Chapter 17

As far as the eye can see, it is all blood-red red spider lilies.

In the world dyed red, there is a dark ink spot.

A sturdy middle-aged monk stepped among the flowers, wearing a simple black monk robe, holding a samurai sword wrapped in coarse cloth in his arms, and walked forward step by step. Although the speed was not fast, the steps were unusually steady. A green headscarf was wrapped around his neck, fluttering like a flag.

After walking for an unknown period of time, he arrived at the end of the red spider lily field, where a river flowed, and the river water was clear and black.

“Is this the Sanzu River? Even the dead have to cross this river.”

The tall monk sat cross-legged on the river bank and looked up into the river. He saw a shiny bald head, a pair of dazed eyes, and a haggard face. This face made him feel unfamiliar. Just a few days ago, the wrinkles on his face were not so deep.

When he raised his head again, he saw a small boat slowly drifting from the opposite bank and finally stopped in front of him. The person rowing the boat was a handsome young man. He held the oars with both hands, wore a light green feather, and had a uniquely carved sword on his waist. His pants were tightly attached to his legs, and he looked clean and refreshing no matter how he looked at it.

The young man’s eyes reflected a faint sadness, and his face was so soft that it was hard to tell whether he was a man or a woman, but his skin was sickly pale, and there was no blood at all. In short, his beauty was too illusory, like a glazed pagoda that could be shattered into powder at any time.

The monk recognized the young man’s face and was a little dazed. He murmured, “Namo San, it’s you who came to pick me up.”

The young man did not answer, and his handsome face was calm.

The monk said, “I heard about your death when I was traveling, but I didn’t want to believe it. There are so many people who died these days, it’s normal to make a mistake about one or two.”

The young man was silent.

“I always thought I could see you again, but ... Alas, you are so much younger than me, why did you die earlier than me?”

The young man was silent.

“Don’t you remember me?”

The young man was silent.

“I remember you, I remember you very clearly.”

The young man remained silent, like a stubborn stone.

The monk continued, “Thirteen years ago, in April of the first year of the Genji era (note: 1864), I hid under the Sanjo Bridge overnight in search of the monster that was killing the citizens of Kyoto.

“It happened that a Shinsengumi soldier was patrolling there. You saw that I was wearing a sword and thought I was a robber, so you drew your sword and slashed at me.

“As a ‘Blue Turban’ who kills demons, I swing my sword only to hunt demons and rarely compete with human swordsmen. But that was the only time I was defeated unforgettable.”

When the monk recalled those three extremely precise slashes, his blood burned.

As swift as the autumn wind, as refined as the moonlight, three consecutive swords that were impossible to resist.

-What a beautiful sword technique.

“After I was defeated, I was escorted to the Shinsengumi’s headquarters. Director Kondo met me, asked me why I came to Kyoto, and then released me from prison and treated me with courtesy.

“In the following half a month, you and I investigated together, fought side by side, and eliminated the culprit of the serial murder case - the monster named “Katawasha”.

“You are a righteous man who maintains the security of Kyoto. Your colleagues trust you, the people love you, and children are keen to imitate your posture, calling themselves “Captain of the First Team of the Shinsengumi” and waving wooden swords in the streets.”

When talking about these old stories, the monk had a faint smile. But his face suddenly changed, straightened his back, frowned, and roared at the young man on the boat like a lion:

“Have you forgotten everything, Okita Souji!”

The ghost named “Okita Souji” said nothing, but smiled slightly, as gorgeous as cherry blossoms blooming in spring.

The monk’s call was finally answered. But even though he saw that familiar smile, he did not feel happy, but felt a pang of sadness.

-During the Boshin War, I joined the team guarding Aizu, thinking that I could fight against the government troops with you, but I could not find your trace. It was not until I met Saito Ichi, a former member of the Shinsengumi, that I learned that you were seriously ill...

This time, we were separated for too long and too far away.

“You were a swordsman who was devoted to serving the country, but you failed to eliminate the traitors and died of tuberculosis. I have killed demons all my life, but I was unable to protect the people and died in the war started by the ambitious. You and I are both miserable people.” The monk stared at the water of the Sanzu River and said to himself, “After these years of practice, I have honed my Buddha sword to the extreme, probably better than your level back then. I wonder how much your “Natural Reasoning Flow” has improved?” As soon as he finished speaking, the monk suddenly raised his head, and his two lightning-like eyes pierced Okita Souji diagonally, as if to cut off a piece of the tender flesh on his face. “In that world, we will have plenty of opportunities to learn from each other.” Okita Souji spoke for the first time, his voice was not loud, but as clear and transparent as white porcelain. --That world? What will that world be like? Without the raging war, the rampant demons, and the starving victims, it must be an extremely peaceful and bright world.

The monk thought so and stood up.

Okita Souji stretched out a white and slender arm, trying to pull him onto the boat.

But the monk turned around and walked away, with his back to the Sanzu River, stepping onto the field where the red spider lilies bloomed, like a drop of ink sinking into the boundless sea of blood.

“Why don’t you come over? What do you still miss?”

Okita Souji asked from behind.

The monk raised the sword in his arms and said:

“The demons in the world have not been eliminated yet, how can I cross the river!”

“Master, Master...”

A childish voice faintly came to my ears.

Zen Master Xiusong opened his eyes and happened to see a dark round face, which looked as simple as a farmer, but there was a clever and delicate look in his eyes. It turned out that it was his new disciple Ashan who was calling.

Ashan saw that his master had woken up, sat down on the ground, and said with relief: “Fortunately, fortunately, I thought ... you would also leave me.”

Xiusong said hoarsely: “Your master didn’t die so easily - he was just too sleepy and had a strange dream.”

“What did you dream about?”

“A person I want to see.”

After that, Xiusong leaned against the rock again, half-closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief.

The spring in Kyushu comes earlier than in his hometown of Shimotsuke. After the drizzle, the soil becomes loose and soft, the grass leaves are shiny and moist, and the air is filled with a wonderful fragrance. When you are in the mountains and forests, your mind will unconsciously relax and melt into the joy of nature.

But the strong smell of blood on the black monk’s robe still brought the monk back to reality.

--The war is not over yet.

In February of this year, Saigo Takamori, a meritorious elder of the Meiji Restoration, led the Satsuma army to revolt, marching northward from Kagoshima in southern Kyushu, and fighting bloody battles with the government troops of the new government.

I heard from the Satsuma people that their goal was to march northeast, land on Honshu Island, and fight all the way to Tokyo. Master Xiusong crossed the sea to Kyushu when the war broke out and secretly assisted them in fighting against the government troops. It has been nearly two months.

The samurai who were active in the Edo period were as clumsy as toddlers learning to walk after entering the “civilized and enlightened” Meiji period, and Xiusong was no exception. In the battles during these days, he suffered many injuries, more than in the past fifty-three years of his life combined. From the top of his head to the soles of his feet, from his limbs to his torso, visible parts and invisible parts, there was simply no part that was intact. As long as he sits quietly, a strange pain and itch will come from all over his body, as if a group of ants are devouring his skin.

The most fatal wound is the wound on his right shoulder, which was left by the iron cannon of the government army. The bullet is deeply embedded in the muscle and even damaged the shoulder bone. This makes Xiusong miserable: For a swordsman, what injury can be more serious than the injury on the arm?

As a prestigious “green turban”, Xiusong has practiced the Buddhist swordsmanship “Mingwang Five Forces” to the pinnacle, and with the magic sword made of killing stone, he has killed countless fierce demons. But since the shoulder injury, every time Xiusong swings the sword, he will feel a piercing pain, as if there is a sharp thorn nailed between the shoulder bones, making him speechless.

“When I was young, I was hit by the copper lock of the Edo police, and I also tasted the shuriken of the Koga ninja. I thought my muscles and bones were strong enough, but now I have experienced the power of the Western iron cannon - there is such a cruel hidden weapon in the world!”

At dusk on the day when he was shot in the shoulder, Xiusong found an unknown courtyard outside Kumamoto Castle, where a medical monk who specialized in treating civilians stayed. Xiusong and the medical monk were old acquaintances for many years and had traveled together for half a year.

It was all caused by the war. The wooden boards in the courtyard were full of wounded people with broken hands and feet, groaning and wailing at the night sky. The old Buddhists from the nearby villages came to take care of them. In addition to the family members who came to look for their relatives, the villagers who came to take refuge, and the gangsters who came to beg for food, this courtyard became as lively as a market.

The medical monk who was in charge of this small courtyard was born in Yakuoji Temple in Tokushima Domain. He followed the old monks in the temple to learn medicine since he was young. After he became proficient in medicine, he often went down the mountain to provide free medical services under the banner of “Medicine Master Bodhisattva eliminates illness and suffering”. The local rural people are fierce and there are frequent fights. Once the enemies have a conflict, they will pick up farm tools to fight, and often fight until the skin is torn and the head is bleeding. The government has repeatedly banned it. He is a kind-hearted doctor. He treats and prescribes medicine for poor patients without charging money, just asking for a vegetarian meal. After 30 years of experience, his ability to treat trauma has been honed to the extreme.

In the candlelit clinic, the monk doctor removed the shrapnel from Master Xiusong and bandaged his wound. His bitter gourd-like face sank as he warned him coldly, “If you still want to use the sword, don’t use your arm for at least a month. I’m thinking about the rest of your life ... but you may not listen, right?” Xiusong laughed like a child, “Of course.” The monk doctor sighed. There were too many civilians who needed medical treatment during the war. He hadn’t closed his eyes for a day and a night. His pupils were bloodshot, his two dark eye bags drooped, and his chin was covered with messy stubble. Although Xiusong was injured, he was much more energetic than him. Even though he felt severe pain in his shoulder, he always had a faint smile on his face. Because his upper body was not covered with clothes, the strong muscles on his chest and back were clearly visible. Just looking at the appearance of the two, it was hard to tell who needed medical treatment more. “Master, I put the clean water you asked for here.”

A short, dark-skinned, bald boy walked into the room, holding a huge wooden barrel in his arms, and placed it next to the medical monk’s chair with a “clang”.

The medical monk thanked him, leaned over to scoop a bucket of water, and poured it on the towel to wash his hands.

Xiusong was secretly surprised. The weight of this bucket of water is not light. Estimating the diameter of this wooden barrel, it is enough to throw the boy into it for a bath, but the boy did not change his face. He came from the well in the neighboring village and carried it steadily all the way. Obviously, he was used to this weight.

Xiusong smiled and praised: “Little monk, you are so strong.”

The boy smiled shyly at him, bowed his head and saluted, and walked out of the door quickly.

After the boy walked away, Xiusong knocked on the table and said to the medical monk: “When did you accept such a good apprentice?”

“He is not my apprentice.”

The medical monk looked at Xiusong solemnly, lowered his voice, and told the boy’s life story:

The boy’s name is Zentaro, a child of a farmer in Satsuma Domain. He just turned fourteen this year, and everyone likes to call him “Ashan”. A few days ago, he and his father transported radishes to Kumamoto Castle to sell, and happened to encounter the Satsuma army attacking the castle. His father did not have time to hide and died in the hail of bullets from the exchange of fire between the two sides.

After that, the homeless Zentaro came here to help with chores. The medical monk shaved his head and pretended to be a monk to avoid being abducted by the army as a soldier.

Hidematsu asked, “Does the kid know the roads around Kumamoto Castle?”

The medical monk said, “He used to carry vegetables to Kumamoto to sell, so he’s familiar with the mountain roads here ... What do you want to do?”

Hidematsu grinned, “I just need a guide.”

After dawn, Ashan followed Hidematsu out of the courtyard.

However, in the days that followed, Ashan not only led the way for Hidematsu, but also received the novice monk precepts and became a Buddhist disciple.

Although Hidematsu was over the age of knowing his destiny, this was the first time in his life that he had accepted a disciple.

Buddhist monks wearing green scarves make a living by killing ghosts, but there are no places that are haunted every other day, so “green scarves” are mostly wandering monks who have no fixed place to live, killing demons and eliminating monsters during their wandering lives.