Chapter Nine: Return to the Academy

When the hundred-day period arrived, Master Ruokong alone accompanied Huasheng to the mountain gate.

Huasheng glanced back at the Great Thousand Zen Temple and murmured, “Having grown accustomed to living here, the thought of leaving now stirs an unexpected reluctance.”

Ruokong smiled gently. “Then, dear patron, you may stay another hundred days...”

“No, no, no! Master, you are too polite!” Huasheng hastily interrupted. “I indeed have urgent matters to attend to.”

“I shall prepare earlier next time,” the monk replied, “perhaps even arrange a grand farewell ceremony for you.”

Huasheng waved his hand. “No need, no need. I wouldn’t want to trouble the monks. Abbot, please don’t go to such lengths; I truly wish not to disturb everyone too much.”

“Very well. When you set off and wherever you go matters little. What’s important is that you know the way home,” Ruokong said, folding his hands. “May fate bring us together again, dear patron!”

Huasheng bowed respectfully, then turned and approached the mountain gate. He saw that the imposing gate remained firmly shut. He pushed it, but it stood immovable. Turning back, he asked, “Master, why can’t the gate be opened? Could it be that it has rusted from disuse?”

Ruokong smiled and stepped forward, but instead of pushing the main gate, he lightly tapped the right side of the door.

“Please, patron,” he said.

With a creak, a side panel of the door swung open.

“Ah? A revolving door?!” Huasheng’s eyes nearly popped out in astonishment. No wonder none of his previous attempts—pushing, pulling, sliding, or lifting—had worked.

It turned out to be a revolving door all along!

Ruokong escorted Huasheng outside the gate.

“Abbot, this grand and solemn temple gate—this is not a department store. How can it be proper to use a revolving door here?” Huasheng said.

“The gate is merely a passage. What form it takes is of little consequence,” Ruokong replied.

Huasheng was unconvinced. “Then why couldn’t I just push the side panel open earlier?”

Ruokong laughed. “Of course not. The Dharma is boundless; patron, please do not compare your wisdom with that of the Buddha.”

Huasheng was taken aback by this remark.

Ruokong continued, “Patron, the mountain gate is no ordinary gate. Your quest to find a way out was itself a question. The gate is the answer. What you see now may not be the absolute truth, but it is the best answer that you can comprehend and possess.”

Ruokong’s words reminded Huasheng of what the young novice had said—that Sun Wukong could not escape the palm of the Buddha not because he was bound or there was a lid on the palm, but because he could not break the Buddha’s Dharma.

Thinking of this, Huasheng suddenly asked, “Master Ruokong, what about the Ruyi Golden Cudgel...?”

Ruokong answered, “I have already returned it to you, patron.”

Huasheng touched the band of forged iron with the golden hoop around his chest and lifted the pendant into his palm. In the center of the crimson flame floated a golden needle.

“When did you return this to me?”

“When you let go in your heart and decided you no longer needed it, I returned it,” Ruokong said. “Whether it is a physical artifact or an emotion in your heart, whenever you are intoxicated, confused, dependent, or attached, do not forget to ask yourself if you can let it go. If you hold on to too many things, you will be trapped—you will neither walk far nor fly high.”

Huasheng bowed deeply to Ruokong.

He took a few steps down the mountain. When he looked back, the temple gate was no longer a revolving door but had transformed into a solemn, majestic double-door gate.

Above the gate hung a golden plaque inscribed with four large, brilliant characters: “Great Thousand Zen Temple.”

***

“All things in the world have causes. Without cause, no effect; without cause, no you or me.”

Ruokong stood before the temple gate, waving and smiling at him.

“Patron, travel safely!”

Huasheng mounted his cloud and soared upward, beholding the full view of the Great Thousand Zen Temple. It stood perched atop a steep, solitary peak like a phoenix spreading its wings.

High in the sky, one felt as free as a bird. Huasheng stretched luxuriously and took a deep breath with great satisfaction.

“Since the Great Thousand Zen Temple lies in central Hanzhou, and the Institute of Arcane Studies is in Lingzhou, I must head east,” he muttered.

Looking down toward the eastern mountain range beside the temple, a strange familiarity stirred within him, as if he had seen this landscape somewhere before. Huasheng had visited few places in Shengpingning, especially fewer places from such a high vantage point using cloud riding techniques.

He initially thought he glimpsed it during his fall but quickly dismissed that notion. It was not the view from that time but from much earlier and farther away.

“That’s... where have I seen this? Ah, yes!”

A sudden flash in his mind: the mountain near the Great Thousand Zen Temple was where the Panxian Cave was located! He had come here before with the Supreme Lord, Weiyu, riding cranes in search of the Time Bodhi.

“So this is the forbidden zone the Supreme Lord mentioned. No wonder it seemed so familiar.”

Huasheng pondered that the reason the Daoist-managed Shengpingning called this area forbidden was likely related to the Great Thousand Zen Temple’s presence.

No wonder the Daoist disciples were forbidden to enter here. It seemed the relationship between Buddhism and Daoism in Shengpingning was indeed delicate.

Thinking of the Time Bodhi, Huasheng recalled the vision he had seen when piercing through the Saturn Silk—a vision of the Time Bodhi and the ensuing “Bodhi War.” It all seemed like a dream.

Whether it was an illusion or a future reality, Huasheng did not know. After all, as long as the present remains, the future can still be altered.

“Urgent as a decree!” he exclaimed, rousing himself fully, and shot eastward like an arrow released from a bow.

Passing three or four large cities, over a dozen small towns, and countless forests and mountains, Huasheng eventually saw a familiar scene in the distance.

Was that not the cluster of buildings belonging to the Institute of Arcane Studies?

The Black Tortoise Sacred Mountain looked unchanged, though the Lingyan Tower atop it had vanished.

A hundred days had passed since the Battle of Qiankun Guard. The four tall pavilions at the mountain’s base—the Pavilion of Thought Immortals, Pavilion of Gathering Immortals, Pavilion of Equal Immortals, and Pavilion of Imperial Immortals—had all been restored to their original grandeur. Buildings destroyed during the battle had been rebuilt.

The immortal masters must have exerted great effort.

Huasheng lowered his altitude slightly, spotting the dormitory area.

Who should he visit first? Master Yuran? No, better to see the Supreme Lord first and confirm his safety.

The Supreme Lord had helped him break the illusion of the Saturn Silk but had since disappeared after returning to Shengpingning for unknown reasons.

With these thoughts, Huasheng descended several dozen zhang.

The main road leading to the Institute’s entrance—the Lingtian Sacred Path—lay directly ahead, bustling with disciples walking to and fro. Just as Huasheng was about to descend to the height level with the four pavilions, a cluster of fireballs suddenly flew toward him seemingly out of nowhere.

The suddenness and the small size of the fireballs—only palm-sized and trailing fiery tails—made it hard to spot from afar. Huasheng barely dodged in time.

“That’s too dangerous! Who dares to use fire control techniques in the sky like this...?”

Strangely, the fireball gave Huasheng an unfamiliar feeling. He had never seen such a fire control technique before—fireballs with flaming tails, like fireworks. It was oddly unsettling.

***

Huasheng then realized that many people were gathered on the Lingtian Sacred Path beneath him. The fireball had come from below and nearly struck him.

He flew toward the dense crowd, noticing more disciples rushing toward the scene. The number of people below was growing rapidly.

“Could it be that in just a few days away, everyone at the Institute has learned some new immortal techniques?” Huasheng muttered to himself.

Before he could think further, he saw something even stranger.

The disciples of the Institute were surrounded by a group of men dressed in black robes.

Both sides were locked in fierce combat.

From the sky, the black-robed men numbered around twenty or thirty and were clearly not disciples of the Institute.

On closer inspection, each wore a long black robe. Some wielded wooden staffs nearly as tall as themselves; others held branch-like objects.

Whether staffs or branches, they all emitted flames like the fireballs Huasheng had just seen. These black-robed men were attacking the Institute’s disciples with fire spells.

Huasheng could not stand idly by while his fellow disciples were bullied. Using his momentum from descending, he sidestepped toward a black-robed man and shouted, “Who are you troublemakers?”

The man dodged too late, raising an arm to block Huasheng’s flying kick.

With a shout of “Urgent as a decree!” accompanied by a gust of wind, Huasheng’s kick landed with a dull thud, sending the man flying three zhang before he flipped and landed steadily.

Huasheng saw that the man was no ordinary opponent. Huasheng had used a fragment of immortal power in his strike. Even a large granite boulder would have shattered to dust, yet the man appeared merely pushed back.

“So he has some cultivation...” Huasheng thought, preparing to unleash another immortal technique.

Then he was stunned.

He realized the man was a foreigner—blonde hair and blue eyes.

Wait! How could there be foreigners here?

Huasheng’s mind went blank.

How had foreigners come to Shengpingning? Where had they come from?

Standing amid the crowd, Huasheng suddenly noticed that the black-robed men spoke a foreign language.

Huasheng had studied languages and was certain they were not speaking English. It sounded somewhat like French, though he could not be sure which language exactly.

Suddenly, he understood: no matter what, this was an “Eight-Nation Alliance” invading his doorstep!

Huasheng shouted, “Urgent as a decree!”

Grasping the forged iron golden hoop chain at his chest, a burst of multicolored light flared, and the Ruyi Golden Cudgel seemed to call to his hand.

The long-missed cold sensation returned to Huasheng’s palm as he wielded the cudgel horizontally.

“Who can tell me?” he bellowed, “These people dressed like Harry Potter here to smash up the Institute of Arcane Studies—just who the hell are you?”

Just as Huasheng prepared to charge the black-robed foreigners, a girl’s voice called out.

“Huasheng! You’re Huasheng? What are you doing here?”

Startled, Huasheng turned around to see Mieying standing behind him. Mieying’s golden-brown curls revealed she was the seventh sister.