the Khitans’ trust.”
“So it sounds like Your Highness has made up your mind to return to the south?” Reciter Kongming turns his gaze up to look steadily into Li Jianhong’s eyes.
“I can’t make up my mind, and that’s why I came to the Northern Temple. While I’m here I thought I could ask you to come up with a name for my son.”
Reciter Kongming turns his attention to Duan Ling’s face, and considers him for a long time. Li Jianhong has said a lot of things that Duan Ling can’t understand, but he has a feeling that Reciter Kongming doesn’t really approve of Li Jianhong’s methods, and that the two of them have always been at odds.
“By his generation there are very few Lis left; my son is the only one entered into the family register. When he was little he took his mother’s family name, Duan, with a single character, first name Ling. I’ve come to ask you to grant him divine protection for no calamity to befall him, for no disaster to beset him, for him to grow up healthy and strong.”
“Whoever was born into samsara without ever experiencing calamity or disaster? Going by the Li family hierarchy, his generation should be using the grass radical. So how about Li Ruo?”
Li Jianhong seems to think over this, and Reciter Kongming continues, “Ruomu. Far east Fusang, far west Ruomu; sun must set before sun can rise; weather the storms and fear not the elements; finally becoming good timber for a great building, one to shelter the realm.”5
“Thank you, Master, for granting him a name,” Li Jianhong says, shooting Duan Ling a glance.
Duan Ling hurriedly bows. “Thank you, Master, for granting me a name.”
Reciter Kongming silently watches Duan Ling.
Li Jianhong adds, “There is one thing of which I’m unsure. I would like to ask for your guidance.”
Reciter Kongming narrows his eyes. “Go ahead and ask.”
“Can I reestablish Southern Chen’s foundation and revive our vast empire with this trip back south?”
Reciter Kongming says coolly, “And if I say you ‘can’t’, will Your Highness simply not go do it then?”
Duan Ling is so tense he barely even dares breathe. He has sort of managed to understand Li Jianhong’s intentions through his words. Is he really going back to the south?
Li Jianhong smiles slightly. “You’re quite right, Master. I suppose it seems I was being impatient.”
“Then let me ask Your Highness one more thing. It has been three years since there has been any news of you after the battle beneath Mount Jiangjun. Just what is making Your Highness want to return to court in victory now?”
“Because my son wishes to return to his native land. Just that, and nothing more.”
“Dad!”
Li Jianhong turns to gaze at Duan Ling’s eyes. They have always had a connection between them that makes words unnecessary, so he’s already managed to guess at what Li Jianhong means to do. “I just want us to live our lives. I’m not going to insist on going back to the south.”
“My son, you may be rest assured.”
“Your Highness is a most sensible man, your plans are meticulous and thorough, and when it comes to leading troops and waging war you have almost never lost, but the way I see it …”
Reciter Kongming slowly shakes his head.
Li Jianhong’s expression darkens slightly. Reciter Kongming continues, “Of course, there is nowhere under the sun where Your Highness cannot tread, and nothing Your Highness cannot accomplish. One can only hope that I am wrong; even if you do everything in your power you will only manage to accomplish what you hope to by half. The other half of the work in building Southern Chen’s future foundation will have to be placed squarely on his young highness’s shoulders.”
Li Jianhong’s expression eases into something gentler, and for a little while he thinks quietly to himself before he says slowly, “The wheel comes full circle, and all will be renewed; that is the only way the world can thrive. This was supposed to be his responsibility in the first place.”
“If that’s so, then I suppose I won’t need to ask the third question. There was never anyone in the world who can predict a person’s fate to begin with, let alone my son’s.”
“Right and wrong, success or failure, these abide by the fates.” Master Kongming says, “Cause and effect, the wheel of reincarnation, these are all decreed by fate. One’s fate has always been in one’s own hands …”
Li Jianhong doesn’t speak again. In that moment, Duan Ling can feel an air of darkness, like the shadow that emits from a person as they’re about to die. He feels a bit afraid, and so he leans towards Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong reaches out and wraps an arm around him.
“Master?” Li Jianhong asks.
“Before we part, I would like to give Your Highness a word of advice.” Reciter Kongming says slowly, “The hardest iron is also the most brittle; pride comes before the fall. When the sun gets to noon it begins to set; when the moon is full it starts to wane. You must keep that in mind …”
Duan Ling stares at Reciter Kongming. Li Jianhong says, “The sword under the Northern Temple’s keeping, even if you hold onto it, I’m sure you’ll have no use for it. Why don’t you simply …”
“It’s too late.” Reciter Kongming’s eyes are closed, and his voice is deep. “It’s already been taken by another disciple who betrayed our sect. The Northern Temple has fallen after reaching the zenith of prosperity. If Your Highness ever gets the chance, please help me clean house, and take back Duanchenyuan … my whole life I was never able to leave samsara behind …”
The voice comes to an abrupt stop, and with a quiet cry from Duan Ling, reciter Kongming falls sideways heavily onto the floor; he has already passed away.
Sunlight filters through the ruined roof of the monastery, shining onto reciter Kongming’s body.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
A Mahavira Hall is the main hall in a Chinese Buddhist temple, and a vajra is a kind of ceremonial club. ↩︎
The actual title of 法師 translates to Bhāṇaka, which means “reciter of the sutras”. ↩︎
Ögedei Khan, historically he was Jochi’s brother. ↩︎
Ruo is written 若, written with the grass radical on top. It just means ‘like’, as in ‘such as’. As for Fusang and Ruomu, they’re the names of the immortal trees located to the east and west ends of the sky. Fusang where the sun rises in the east, Ruomu where the sun sets in the west. ↩︎
This is an old Buddhist temple with four hundred years of history behind it; a long time ago, when Master Mojia journeyed east from Xiyu, he scattered the seeds of Buddhism over the grass plains, then entering the Central Plain he taught the sutras and passed on his teachings. In his old age he went north past the Great Wall once more, and climbed the westernmost section of the Xianbei Mountains on foot with the aid of a cane, wishing to travel even farther, to the lands north of the Yellow River.
No one knows why, but this was where he stopped, and even chose to build such a monastery at the summit of this mountain range. According to Khitan ancient legends this is a place that birds cannot reach, and over the last several hundred years, this old monastery had been referred to as the “Northern Temple”.
Subsequently, when the founding emperor of Liao marched south, he stopped to pray at the Northern Temple several times to bless his invasion of the central plain. Once victory had been declared at the Battle of Huai River, Great Liao built capitals in Shangjing and Zhongjing; out of great respect they relocated the Northern Temple’s scriptures and monks to Zhongjing, establishing the North Enlightenment Temple as the national monastery. Still, a small number of the former Northern Temple’s monks remain here.
At present, Northern Temple is on fire and bodies litter the ground; the Mongolian army is turning the place upside down, and a negligible number of monks are on guard in front of the Mahavira Hall with vajras in hand.2
There is the whinnying of a horse, and Wanlibenxiao crosses the sea of fire in a single leap, crashing through the main gates. The Mongolian army cries out in surprise, and Li Jianhong on horseback turns at the waist to shoot four arrows at the same time, and then quickly reaching back for more he fires off another two arrows in a row, taking down the soldiers outside the gates.
“Block the gates!” Li Jianhong shouts.
At first, the Mongolian army is greatly alarmed that Li Jianhong has come to the monastery’s aid, but any fear they may have had vanishes when they realise it’s just one adult man who has a child with him. They immediately draw their weapons, closing in for an attack. As one of them is about to chop at Li Jianhong’s back with a sabre, Duan Ling turns the horse abruptly at the edges of the courtyard and pulls the crossbow’s trigger, launching a bolt into the soldier’s right eye. The Mongolian soldier screams and falls onto the ground.
“Amitābha —” a long sigh comes out of the great hall.
The two of them dismount and enter the courtyard. Li Jianhong protects Duan Ling, attacking as they back away. The invading Mongolian troops here are obviously from a core unit and their strength cannot be compared to the scouting party from earlier. Li Jianhong turns his head and Duan Ling shouts, “Dad, watch out above!”
A burning wooden beam falls toward Li Jianhong, who bends at the waist and reaches behind his back to grab it with a backhand. Right there in the courtyard he whirls around, brandishing the great flaming beam so fast it whooshes through the air, and seemingly without premeditation he points it here and there — where the soldiers are struck by this weapon, they immediately fly out of the courtyard, blood spraying from their mouths!
On the steps, Duan Ling launches one bolt after another. Temple guards run to his side holding such things as pot lids and wooden boards to shield him. Li Jianhong drops low, flourishing that giant beam in a great circle around him, and all of the Mongolian soldiers back away. Li Jianhong howls, his voice backed by the force of true qi, and the sound out like the rumbling of Mount Tai bursting open, a quaking that stabs painfully at their eardrums.
Li Jianhong pushes both palms forward, and the wooden beam presses right up against some of the soldiers, pushing them outside, and the tremendous force behind it sweeping the whole lot of them out of the courtyard. Li Jianhong finishes with another push of a palm, and with a loud bloom the beam shatters into sparks that fly off in every direction. Unable to bear the brunt of this attack, the Mongolian forces fall off the cliff.
Only once he hears them screaming outside does Li Jianhong turn around. “Everyone, get on top of the wall, have your bows ready. If they dare try to attack again, kill them all!”
With what little temple guards left, they each take up positions high on the walls, and the remaining workers grab buckets to help put out the fire. The inside of the Northern Temple is in shambles.
“Which general is that outside?” It is an old voice. “War is about to begin again, that someone would actually still remember me at such an uncertain time is greatly appreciated. Please, come in, and let us speak.”
Duan Ling turns to look at Li Jianhong, remembering that the reason he took him on this journey was for the purpose of ‘seeing an old friend’. Li Jianhong nods, as though he knows exactly what Duan Ling is thinking. “Correct, this is him. The old man’s got a bad temper. When you see him, say as little as possible. If you want to cuss him out, hide behind your dad’s back before you do.”
Duan Ling nearly laughs, and nods at him; Li Jianhong fixes Duan Ling’s lapel, smooths out the creases in his gown, and taking his hand, they step into the Mahavira Hall.
It’s quite dark inside the monastery, and one can hear embers crackling away in the distance. When Li Jianhong and Duan Ling step inside, a young initiate first comes to them with a copper basin so they can wash their hands. The two wash their hands, take the incense from the initiate, bowing thrice at the statue of the Buddha.
The monk in charge of rites holds a hammer wrapped in cloth and strikes it against a copper bowl, making a mellow, resonating sound.
“Please speak inside,” the monk says.
And so Li Jianhong steps through the second threshold. Deep within the monastery, at the very end of the steps there is an inner sanctum with its doors wide open. An old monk is sitting on the praying mat right at the center, with eight guardian monks seated to either side of him spread out in a single row, each of them holding a prayer instrument as they murmur and recite the scriptures.
“Oh, it’s Your Highness,” the old monk says frostily, “I’m in no fit state to get up and greet you. Do beg your pardon.”
Duan Ling is momentarily shocked when he hears the title “Your Highness”, but when he looks to Li Jianhong, he seems entirely unmoved. “This is my son. Son, step forward and greet Master Kongming.”
Duan Ling steps forward, and just the way the headmaster taught him, he raises both hands above his head and gives a proper bow.
A small patch of the robes worn by the old monk being called “Master Kongming” has been burned away, and he reeks head to toe of charred things. He reaches a hand out towards Duan Ling. Duan Ling looks back at his father, and Li Jianhong gestures for him to move closer. Duan Ling crouches on the floor and gets a little bit closer to Kongming. Kongming places his hand on Duan Ling’s forehead.
“I bless you with well-being.” Kongming says, “And you will bless all the people with well-being, heavens bless your Great Chen. Whatever, whatever.”
Duan Ling is speechless.
“Your Highness, say what you’ve come to say,” Kongming adds. Thereupon he makes a gesture at the others, and the guardian monks rise from their positions to withdraw outside the door, closing it behind them. The only ones left in the inner sanctum now are just Li Jianhong, Duan Ling, and Reciter Kongming.3
Duan Ling notices that Kongming’s left hand is burnt black, and the skin has chapped and split like charcoal to reveal the dark red flesh on the inside, but Kongming seems entirely unaware of any pain. He hands them a prayer mat with his good hand. Duan Ling takes it from him and lets his father sit down, himself sitting back on his ankles behind his father.
“I’ve come such a long way, but you’re as inhospitable as ever, Master. At the very least you should serve us some tea and let me wet my throat, don’t you think.”
“I had not expected to see Your Highness again at this point in time. Past grudges feel as though they were incurred in a past life. Your Highness may have let it all go, but I never did.”
“You’re a monk. You’re going to have to let go of what you ought to let go eventually. Master, best get over it. It was just a sword, no?”
Li Jianhong takes the teacup when the initiate offers it to him, takes a sip, and hands it to Duan Ling. Duan Ling is terribly thirsty and drinks half the cup in one go. He’s listening to their conversation but his mind is still on his father being addressed as “His Highness”.
“His Highness” doesn’t really intimidate him though. After all, everyone who went to the Illustrious Hall was either a prince or royal kin. Helian Bo, Batu … he hears they’re all part of their ruling families. But his father said that they’re Han, and if he’s a prince of the Han … doesn’t that mean that dad’s dad … is the emperor?!
That is the one thing that has shaken Duan Ling the most, and yet the fact that his dad has another identity doesn’t change him much in Duan Ling’s eyes. He’s still him, and Duan Ling is still Duan Ling. This is something that wouldn’t change at all over this fact.
When Kongming was young, he had a ferocious temper; old age doesn’t seem to have tempered him any.
“I did something. I set a tiger free and let it return to the forest. No idea if it’s a blessing or a curse yet — and I thought it’s about time I come visit. I’ve been thinking about consulting you, Master, about three things.”
“Your Highness wishes to consult me about three things, but first I would like to consult Your Highness about one thing. What do you mean you’ve set free a tiger?”
“I’ve sent the the political hostages Borjigins out of Shangjing.”
Reciter Kongming figures this out right away. “Right. The Mongolians are attacking Liao, and since the Northern Prince’s military exploits are nothing to write home about, he probably won’t be able to withstand Ögedei’s forces.4 When he returns he must take out his anger by killing Jochi. So that’s an acceptable count of merit for your karma. It’s about time Your Highness gave all that blood on your hands a good bit of rinsing.”
Li Jianhong heaves a sigh. “It’s not time for that yet. I saved Jochi and his son’s lives in exchange for his asking for a division of cavalry from Temüjin, and to temporarily deploy them to beneath Yubiguan. He’s to bide his time, ally with the Han, and at the very least obstruct Southern Chen’s reinforcements … if there are any. This can only prove beneficial to the Mongolians to begin with; after all, Ögedei has no wish to be attacked on both sides. That way, once the Mongolians have Shangjing surrounded, I can see Yelü Dashi and have something to negotiate with — help him resist the Mongolians and promise him that once I return to Xichuan and regain my title, I will ally with Liao. I can use that to borrow troops from him to pacify the south. Without that, I won’t be able to win the Khitans’ trust.”
“So it sounds like Your Highness has made up your mind to return to the south?” Reciter Kongming turns his gaze up to look steadily into Li Jianhong’s eyes.
“I can’t make up my mind, and that’s why I came to the Northern Temple. While I’m here I thought I could ask you to come up with a name for my son.”
Reciter Kongming turns his attention to Duan Ling’s face, and considers him for a long time. Li Jianhong has said a lot of things that Duan Ling can’t understand, but he has a feeling that Reciter Kongming doesn’t really approve of Li Jianhong’s methods, and that the two of them have always been at odds.
“By his generation there are very few Lis left; my son is the only one entered into the family register. When he was little he took his mother’s family name, Duan, with a single character, first name Ling. I’ve come to ask you to grant him divine protection for no calamity to befall him, for no disaster to beset him, for him to grow up healthy and strong.”
“Whoever was born into samsara without ever experiencing calamity or disaster? Going by the Li family hierarchy, his generation should be using the grass radical. So how about Li Ruo?”
Li Jianhong seems to think over this, and Reciter Kongming continues, “Ruomu. Far east Fusang, far west Ruomu; sun must set before sun can rise; weather the storms and fear not the elements; finally becoming good timber for a great building, one to shelter the realm.”5
“Thank you, Master, for granting him a name,” Li Jianhong says, shooting Duan Ling a glance.
Duan Ling hurriedly bows. “Thank you, Master, for granting me a name.”
Reciter Kongming silently watches Duan Ling.
Li Jianhong adds, “There is one thing of which I’m unsure. I would like to ask for your guidance.”
Reciter Kongming narrows his eyes. “Go ahead and ask.”
“Can I reestablish Southern Chen’s foundation and revive our vast empire with this trip back south?”
Reciter Kongming says coolly, “And if I say you ‘can’t’, will Your Highness simply not go do it then?”
Duan Ling is so tense he barely even dares breathe. He has sort of managed to understand Li Jianhong’s intentions through his words. Is he really going back to the south?
Li Jianhong smiles slightly. “You’re quite right, Master. I suppose it seems I was being impatient.”
“Then let me ask Your Highness one more thing. It has been three years since there has been any news of you after the battle beneath Mount Jiangjun. Just what is making Your Highness want to return to court in victory now?”
“Because my son wishes to return to his native land. Just that, and nothing more.”
“Dad!”
Li Jianhong turns to gaze at Duan Ling’s eyes. They have always had a connection between them that makes words unnecessary, so he’s already managed to guess at what Li Jianhong means to do. “I just want us to live our lives. I’m not going to insist on going back to the south.”
“My son, you may be rest assured.”
“Your Highness is a most sensible man, your plans are meticulous and thorough, and when it comes to leading troops and waging war you have almost never lost, but the way I see it …”
Reciter Kongming slowly shakes his head.
Li Jianhong’s expression darkens slightly. Reciter Kongming continues, “Of course, there is nowhere under the sun where Your Highness cannot tread, and nothing Your Highness cannot accomplish. One can only hope that I am wrong; even if you do everything in your power you will only manage to accomplish what you hope to by half. The other half of the work in building Southern Chen’s future foundation will have to be placed squarely on his young highness’s shoulders.”
Li Jianhong’s expression eases into something gentler, and for a little while he thinks quietly to himself before he says slowly, “The wheel comes full circle, and all will be renewed; that is the only way the world can thrive. This was supposed to be his responsibility in the first place.”
“If that’s so, then I suppose I won’t need to ask the third question. There was never anyone in the world who can predict a person’s fate to begin with, let alone my son’s.”
“Right and wrong, success or failure, these abide by the fates.” Master Kongming says, “Cause and effect, the wheel of reincarnation, these are all decreed by fate. One’s fate has always been in one’s own hands …”
Li Jianhong doesn’t speak again. In that moment, Duan Ling can feel an air of darkness, like the shadow that emits from a person as they’re about to die. He feels a bit afraid, and so he leans towards Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong reaches out and wraps an arm around him.
“Master?” Li Jianhong asks.
“Before we part, I would like to give Your Highness a word of advice.” Reciter Kongming says slowly, “The hardest iron is also the most brittle; pride comes before the fall. When the sun gets to noon it begins to set; when the moon is full it starts to wane. You must keep that in mind …”
Duan Ling stares at Reciter Kongming. Li Jianhong says, “The sword under the Northern Temple’s keeping, even if you hold onto it, I’m sure you’ll have no use for it. Why don’t you simply …”
“It’s too late.” Reciter Kongming’s eyes are closed, and his voice is deep. “It’s already been taken by another disciple who betrayed our sect. The Northern Temple has fallen after reaching the zenith of prosperity. If Your Highness ever gets the chance, please help me clean house, and take back Duanchenyuan … my whole life I was never able to leave samsara behind …”
The voice comes to an abrupt stop, and with a quiet cry from Duan Ling, reciter Kongming falls sideways heavily onto the floor; he has already passed away.
Sunlight filters through the ruined roof of the monastery, shining onto reciter Kongming’s body.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
A Mahavira Hall is the main hall in a Chinese Buddhist temple, and a vajra is a kind of ceremonial club. ↩︎
The actual title of 法師 translates to Bhāṇaka, which means “reciter of the sutras”. ↩︎
Ögedei Khan, historically he was Jochi’s brother. ↩︎
Ruo is written 若, written with the grass radical on top. It just means ‘like’, as in ‘such as’. As for Fusang and Ruomu, they’re the names of the immortal trees located to the east and west ends of the sky. Fusang where the sun rises in the east, Ruomu where the sun sets in the west. ↩︎
