Chapter Fifty-Two: The Phantom on the Mountain

"You noticed that, did you? That’s right—without a few brothers at my side, how could I survive in this business? Hold on tight, we’re going into the tunnel." Xu Bin’s eyes flashed as he turned the steering wheel and hit the gas, sending the car hurtling into the Yunxia Mountain Tunnel ahead.

The car sped forward; luckily, there were no other vehicles nearby. Zhang Qinglin gripped the handle tightly, while Cheng Che, seated beside him, clung to the back of the front seat, his gaze fixed ahead.

Xu Bin’s driving was both steady and swift, keeping right on Wanqing’s tail as they raced westward.

Throughout the ride, Zhang Qinglin couldn’t fathom why Wanqing was heading to Tianxia Teagarden. Was it really just to watch a show? He was desperate to know where that Wenqu white jade cup had come from.

By evening, a gentle breeze rustled through the dense forest as Wanqing’s car pulled over at the edge of a barren hillside.

Xu Bin parked, patting the steering wheel. “Not bad, old girl. I’ll give you a good tune-up when we get back…” He then opened the door and stepped out.

Zhang Qinglin, unable to sit still any longer, scrambled out of the back seat, rushed to the side, and doubled over, clutching his stomach as he retched. He’d barely eaten all day, and a sleepless night before, coupled with the day’s ordeal, had left his stomach churning.

Cheng Che, hands on his hips, eyed Xu Bin and called out, “Uncle Xu, your driving skills are something else—what a shame you’re not a race car driver.” He glanced at Zhang Qinglin, then walked over to check on him.

Waving off concern, Zhang Qinglin straightened and looked around. “Where are we?”

Xu Bin’s gaze drifted toward the hilltop. “This… this is Jingshan. There’s a temple up there, home to an old monk… Hey, what are they doing up here? Don’t tell me they’ve come to have tea with the old monk!”

“An old monk? Uncle Xu, did you say an old monk lives up there?” Zhang Qinglin wiped his mouth with his sleeve, raising his head to look at the bare hill a few dozen meters away.

“Hey, come look! They’re over there—it really looks like they’re heading up the mountain,” Cheng Che called, crouched behind a roadside boulder that hid him perfectly. He saw Wanqing’s group disembark and start up Jingshan, then turned to beckon Zhang Qinglin over.

As the three ascended, Zhang Qinglin and his companions followed.

Xu Bin explained that Jingshan had once been a picturesque spot, full of verdant trees and blooming flowers—a perfect place for outings. But over fifty years ago, a plague struck this area. Few people died, but all the mountain’s vegetation was destroyed, leaving nothing but barrenness. The monks who lived in the temple perished, one each year, until only a single monk remained.

Xu Bin knew this old monk, whose Dharma name was Wufen. He was an exceptionally amiable man, always willing to help others with their troubles, which made him a frequent recipient of visits. Before moving to Beijing, Xu Bin would sometimes bring the monk food—after all, the man was over sixty and had no one to care for him. Even after moving away, Xu Bin remained concerned. On this return visit, he’d planned to check on the monk anyway—what a coincidence, to see how he was doing now.

By the time they reached halfway up the mountain, darkness had fallen, and they could see a light glowing at the summit.

As Zhang Qinglin and the others stepped into the temple, they heard Xun-ge’s voice from the main hall: “Master Wufen, fate brings us together again. This time, we’ve brought what you wanted!”

The trio hurried to the hall’s entrance and peered inside through a crack. They spotted Wanqing standing by the window near the door. Zhang Qinglin signaled silently to Cheng Che, who had just caught up, then listened to the conversation within.

“Ahem, what is fate, and what is reunion? You and I have never truly met, so where’s the fate in that?” The old monk sat cross-legged at a wooden table, turning a string of prayer beads in his hand, his back to them as he sighed.

Xun-ge’s expression remained unchanged; with a smile, he stepped forward. “Master Wufen, as we agreed, we’ve come today to resolve the doubts of the past. Surely, you haven’t forgotten just because of your age. Allow me to remind you…”

“No need,” the old monk said with a chuckle. “A single meeting hardly constitutes fate. Though I can ease a thousand sorrows, I cannot resolve your doubts. Please, leave.”

Turning his prayer beads, the old monk spoke softly.

Li Qingpeng, standing to the side, shot the monk a glance. “Master, you really are getting on in years. We brought you the goods, so why are you playing games with my brother Xun? Stop pretending and cooperate.” As he spoke, he drew his pistol and prepared to advance.

Wanqing glared at Li Qingpeng, stepping forward to block his arm. “Peng-ge, stop. Cousin said we must respect the master.”

Xun-ge, standing on Master Wufen’s left, regarded him. “I know you’ve guarded a secret for fifty years, but that secret is to be traded for the Wenqu white jade cup. We’ve brought it—so isn’t it time you told us the secret?”

Master Wufen slowly stood, steadying himself on the table. “Indeed. But how do I know the item you’ve brought is genuine?”

He turned unhurriedly to face the three of them.

“Master Wufen, the item is right here—you may inspect it yourself,” Xun-ge said, signaling Li Qingpeng to produce the white jade cup and hold it out for the master’s examination.

“The Wenqu white jade cup: pure white jade, round with an open mouth, its lower belly inwardly curved, with a straight ring foot. The upper outer wall is carved with auspicious clouds, the lower with water patterns. Yet the true Wenqu white jade cup, when hot water is poured inside, reveals a faint circle on the inner base. If it lacks this, it’s not genuine. Place it on the table, and we’ll see…” Master Wufen stroked his white beard as he spoke.

Li Qingpeng set the cup on the table. Wanqing took the kettle of boiling water from the small stove nearby and placed it on the table as well. “Master Wufen, let’s have tea while we talk.”

“Old Zhang, what are they talking about—some white jade…?” Cheng Che muttered under his breath.

Zhang Qinglin stared at the cup on the table, thinking, Is that truly the one Uncle Jiang had?

He would later learn that Uncle Jiang had sold his beloved Wenqu white jade cup to Tianxia Teagarden. Wanqing and her group had found a fake at an antique shop, used it in a competition at the Teagarden, and, knowing Hu Yongxing would bet on the cup, switched the real one for their fake in the chaos at the event.

“The Buddha said: People suffer because they pursue the wrong things. In this world, there is no coincidence—only the inevitable under heaven’s law. Cause and effect, endlessly cycling…” Master Wufen intoned, fixing his gaze on Xun-ge. He turned slowly, set his prayer beads on the table, picked up the jade cup, and raised it to his eyes, examining it closely. He traced the carvings with his fingertips, nodded slightly, set it down, then took the teapot Wanqing had prepared and poured hot water inside. After a moment, he lifted the pot and poured steaming water into the cup.

Xun-ge and Li Qingpeng watched intently—they had never witnessed the cup’s peculiar property themselves.

As soon as Master Wufen set down the pot, the base of the jade cup changed—a thin red ring appeared, only to slowly fade after a few seconds.

“Master Wufen, surely you believe us now? Tell us the secret Wu Hongxi entrusted to you, and not only will this Wenqu white jade cup be yours, but you’ll live your remaining years here in peace,” Wanqing said, running a finger along the table as she walked slowly to his side.

Master Wufen pressed his palms together in respectful greeting. “Please, come with me.” He picked up the jade cup and led them toward the back of the temple.

Xu Bin, pressed against the doorframe, blinked. When he heard nothing from inside, he reached out to push the door open. Zhang Qinglin tried to stop him, but it was too late—Xu Bin had already entered, looking left and right before stepping in. Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che followed close behind.

The temple hall was small and its furnishings worn. There was a table, a meditation cushion, and an altar with an incense burner to the side.

Xu Bin approached the table and glanced at the tea set, his expression tense, then quickly strode toward the left side door.

It turned out the hall had a door leading to the rear courtyard. Zhang Qinglin noticed the jade cup was gone from the table as Xu Bin hurried toward the back—clearly worried about the old master. But surely Wanqing wouldn’t let Xun-ge harm him; in Zhang Qinglin’s eyes, Wanqing still had a kind heart.

Stepping outside, they saw by the moonlight that a towering tree stood in the center of the courtyard. If, as Xu Bin had said, Jingshan was barren, how did this tree grow so lush and full? Around it were the monks’ quarters, all pitch black and lifeless, the courtyard utterly silent, as if no one had passed through.

Xu Bin gazed up at the tree. The last time he visited, it had been withered, nearly dead. Now its branches were vibrant and green, and his heart filled with bewilderment.

“This place is odd. They don’t seem to be in the courtyard,” Zhang Qinglin said, scanning the shadowy rooms.

“Shh… Don’t make a sound…” Xu Bin lowered his head, glancing sideways at the second room on the left.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che looked in the same direction. Suddenly, a green light flashed in that room, then flickered twice more, swirling around before forming a glowing green spot, flickering like a candle—though candles, under normal circumstances, don’t burn green. Then all was still.

Cheng Che stepped in front of Zhang Qinglin, arm raised to shield him, staring warily at the room.

Zhang Qinglin thought, Isn’t this guy always the most easily spooked? What’s gotten into him today—adrenaline rush?

Xu Bin frowned, his gaze fixed on the room as he crept closer.

Seeing Xu Bin approach, Cheng Che’s bravado vanished. He darted behind Zhang Qinglin and whispered, “Look there—don’t tell me this place is haunted!”

“What are you afraid of? Even if there’s a ghost, it won’t eat you. Come on…” Zhang Qinglin said, moving forward.

The moment he took a step, green lights flared in all the other rooms. With a loud “bang… bang… bang bang bang,” every door and window flew open. Before Zhang Qinglin could process it, monks appeared in front of each room, palms pressed together, eyes closed, faces bloodless, their bald heads gleaming.

The sudden appearance of twenty or thirty monks stunned Zhang Qinglin and his companions. Xu Bin stopped advancing.

The monks all turned to face them in unison. In a flash, they opened their green, glowing eyes. Veins writhed beneath their pale skin as they stared wide-eyed and charged.

Xu Bin spun around to Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che, shouting, “Run—run!”

In the nick of time, Zhang Qinglin grabbed Cheng Che and raced toward the back door of the temple hall, but the monks had already intercepted them, forcing the three to retreat together.

Cheng Che stared, trembling, at a monk a few paces away. “Uncle Xu… didn’t you say there was no one else here? Are these monks people or ghosts?”

Xu Bin shook his head. “I told you, before, there was only the old monk here—and I haven’t been back in years, so I’ve no idea where these monks came from! Just be careful…”

The strange monks twitched their ears at any sound. As soon as Xu Bin finished speaking, they charged, and the three were forced into a desperate fight.

Zhang Qinglin kicked at a monk in front of him, but was struck in the neck. The monks said nothing, attacking with deadly intent.

“Old monk, where do you think you’re going, daring to trick us…” Zhang Qinglin heard a shout behind him—the voice of Li Qingpeng, drawing nearer. As he snapped back to attention, a monk with a savage face lunged at him. Zhang Qinglin raised his arms to shield his head, but the attack never came. Lowering his arms, he saw the monk had vanished like a wisp of smoke. The others, too, had disappeared.

Cheng Che looked around, unable to believe what he’d just witnessed.

Xu Bin straightened, spotting Master Wufen stumbling out from behind the great tree. He hurried over to support him.

Zhang Qinglin shook his head and patted Cheng Che on the shoulder. Together, they hurried to Master Wufen’s side.

Catching his breath, Master Wufen said, “Quick, to the front…”