Chapter 72: The Buddhist Cultivator

The eighth day of the twelfth lunar month.

At this time every year, the streets and alleys of the mortal world are filled with the fragrance of glutinous rice. In every household, people cook Laba porridge with yellow rice, red beans, and longan.

It wasn’t until entering the world of cultivation that I learned cultivators, too, observe the Laba Festival.

However, it is mainly the Buddhist cultivators who do so.

The Laba Festival, also known as the Day of the Buddha’s Enlightenment, holds special meaning for them.

There aren’t many orthodox Buddhist sects in the state of Chu; among the six great sects, Huadu Monastery is one of the few.

Today, monks from Huadu Monastery are likely to visit, bringing “spiritual offerings” and “medicinal foods.”

The sect will also present some spirit grains and resources in return.

They do not come to spread Buddhist teachings among the Daoists; it is simply an exchange of blessings.

Song Yan passed through the Initiation Terrace.

He saw that Senior Brother Lu Ziye was at that moment receiving two monks who had come from afar.

“Amitabha.”

One of the monks saluted, saying, “My junior and I come not to disturb, but to observe the rites and deliver this Laba gift.”

Beside him, the little novice was also wearing a kasaya. Only after the monk gave him a tap on the head did he belatedly bow.

“Amitabha—”

After the rite, he reached back and rubbed his sore head.

As they spoke, Lu Ziye noticed Song Yan and greeted him from afar.

“Junior Brother Song.”

“Senior Brother.”

After the previous incident in Jiran Valley, Lu Ziye and he could count as acquaintances.

“These two are eminent monks from Huadu Monastery.”

“Greetings.”

In Chu, there are not many Buddhist cultivators.

The monks of Huadu Monastery are all ascetics practicing in the mountains, with an excellent reputation and no friction with the great Daoist sects.

Thus, there is no conflict between Buddhism and Daoism here.

After a few words of courtesy, Song Yan excused himself.

The monk watched him leave, a trace of worry in his brows.

The two Buddhist disciples did not stay long.

After a short while, they followed the mountain path outside the sect and walked down the mountain on foot.

“Senior Brother, is there something strange about that 'Song' benefactor?”

Perhaps noticing his senior's concern, the little novice asked.

The monk’s face was troubled. “Though that benefactor’s manner is gentle and his speech courteous, for some reason, there is a heavy air of hostility between his brows.”

“It isn’t the usual aura of bloodshed.”

“It’s more like…”

He pondered for a moment, then spoke.

“A sign of inner demons.”

The little novice’s eyes widened.

Though he didn’t know what “a sign of inner demons” meant, the phrase sounded anything but pure.

“Alas…”

“Still, before our departure, the abbot expressly told us that if it concerns Daoist benefactors, we must not interfere under any circumstances.”

“May that benefactor enjoy good health and smooth affairs…”

…

Recently—

Some disciples of the Dongyuan Sect noticed a somewhat unfamiliar face among the outer sect disciples.

If he were a new disciple, he already had the cultivation of the sixth level of Qi refining, which seemed unlikely.

But if he’d been cultivating for years, no one seemed to know him at all.

Truly curious.

This man’s appearance was utterly ordinary, his expression even a bit blank and rigid.

He walked slowly, never pausing, and went straight into the Mission Hall.

Outer sect disciples cannot take missions from the Mission Hall on their own initiative.

But the sect often issues calls for assistance, masters bring their disciples, and there are other special circumstances, so outer sect disciples often come here to review mission information.

Among the crowd of disciples, he did not stand out.

His gaze flickered as he watched the spirit-lit characters shifting on the giant jade wall.

There was information about missions, rewards, and who had accepted each mission.

He hid among the people, his eyes occasionally sweeping over fellow disciples preparing to take on tasks.

About an hour passed.

He left the Mission Hall.

“Outer sect disciples can’t take missions, but they can issue missions for inner sect disciples to help with…”

“When a mission is accepted, the name of the person taking it flashes on the jade wall, though only for a moment.”

“The person issuing the mission can choose whether to leave their name, but must specify a contact method in the mission details.”

“In the mornings the Mission Hall is crowded, a bit quieter in the afternoon.”

For ten days—

He had been observing here for ten days.

The process by which inner sect disciples took missions—he now knew it inside and out.

In truth, he could have just asked openly.

But as an outer sect disciple, he had no reason to inquire about inner sect matters; it would attract too much attention.

“That should be enough.”

He set off toward Lingyuan Marsh.

The Lingyuan Marsh market—

It was as lively as ever.

People came and went, mostly sect disciples during the day.

Three outer sect disciples approached; as they passed, he naturally stepped aside to avoid them.

“Hm?”

Among the trio, the female cultivator suddenly turned and looked back in puzzlement.

“Yue Rong, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s just that the senior brother we just passed looked a bit familiar.”

The honest-looking youth asked, “Do you know him?”

Yang Yuerong thought for a moment but couldn’t recall, so she shook her head. “...No, I don’t.”

“Maybe I’m mistaken.”

The three of them left the market.

Xianxin Pavilion, second floor private room.

Song Yan touched the human-skin mask on his face, finding the sensation a little odd.

With this mask, and having just broken through in his cultivation, he no longer needed to use his sword-concealing or spirit-hiding techniques to disguise himself as a stranger.

Fortunately, there were few acquaintances at his level of cultivation in the sect that he needed to interact with.

He had come to Xianxin Pavilion again simply because he was too lazy to find another meeting spot.

That was how Song Yan was.

Back on the Stone Beam, if he found a food stall he liked, he could eat the same thing for days on end, and nothing else.

The last time’s service at Xianxin Pavilion had left him satisfied.

He was here waiting for someone.

Days ago, he’d asked around and learned that there was an information broker in this marketplace.

Claiming to “know the secrets of heaven,” this person would speak freely about anything in the sect—but for a price, and a steep one at that.

Yesterday, Song Yan had pulled a few strings and spent a full thirty spirit stones just to arrange this meeting.

A short while later, there was a knock at the door.

Light flashed at Song Yan’s fingertips.

A familiar figure stepped in, closed the door behind him, and stood before Song Yan.

Shao Sichao?!

Song Yan was dumbfounded.

He hadn’t expected it to be him.

He wasn’t even bothering to disguise himself?

“Ahem…so you are…”

“No need for all that preamble!”

Apparently, Shao Sichao didn’t notice anything odd about his fellow disciple, and with a wave of his hand, he cast a soundproofing array on the spot.

“What do you want to know? Make it quick.”

This Senior Brother Shao certainly had his style.

Song Yan was about to ask, but was interrupted again.

“Hey, just so you know, if it’s about a fellow disciple’s personal affairs…”

“Heh heh…”

Old Shao chuckled, “That’ll cost extra.”

“…”

Song Yan’s expression was complicated. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

Now, his opinion of this senior brother was, in a word, “mixed.”

“About Senior Brother Dan Zifeng…”

“How much do you know?”