Chapter 46: Buddhists, Daoists, Demons, and Devils (Part II)

When the night banquet dispersed, Princess Taiping kept Quan Ce behind alone, gazing at him for a long time. She waved her hand before his face, then pinched his chin between two fingers. “I’ve heard that the Empress Mother has caressed you like this several times. Why is that?”

“I do not know,” Quan Ce’s expression shifted slightly, then returned to calm. Though he had no intention to climb high, Princess Taiping was, in truth, his aunt by marriage. Having experienced the doting affection of Princess Gao’an, he no longer resisted such physical contact.

“You know Hui Fan is a monk whose desires are unclean, but have you ever considered your teacher Xue?” Princess Taiping asked slowly, curiosity burning bright. She wondered how he would extricate himself this time.

“I was reckless and spoke out of turn. I will go to the Eastern Capital another day and plead guilty,” Quan Ce replied, ever composed, respectful and poised.

Princess Taiping withdrew her hand, her expression cooling. “I thought you were clever, but you’re just a mischievous child. Tonight I won’t hold it against you. You may leave now.”

“Your servant takes his leave,” Quan Ce bowed, stepped back, straightened, and strode away.

“Princess, Master Hui Fan requests an audience,” came a report from outside.

“Tell him to get lost!” Princess Taiping roared in fury, smashing the glass lampshade in the room. With a sharp crash, the lamp shattered, and a sudden pain twisted her heart. It was designed and crafted by Xue Shao himself: green leaves, red petals.

“You are the green leaves, I am the red petals. You must cherish me, protect me,” he whispered to her on their wedding night, entwined on silken bedding.

“No, just now it was clear that you were the green leaves and I the red petals, wrapped in your embrace,” her husband teased with words that made her blush, yet remained ever graceful.

Quan Ce had just stepped out of the main hall when he saw Shangguan Wan’er standing by the shrubbery in the gardens, carrying the scent of dampness. She seemed to love bathing, and after bathing, wandering outdoors. Her face was grave as she chided him softly, “Elder Brother, why so impulsive? You didn’t just write a poem, nor merely provoke Xue Huaiyi indirectly—you’ve undermined the prestige of Buddhism. You may anger the Empress.”

Quan Ce understood well Buddhism’s place in Wu Hou’s heart. It was not only a tool to counter Daoism but to disrupt the minds of the people. Confucianism preached male dominance, Daoism split yin and yang, but Buddhism blurred even gender with its doctrine of ‘no-self, no sentient beings,’ making it most useful. Yet, daring to kick these bald monks, he had already prepared his escape. Seeing Shangguan Wan’er anxious for him, he could not pretend unconcerned. “I was rash. Thank you, thank you…”

In this moment, to call him by his official title would be insincere. Wan’er could not bring herself to address him so, and after repeating her words several times, her voice faded, unable to find a fitting name.

But Shangguan Wan’er had no patience for such trivialities, angered by his lack of caution. “Elder Brother, survival in chaos is already difficult—why risk everything for a moment’s pride? News of this will soon reach the palace. I must return and do what I can to smooth things over. You—fend for yourself.” With that, she turned on her heel and hurried away.

“Wan’er,” Quan Ce called after her. She paused and looked back, brows gently furrowed.

“We both attended the Princess’s banquet tonight. If you plead for me before the Empress, your actions will be too obvious and will harm you.”

Shangguan Wan’er’s gaze softened slightly. “Don’t worry, I know my limits. Don’t forget—I, like you, was born under a cloud of guilt. I won’t risk myself for your sake.”

Quan Ce relaxed, clasped his hands, and smiled. Shangguan Wan’er lifted her skirts, crouched, and returned his bow.

The next morning, before dawn, shouts and neighs sounded before the gates of Princess Yiyang’s mansion. Wu Yanxiu led his men to encircle the place, his face twisted with malice. Rising early to seize this task from the palace, he meant to trample Quan Ce and vent his anger.

The gates stood wide open: the main gate, the ceremonial gate, the inner gate, all doors ajar. Save for a hunched, elderly porter, there was no one else.

“Escaped? Quan Ce dared to escape?” Wu Yanxiu raged, turning his horse in place and whipping his surroundings.

“Amitabha,” intoned a voice, followed by the sound of chanting. Master Yijing from Famen Temple arrived with a host of monks. Yijing’s long beard curled, his robe immaculate, his demeanor dignified. Amidst the morning mist, he seemed almost otherworldly.

Wu Yanxiu sat high on horseback, looking down with disdain. “Why are you monks here?”

Yijing replied calmly, “I was entrusted to come. Layman Quan has delved deep into Buddhist scriptures, fallen into delusion, and strayed into demonic paths. He has vomited three pints of blood and is now delirious. He is being escorted by Buddhist guardians to Baima Temple in the Eastern Capital for deliverance.”

“Ha! How easily you speak. I act under the Empress’s decree to arrest Quan Ce. If he’s at Baima Temple, I’ll go there and bring him back,” Wu Yanxiu retorted.

Yijing took a tightly wrapped bundle from the hands of a novice behind him. “Layman Quan was possessed by this scripture. Please pass it to the Empress. All will become clear.”

Wu Yanxiu still wished to bluster, but those around him urged caution. Matters involving these enigmatic monks were not to be trifled with. Quan Ce, who had gone to Baima Temple, was a vivid example: lively and talented, yet for composing a poem that mocked a monk, he brought disaster upon himself.

“Let’s go,” Wu Yanxiu gestured several times but did not dare strike the monks with his whip. He vented his anger on the horse and returned to Daming Palace to report.

Yijing pressed his palms together in salute to the old porter, then led his monks away. All were disciples of Master Shenxiu, chanting the Lankavatara Sutra of the northern Chan school.

“Master, Quan Ce is just a foolish child. Why do we allow ourselves to be manipulated?”

Yijing gave no answer. In his sleeve was a string of golden conch-shell prayer beads. A monk recently ordained at the temple had vanished—an important figure, vital to the Buddhist order’s network of informants.

“Master, have you inspected what’s inside the bundle? Could it harm Buddhism?”

A flash of brilliance crossed Yijing’s eyes, but he still said nothing, silently praying: Master Shenxiu, you have forbidden monks from meddling in political struggles. Yet Quan Ce truly possesses great wisdom and fortune. He discovered this scripture. We aid him, and it brings great fortune to the sangha. We merely follow the course; we have not violated your will.

In the Daming Palace, in the Penglai Hall, Empress Wu sat behind her desk, her face as cold as water.

Wu Yanxiu reported his experience, placing all blame for Quan Ce’s flight on the monks.

“Go,” Empress Wu waved him away. “You all may leave.”

Shangguan Wan’er and others bowed and withdrew, eyes lingering on the bundle atop the desk.

The Empress did not open it. Eyes half closed, she waited a long while. Suddenly, a woman dressed in black with a plum-blossom forehead ornament appeared.

“Why did Quan Ce act so recklessly? He has defiled the Buddha. Why is Yijing so willing to serve him?” Empress Wu asked two questions in succession.

The woman replied quietly, “I have not learned the details, but I have uncovered one thing. Wei Yuanzhong, the magistrate of Luoyang, once forwarded a letter to Quan Ce. The writer was Sima Chengzhen.”

Empress Wu’s expression did not change. “From now on, I want to know Quan Ce’s every move.”

“Yes,” the black-clad woman replied, vanishing in an instant.

Empress Wu opened the bundle and found a scripture titled ‘The Great Cloud Sutra.’ She had never seen it before. Frowning, she leafed through its pages, and after only a few, she suddenly stood, her cheeks flushed, hands trembling uncontrollably. It took a long time for her to calm herself.

“Quan Ce,” Empress Wu murmured the name softly.

A young face floated before her eyes; she seemed to have seen it somewhere before. It was in Gan Ye Temple, when Emperor Gaozong secretly came to dote on her. Decades had passed in the blink of an eye.

You resemble your grandfather. Are you my lucky star—or my curse?