The old monk's white brows twitched. He knew at once which flaw the boy meant. In his early days of study, he had drowsed through a lecture of the Tathagata's, and that very lesson had been about this move, the Thousand-Hand Buddha.
Buddhism sets great store by karma, the bond of fate. The old monk had missed that chance to it, and could never ask the Tathagata about the heart of the Thousand-Hand Buddha. He could only learn the move from his fellow disciples, but that was not the Tathagata's true transmission after all.
There was indeed a flaw hidden in his Thousand-Hand Buddha, one so fine no one could catch it. The old monk had found it himself and sought to mend it, but the more he patched, the more it leaked; the more he filled the holes, the more holes opened up.
To solve a problem, you must first find where the problem lies. The Thousand-Hand Buddha was immensely complex, demanding the concert of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body and mind, with countless variations. No minute flaw could be caused by a single factor; it was more likely the work of several—even a dozen—causes that seemed to have no connection at all.
The old monk had hunted the cause of the flaw since his youth, and to this day he had not found it. Since the flaw lay in his Thousand-Hand Buddha, his disciple Mingxin's Thousand-Hand Buddha naturally bore the same one.
The flaw was so subtle that only an attack of blinding speed could expose it. When the arm rose past an inch below the throat, the qi briefly thinned. Struck by a swift attack, the arm would rise a hair slower because the qi was weak—and that hair's delay laid bare the throat for a flicker. The old monk's cultivation was too deep for many to force out that hair of a flaw, but Mingxin was different.
In the depth of cultivation, Qin Mu still stood above Mingxin. And Qin Mu used his hand as a knife, uncannily quick; in that brief span he had already sent a hundred cuts through the air at Mingxin's throat!
At the sixty-eighth cut, the golden bell on Mingxin's skin shattered once. Though Mingxin gathered his qi together and the great golden bell took shape anew, Qin Mu's blade had already bitten into his throat!
The blood ran from Mingxin's throat without cease, and soon stained his pure white cassock crimson.
The old monk sighed and said, "Foolish child, your Thousand-Hand Buddha cannot block his blade. Why not change tactics?"
Mingxin came to himself with a start. He had been so set on parrying Qin Mu's blade that he forgot that by defending alone he would only be beaten into a corner, whereas his great golden bell could shield him from Qin Mu's blade for a short while and give him a chance to defeat his foe. It was Qin Mu's madness that had frightened him into forgetting his own strengths!
He suddenly changed his move. His palm closed into a fist, a single quake in the air, and the fist blazed like the great sun of golden light, dazzling beyond compare!
Tempering the Yang Soul in the Sunlight!
At that moment, Buddhist chanting came from his hand seal, a sound far-flung and lofty and long, and with it thunder from his palm—a boom that could refine and kill the soul itself!
His Tempering the Yang Soul in the Sunlight differed greatly in might from Qin Mu's version of the same move. Its power exceeded Qin Mu's several times over!
Taken by the shock of that move, Qin Mu grew dazed, his three souls all disturbed and his seven spirits all startled.
Rap! Rap! Rap!
Qin Mu raised a finger, and a dizzying string of finger seals pricked his brow, his tailbone, his navel, the crown of his head, his Adam's apple, the pit of his heart, his perineum, his lungs—sealing up his Three Souls and Seven Spirits!
The Demon Art of Creation!
The art that Grandma Si had taught him, meant from the first to fix the souls, seal the blood and essence, and strip the skin to make garments of it—now he was using it to seal up his own souls, so that Mingxin's move could not refine them away!
"Samoyeh!"
A hasty magic cry rang out. Qin Mu smiled, plucking a flower, his palm quaking as he drove out the Seal of Heavenly Demon Freedom. Mingxin's soul was shaken from its seat, and almost drawn bodily out of him. But at that instant Qin Mu's move shifted—from demonic arts to Buddhist arts—Tempering the Yang Soul in the Sunlight!
Mingxin's Tempering the Yang Soul in the Sunlight was a fist as the great sun, thunder and sound scattering the soul, golden light refining it. Qin Mu's, by contrast, was a fist as the great sun, his searing Vermilion Bird qi setting the fist afire, the flame the original fire, fierce beyond measure, hot enough to melt steel.
Qin Mu's five fingers spread wide, and the air in his palm exploded at once; a tremendous blast came rushing, scattering the foe's soul into chaos.
The old monk's Tempering the Yang Soul in the Sunlight differed from Old Ma's. Clearly the old monk's was the orthodox form, while Old Ma had improved on it, laying weight upon power.
Yet Qin Mu had no Tathagata Mahayana Sutra, and could not bring the might of the move into full play.
Mingxin had barely been shaken and on the verge of casting off his body when he heard a low shout: "Samoyeh!"
Qin Mu changed his move yet again—from palm to seal, plucking a flower and smiling, and the Seal of Heavenly Demon Freedom burst forth once more. He switched back and forth between a Buddhist and a demonic seal, and it went freely, without the least hitch or resistance. Grandma Si and the old monk and the rest all watched, their hearts shaking beyond words.
Budda and demon conflicting was inevitable. To run a demonic art and then drive a Buddhist art must be bitterly hard—never could it flip as easily as Qin Mu flipped his.
"It's the Supreme Body's qi." The Deaf smiled and murmured.
Grandma Si heard it, and her heart stirred: "The Deaf is right. Only the Supreme Body's qi, which carries no element at all, can switch between Buddhist art and demonic art without the least hindrance. Mu'er truly is the Supreme Body. The Village Chief did not see wrong!"
The old monk suddenly rose, and intoned a Buddhist chant. At once the power of Qin Mu's Seal of Heavenly Demon Freedom died, and an unseen force parted him from Mingxin. Mingxin was about to rally his spirit and trade blows with Qin Mu once more, but of a sudden his vision blackened and his body swayed.
His throat had nearly been severed by Qin Mu—he had lost too much blood.
"I concede."
The old monk glanced at Old Ma, then beckoned Mingxin over. "Junior Brother, I lose this time, but not necessarily the next. Mingxin, we master and disciple have wandered far and wide with no place to settle. Let us find some good karma nearby and dwell in some village."
Mingxin's throat was still bleeding. He came forward, and the old monk bound his wound and dressed it with salve. Then he said with deep meaning: "Disciple, a staff can be re-forged, but a head comes only once. You lost once, and that is a loss in all things. And you, young benefactor—you cultivate demonic arts, cruel and venomous, and have already entered the demonic path. Beware that you do not sink into the hells and be damned for eternity!" So saying, he bore Mingxin away with him, drifting off without so much as a speck of dust on his feet.
Qin Mu leapt down from the stage and watched the master and disciple go. Seeing that Old Ma looked grave, plainly troubled by the monk's words, he asked at once, "Grandpa Ma, Grandma, if he ever gets the chance, will he try to kill us?"
Grandma Si sneered: "Slaying demons and exorcising evil is the old bald knave's very trade! If he ever got the chance, we'd fare no better than the vixen Wu Nu! And Old Ma—" She shook her head.
Old Ma had passed the arts of the Great Thunderclap Monastery to an outsider. That alone was an offense against their gravest taboo!
Qin Mu did not understand. "Then why don't we simply kill him now and be done with it, instead of waiting for him to come hunt for trouble?"
Grandma Si's eyes lit up, and she praised him: "Mu'er grows more and more like the Supreme Body! Herbalist, Mute, Blind One—shall we just do in the old bald knave and the young one?"
The old monk, though far off already, heard this and quickened his pace. With a whoosh he leapt up into the air and bore Mingxin away, all thought of settling near the Village of Broken Elders gone from his mind.
Grandma Si and the rest did not give chase, but went on with their own tasks. The Deaf suddenly sighed and said, "The Great Ruins grow more useless by the day. Any demon or monster dares to come into the Great Ruins and make trouble."
The Blind One nodded, feeling the same: "They won't leave us honest folk in peace. Old Ma, hiding like this is no solution. One day, if you say the word to go to the Great Thunderclap Monastery, these old bones of ours can come along to keep you company."
Old Ma was moved, but did not let it show. He lifted the Khakkhara staff and said, "Years ago I fought my way out of the Great Thunderclap Monastery, so I can fight my way back in, no need of your help. Mu'er, this is your winnings. It's yours."
Qin Mu took the staff, yet it was not as heavy as he had imagined. This staff had driven the legs of a table deep into the ground, but in his hand it felt light and easy. He was puzzled: "Is this staff so precious? Then why did Grandpa Ma wager his head on it?"
"Precious? It's not all that precious."
Grandma Si studied the staff and said with a smile, "You know Xianglong City, don't you? This staff is worth at most enough to buy a Xianglong City."