Chapter Twenty-One: Subduing Demons and Suppressing Evil

Guan Wen slapped his own head hard, unable to respond to Master Cheng’s admonition.

"Young man, do not blame yourself. This is fate—attach the puppet together and hold it steady," Master Cheng commanded.

Guan Wen joined the two broken halves of the puppet, but without glue, he could not fix them together.

Master Cheng gripped the break with his left hand, signaling Guan Wen to step back.

Realizing what was about to happen, Guan Wen cried out in alarm, "Master, what are you going to do? This calamity is my fault; I should bear the responsibility!"

Master Cheng shook his head. "Young man, who bears the responsibility is one matter; whether one has the ability to do so is another. Now is not a time to assign blame, but a time to solve the problem. You made the mistake, I will mend it—this is fate. You owe no apology."

Suddenly, the gray mist across from them surged violently, like a heavy fist striking the broken section of the puppet on the great net.

Master Cheng’s right hand swept the axe across his left shoulder, silently severing his own arm. His left hand held the puppet firmly, so even though his arm was cut, his grip never loosened.

"Under heaven and within the three realms, Buddhist power subdues evil—thunderbolt decree!" Master Cheng shouted, swinging his right hand as the golden axe pierced the net and rushed toward the iron fist of gray mist.

The force within the golden axe was immense. It spun, cleaving the mist, advancing forward, and after several seconds, the sound of the axe striking stone echoed.

The gray mist receded. Master Cheng’s left arm had fused with the puppet, now suspended on the net.

"This is... the soul barrier... repair technique... Every disciple of the Cheng family practices it from childhood... We have no other way, only this primitive... method to mend the net, powerless to destroy the enemy... All my cultivation... is in my left arm. Before the enemy stirs again... let us withdraw... quickly..." Master Cheng staggered, leaning against Guan Wen.

Guan Wen bent down, hoisting Master Cheng onto his back, and raced along the path.

"Oh... hahahahaha... oh hahahahaha..." From the other side of the net, an unknown monster let out a ghostly cry, like a woman’s laughter.

"Hurry... hurry..."

Before Master Cheng could finish, Guan Wen felt a tremendous force strike his back, sending him sprawling forward, Master Cheng tumbling beside him.

"Subdue evil, protect the way... Subdue evil, protect the way... Utolo Shulan... Jizhi Shulan, Baxidi Shulan... Wulu Shulan, Changjia Shulan, Heshi... Duoshulan, Batou Shulan..." Master Cheng forced himself into a sitting posture, five fingers pressed to his left chest, continuing to chant the Surangama Mantra, but now his recitation had lost all momentum, devoid of power or courage.

"Master, let’s go—" Guan Wen scrambled up, helping Master Cheng.

"You go, go quickly, I’ll cover the retreat! Otherwise, none of us will escape!" Master Cheng cried urgently.

"Oh hahahahaha..." The eerie laughter rose again, like the thundering waves of the Yangtze, ever more intense.

"They’re coming—go!" Master Cheng flung Guan Wen backward.

Guan Wen rolled three times on the ground, and in that tumbling, he saw the air near the net twist and distort, as if something was hurtling through at high speed, tracking them. When he steadied himself, he realized it was a transparent wave in the shape of a fist. With a crash, it struck Master Cheng, its force undiminished, passed through his body, and then slammed into Guan Wen’s chest, hurling him five meters away to collide with the stone wall at a bend in the path, his organs wracked with pain.

"Go—go—go—" Master Cheng shouted with all his strength.

From the direction of the net, another wave charged forth, this time shaped like three long swords, each seven feet in length. The blades were long and the passage narrow; their points and hilts scraped both sides of the stone wall with piercing screeches.

"Demon-marked blades ahead—go, go quickly—go—" Master Cheng’s voice was cut short.

Guan Wen rolled to the other side of the bend, narrowly avoiding the sword-shaped wave that pierced through Master Cheng. Luckily, he moved fast; the three blades surged through, leaving terrifying half-inch deep gashes on the stone wall. Immediately after, fragments of Master Cheng’s corpse, carried by a foul wind and blood rain, fell at the bend.

The onslaught was not over. After the three blades came dozens more arrow-shaped waves, piercing the ancient bluestone wall and riddling it with holes.

Guan Wen lay prone, evading this storm-like barrage.

"Oh hahahahaha..." The monstrous cries continued from the soul barrier net, but never breached it.

In a haze, Guan Wen’s vision blurred again—Bao Ling’s shadow flashed at the bend. The light from the net cast her silhouette on the stone wall, covering the blood that sprayed when Master Cheng was killed.

"Don’t go, Bao Ling, don’t go!" Guan Wen called out instinctively.

The shadow stretched longer and longer; clearly, Bao Ling was moving toward the net, away from the bend.

"She’s in danger! She’s in danger!" A voice within Guan Wen screamed, "Stop her, hurry—"

Somehow finding strength, Guan Wen leaped up, rushing to the bend. He didn’t possess Master Cheng’s power to subdue evil, but Bao Ling was in peril; he had to go.

Turning the corner, he saw Bao Ling twenty paces ahead, walking hesitantly alone.

"Bao Ling—" he shouted.

Suddenly, something fell from the stone wall and dropped into his collar. Fortunately, this small accident broke his fixation on Bao Ling. In an instant, her shadow vanished, the air twisted, and a half-transparent giant hand reached out from afar, grabbing Guan Wen’s neck.

Guan Wen struggled desperately, pain ravaging his neck and back wounds, and gradually he slipped into unconsciousness. Dimly, he felt the object that had fallen into his chest pressed against his left heart, continuously radiating gentle warmth.

"Guan Wen, Guan Wen." Someone was calling him.

Guan Wen opened his eyes to see the prominent figure’s gaze, full of grief and sorrow.

"Where am I? Where is Master Cheng?" He recalled the rain of arrows before he fainted, and the grim image of Master Cheng’s shattered remains.

"Master Cheng is dead. Perhaps you can tell me what happened?" the important figure asked.

Guan Wen sat up, realizing he was on the open ground by the soul barrier net. He looked up at the puppet that had been torn apart, and suddenly saw that Master Cheng’s arm had shrunk, as if it had become a hand-shaped ornament at the puppet’s waist. He knew well that, without Master Cheng’s self-sacrifice, the net would have been shredded, allowing the unknown demon to break through and turn the world outside into a battlefield of carnage.

"What are you looking at?" the prominent figure asked again.

"I’m searching for the predecessors who gave their lives to subdue evil." Guan Wen rose, gently touching the repaired puppet.

The sight of Master Cheng severing his arm shook him to his core. That spirit of selfless sacrifice, of fearless dedication, awakened his sleeping heart like a morning bell, transforming him in an instant from an ordinary painter into a selfless, courageous warrior.

"Master Cheng, rest assured. From this day forward, I will carry on your legacy and continue the great work of subduing evil until the end of my life." He bowed deeply to the puppet.

"What did Master Cheng tell you?" the prominent figure asked with a bitter smile.

Guan Wen pointed to his temple. "Everything he wanted to tell me is here. No words, but the essence received. So many predecessors gave their lives for this cause; their deaths have granted life to countless beings in the world. Now, I know what I must do. Otherwise, how could I face them?"

In truth, every puppet hanging on the net bore marks of repair—shoulders, legs, heads, feet, backs—all adorned with hand-shaped ornaments. Guan Wen realized, to his astonishment, that these were the transformed arms of the demon-subduing masters themselves. Countless such masters, like Master Cheng, had sacrificed their limbs to mend the net, some meeting the same tragic fate, shattered and killed.

Without the soul barrier of three thousand demon-subduing masters, the Demoness could never be contained. Yet without successors willing to sacrifice themselves to repair it, the net would have been torn to pieces. Thus, subduing evil is not a single event or battle, but countless events and battles.

Guan Wen recounted the events to the prominent figure and the others; their faces changed drastically as they peered through the net toward the path beyond. The gray mist had faded, but the shadow over their hearts remained.

"The Demoness has always truly existed. The three thousand demon-subduing masters can only imprison her, never destroy her," the prominent figure sighed.

"But what should we do now?" someone asked hesitantly.

"Even Master Cheng is dead, we..." another asked, fearfully.

"Perhaps we should all return to our homelands, seek promising successors among our juniors, and nurture them carefully until we rebuild the circle of demon-subduers..." someone began to retreat.

"Yes, yes, that’s a wise plan," another echoed.

"There’s no way. The Demoness’s power is too great; we cannot resist her. The circle is useless, we might as well disperse," someone declared, seemingly righteous but truly preparing his own exit.

"Alright, let’s vote. Those who agree to leave, raise your hands—" someone urged.

"Everyone, be quiet. Let’s withdraw first," the prominent figure raised his voice, silencing the commotion, then handed Guan Wen a pigeon-egg-sized gray pebble.

"What is this?" Guan Wen asked in surprise.

"You pressed this to your heart while unconscious. I believe it is Master Cheng’s relic. Come, I’ll take you to meet someone else," the prominent figure said, fists clenched, face resolute, clearly determined to stake everything.

Guan Wen had no time to examine it, tucked the pebble into his pocket, and followed the prominent figure in retreat.

They returned to the entrance of the mandala seal. All the old monks within the circle naturally divided into two camps.

One side believed that, now the mandala seal was broken, the circle’s power was lost, and there was no need to stay; they should venture into the outside world or travel through Tibet, seeking the secret of subduing evil, or return home to cultivate successors and pass on their knowledge.

The second camp strongly opposed this. They argued that the circle’s true meaning was not apparent to everyone; what seemed unimportant and dispensable might actually be vital and irreplaceable. None present surpassed Master Cheng in cultivation; since he was willing to guard this place, no one else had reason to abandon it. As demon-subduers, they should devote their lives to the cause, never preparing an escape for themselves, lest they incur divine retribution.

The debate grew fierce, nearly erupting into violence. With Master Cheng’s death, the prominent figure could no longer lead these reclusive demon-subduers, and let them split as they wished.

Those advocating departure set out immediately, ascending along the stone wall pathway.

"We’ll go as well. Though I don’t know if now is the right time to take you to meet that person, we truly have no time left," the prominent figure said, worried.

After the remaining monks restored the mandala seal, the prominent figure smiled grimly. "In truth, I should have been the one to die for the Buddha. I was the one who urged opening the mandala to investigate. Guan Wen, if I ever face the same fate, remember to tell all future demon-subduers these events, so they may make the right choice between life and death, virtue and evil."

Guan Wen returned the same smile. "Me too. If I die for the Buddha, please tell everyone—even a weak painter can possess boundless courage to subdue evil and protect the way."

Through the trial of life and death, his bond with the prominent figure deepened.

They bid farewell to the monks who remained, returned via the path to the surface, and suddenly found that the group who had ascended earlier lay collapsed in the corridor, eyes shut, bodies limp.

"What happened?" Guan Wen lifted an old monk, asking anxiously.

"Divine retribution... divine retribution... We broke the vow we made when we joined the circle... never to change our resolve... Now that we leave, it’s divine punishment... I can’t see, can’t breathe, as if a golden-armored man stands before me, striking my crown with a demon-subduing staff. It hurts so much, so much... I’m dying, I regret it now, please take me back to the circle, I’d rather... die there..." the old monk stammered.

All the monks wailed, their cries filling the corridor.

Guan Wen quickly questioned the others. All twenty-six monks suffered the same, claiming the golden-armored man struck their crowns with the staff, their senses failing, unable to go on.

"What should we do?" Guan Wen asked.

The prominent figure shook his head and sighed. "There’s nothing to be done. Tibetan Buddhism regards vows with utmost seriousness. Those who swear use the harshest, most absolute words, witnesses do likewise, their promises ironclad. Everyone believes that when a mortal swears, gods above and below bear witness and mete out reward or punishment. Breaking a vow brings divine retribution. Today, they suffer both psychological punishment and physical inability to adjust from darkness to light. Now, all we can do is return them."

He gave the order; young monks emerged from the shadows to help the elders back to their original place.