Chapter 53: Truth and Illusion

Zhang Qinglin glanced once more at the towering tree. Illusion—it must have been an illusion.

Xu Bin supported Master Wufen toward the back door of the temple hall. Behind them, Li Qingpeng’s voice rang out again, but soon after, the sounds of fierce fighting erupted.

Zhang Qinglin looked back; at the doorway of the furthest building, Li Qingpeng and the pursuers behind him exchanged blows, fists and feet flying without a hint of mercy. Wanqing, too, was held at bay by two people. He could just make out that those fighting Wanqing were not the strange monks from earlier, but another group altogether.

Cheng Che, walking ahead, called out to Zhang Qinglin. Zhang turned and hurried to catch up.

Inside the temple hall, Master Wufen gasped for breath. Xu Bin helped him to the wooden table, pouring a cup of tea from the kettle and handing it to him.

Master Wufen took the cup, slowly raising his eyes to Xu Bin before him, his gaze filled with joy and ineffable emotion. He drained the tea in one gulp, his eyes sweeping over Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che standing aside. Then, pressing against the table, he stood up. “Follow me…”

Zhang Qinglin watched the aged master, picked up the Buddhist beads from the table, regained some strength, and walked step by step toward the side altar.

“Uncle Xu, the master…” Zhang Qinglin whispered.

“He must have something important to tell us. Let’s go!” Xu Bin replied.

The sounds of violent combat echoed in Zhang Qinglin’s ears once more. Cheng Che, now at his side, whispered, “Old Zhang, did we experience an illusion just now? Listen, they must be trapped by illusions too.”

Zhang Qinglin glanced toward the back door. He was about to speak when Xu Bin called out to them from ahead.

Just then, four or five unfamiliar men burst in through the back door, long knives flashing as they strode rapidly toward Zhang Qinglin’s group.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che exchanged tense glances, staring nervously at the knife-wielding men.

Behind them, Master Wufen trembled as he gripped the altar and pushed it aside. Xu Bin glanced at the threatening newcomers and quickly helped move the altar out of the way.

“Who are you people? What do you want?” Cheng Che demanded, pointing at them.

“We’re only after the old monk. Anyone else, leave now,” replied the man in the center, waving his knife.

Cheng Che lowered his hand, speaking quietly to Xu Bin behind him, “Uncle Xu, it seems the old master has offended someone—they’ve come for him!”

“Don’t speak nonsense. The master… he hasn’t offended anyone…” Xu Bin said, watching Master Wufen before him.

Master Wufen shook his head and pressed a square button protruding from his waist. Instantly, a stone door rose beside him. He clung to the doorway and descended.

Xu Bin’s eyes flashed. He grabbed something from the altar and threw it at the knife-wielding men, then called out, “Go!”

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che followed Xu Bin swiftly, the pursuers close behind. Master Wufen jogged ahead, turned a corner, and they followed him through the stone door. As soon as they were inside, Master Wufen sealed the door tightly. Raising an oil lamp, he illuminated their path—a hidden passage lay beneath the temple hall.

They had barely moved a short distance when the footsteps of the pursuers sounded behind the stone door.

Master Wufen led them into a secret chamber, furnished with a desk, a chair, and a wooden bookshelf stacked with books behind the desk.

On the desk lay an unfolded, dust-covered map. Zhang Qinglin looked closely—it was a distribution map of the ancient Yellow River paths.

“Master… are you alright?” Xu Bin asked, supporting Master Wufen with concern.

The master’s face was sallow, his body trembling, barely clinging to life. He collapsed into Xu Bin’s arms.

Hearing this, Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che rushed over. They saw sweat beading on Master Wufen’s brow, blood oozing from his nose and mouth—the blood was black, clearly from a deadly poison.

Master Wufen fixed his gaze on Xu Bin and coughed. “On the shelf… there’s a box…”

Zhang Qinglin did not hesitate. “I’ll get it.” He fetched the box from the right side of the shelf and opened it, surprised to find a white jade bowl inside.

Master Wufen slowly took out the cracked white jade bowl from his chest, holding it before Xu Bin. “Xiao Xu, remember, no matter what happens in the future, always think thrice before acting—do not let your temper rule you…”

Tears glistened in Xu Bin’s eyes as he nodded repeatedly. “I know. Don’t speak anymore, I’ll find the antidote.”

Xu Bin, moved, was about to rise when Master Wufen, struggling for breath, stopped him. “It’s useless. Even without the poison, my body wouldn’t last much longer. Cough… listen to me. These two jade bowls—you must protect them. Never let them fall into others’ hands. The secret they seek is tied to the jade bowls. I keep my promise, to pass this secret to his descendants, but I never thought I’d wait fifty years… cough, cough… In the drawer, there’s a letter for you. Take care of yourself…”

Xu Bin pursed his lips, unable to utter a word, though his eyes brimmed with things he longed to say to Master Wufen.

The master’s gaze faded, his breathing labored. Suddenly, he could not draw breath, and passed away.

Xu Bin clutched the master, crying in agony, a single word escaping his lips. “Father…”

The sound stunned Zhang Qinglin, and Cheng Che froze as well. Neither had expected Master Wufen to be Xu Bin’s father.

Clang… Clang…

Instantly, the entire chamber began to tremble. Zhang Qinglin looked up—the ceiling was cracking.

“This place is about to collapse…” He placed the jade bowl from the master’s hand into the box, then pulled Xu Bin.

Cheng Che, swaying, leaned beside Xu Bin and tugged at him. “Uncle Xu, we have to leave. The dead cannot return—please take comfort and move on. Let’s go…”

Together, they dragged Xu Bin and ran. As Zhang Qinglin neared the doorway, something struck him and he let go, saying, “You go ahead!” He turned back.

He rushed to the desk, rummaged through the drawers, and found an envelope marked “Xu Bin.” He glanced at the map, grabbed it, and fled, dashing out as bricks fell from the collapsing chamber.

Clutching the box with the jade bowl, Zhang Qinglin caught up with Xu Bin and Cheng Che. Outside the chamber, Xu Bin remained despondent.

“Old Zhang, are you crazy?” Cheng Che shouted angrily.

“The master left a letter for Uncle Xu…” Zhang Qinglin said, handing the letter to Xu Bin.

Xu Bin stared at his name on the envelope, suddenly realizing something. Seeing the cracks spreading along the walls, he snatched the envelope from Zhang Qinglin’s hand. “Let’s go!”

Xu Bin led Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che in another direction, reaching the end of the passage where he pried open a large wooden board in the earth wall, revealing a hole.

The hole led to the back of Jingshan Mountain. As they staggered out, catching their breath, a thunderous crash echoed behind them—the houses atop the mountain collapsed, the giant tree fell, and the earth itself shook.

“Damn, that was close. Wanqing and the others are still up there. Could they have been buried?” Cheng Che stepped forward, eyes wide.

“If so, all the better. Let them perish together—saves me from dirtying my hands,” Xu Bin said, furious.

“Uncle Xu, how can you say that? They’re still lives, after all. Besides, we don’t even know who killed the master…” Cheng Che shot Xu Bin a sidelong glance.

Zhang Qinglin stood behind them, listening. Emerging from the cave, dizziness overwhelmed him. A piercing “zzz” noise echoed in his ears, and as his balance failed, he toppled, a blurry face appearing before his eyes.

The face grew clear: distinct features, thick short black hair, deep and spirited eyes, and a dazzling light radiating from behind his head.

“Jiang… Uncle Jiang?!” Zhang Qinglin clutched his aching chest, staring in disbelief at the man before him.

“Xiao Lin, you’re finally awake. Here, drink some water…” Jiang Haiyan picked up a kettle and opened it, holding it to Zhang Qinglin’s lips.

Zhang Qinglin took a sip, but a sudden jolt made him cough it all up. He sat up slowly, discovering he was in a three-wheeled cart.

He looked around. The cart traveled along a bumpy dirt road, flanked by barren fields. After the heavy rain, the scent of damp earth and fresh air filled the surroundings.

Holding onto the side of the cart, Zhang Qinglin gazed at the endless wasteland, still unable to believe his eyes. Wasn’t he supposed to be on Jingshan Mountain? Where were Cheng Che and Uncle Xu?

“Xiao Lin, what’s wrong? Ah, too dangerous—sit down, sit down…” Jiang Haiyan moved forward, helping him to sit beside him.

“Uncle Jiang, is it really you? Uncle Jiang…” Zhang Qinglin said, overwhelmed.

Jiang Haiyan smiled kindly. “It’s me. You silly boy, did some thief knock sense out of you? Here, drink more water…”

“Brother, once we cross this land, we’ll be at the place you mentioned,” said the old driver ahead, his accent thick with the local dialect.

“Alright, thank you!” Uncle Jiang replied loudly.

The cart rattled noisily.

“Uncle Jiang, where are we going?” Zhang Qinglin asked, holding the kettle.

Jiang Haiyan patted his shoulder. “Xiao Lin, do you not remember what happened before? We told you not to come, but you insisted. I was planning to buy some tea in southern Shaanxi and head back to Beijing, but now, look—your wallet was stolen, your luggage left on the train. Why did you go head-to-head with the thief? At least we got your wallet back and you’re alright…”

A thief? Tea business? Why did none of this ring a bell?

“I… Uncle Jiang, what about Yueyue? Why isn’t she with us?” Zhang Qinglin rubbed his temples.

“Xiao Yue? She’s in Beijing, studying for her grad school exams. She asked us to bring her a gift, don’t forget,” Jiang Haiyan said, smiling as he turned to gaze at the blue sky and clouds.

Leaning against the cart’s side, Zhang Qinglin stared at Jiang Haiyan. He had so much he wanted to say, so many questions, but didn’t know where to begin.

The old man drove the cart into the village. Zhang Qinglin and Jiang Haiyan got out. Jiang Haiyan gave the old man fifty yuan, who smiled contentedly, exchanged a few words, then drove off.

Looking east, several girls carrying bamboo baskets approached, chatting and laughing.

“Hello, ladies. Could you tell me the way to Linyi Tea Garden?” Jiang Haiyan straightened his clothes and stepped forward to ask.

The girls kept glancing at Zhang Qinglin, covering their mouths to whisper among themselves. One shyly pointed ahead—just up front, and they were heading there too.

Linyi Tea Garden was the largest in Xixiang County, growing many varieties of tea with excellent quality.

Zhang Qinglin waited in the tea garden’s rest area while Jiang Haiyan went inside to negotiate prices with the owner.

Zhang Qinglin watched the distant, tender green tea leaves and the girls picking them. They plucked each fresh bud while humming. A few more girls walked by, talking quietly and nudging each other toward the garden.

He glanced at them sideways. Suddenly, that piercing “zzz” noise returned. He covered his ears, shook his head, and caught a glimpse of a familiar figure among the girls passing by.

It was Wanqing, dressed in tea-picking attire, surrounded by the others. She turned to look at Zhang Qinglin, her smile twisted, her gaze cold and sharp.

“Xiao Lin, let’s go.”

Zhang Qinglin collected himself and replied, “Oh…”

He looked again toward the tea garden, but Wanqing was nowhere to be seen.

“Uncle Jiang, aren’t we going back to Beijing?” Zhang Qinglin asked.

“No rush. Come with me to the village—we need to find someone,” Jiang Haiyan said, his lips curling up in delight.

Uncle Jiang’s target was a man called Six Fingers from Xixiang County, who lived on the west side of the village. What exactly he did, Uncle Jiang didn’t say, only that he wanted to buy something from him.

Reaching the west side of the village, they saw only a few houses. The one furthest out belonged to Six Fingers.