Chapter 100: Flames in the Scripture Pavilion

The martial exchange between the Western Regions Shamen Damo Sect and Myriad Laws Temple had concluded. In the end, visitors from afar were guests, so Grandmaster Tianyi decreed that the prizes from this exchange of skills would be shared between both sides. Thus, both the Mad Monk of the Western Regions, Zisha Mi, and Ruan Xuezong were granted permission to enter the Scripture Pavilion.

As the long-sealed door to the second floor of the Scripture Pavilion slowly creaked open, shelves brimmed with a dazzling array of Buddhist scriptures and Zen scrolls. Zisha Mi was ecstatic. He dropped onto a cushion in one eager motion and dove into the texts, his hands never straying far from the pages.

The Western Regions monk’s face soaked up the wisdom of the Buddhist classics like a sponge, his eyes glued to the words without a single blink. He treated them like priceless treasures.

Only Ruan Xuezong remained expressionless. He placed one hand on the corner of the table, carefully wiping the surface with his fingertip. Once satisfied there was no dust, he finally sat down with a sense of relief.

System 007: 【……】

What a typical bad habit of these noble young masters.

For the next three days and nights, the victors were allowed to study in the Scripture Pavilion, with young novices delivering three meals a day.

Myriad Laws Temple had thoughtfully provided ink, brushes, paper, and inkstones to facilitate note-taking and excerpts. Incense burners, bathing utensils, and other items were set nearby, ensuring that only with clean hands could one show proper respect to the scriptures.

The Mad Monk of the Western Regions, Zisha Mi, seemed perfectly at ease, but Ruan Xuezong felt utterly out of place. He had no interest in Buddhist scriptures whatsoever. Yet such an opportunity was the dream of every Buddhist disciple.

【In the original plot, did Du Rulan really spend three days and nights studying scriptures here?】 Ruan Xuezong asked.

System 007: 【Yes.】

Ruan Xuezong raised an eyebrow: 【I find that hard to believe.】

A bloodthirsty young demon monk, truly kneeling so devoutly before the Buddha?

Ruan Xuezong’s own heart was restless, so he naturally couldn’t believe that Du Rulan, a Demonic Sect infiltrator, had genuinely immersed himself in these Buddhist classics.

Yet according to System 007, after entering the Scripture Pavilion, Du Rulan’s mastery of Buddhism deepened further. He even lectured on the sutras at Myriad Laws Temple each month, his reputation among the laity soaring. Admirers of the young monk’s grace traveled thousands of miles just for a glimpse of him.

Later, after Du Rulan descended the mountain to wander the world, his lectures became a rare, once-in-a-lifetime event that devotees regretted missing.

For an infiltrator to achieve such depths was truly unbelievable—and no wonder none of the monks at Myriad Laws Temple ever suspected Du Rulan.

By now, a good half hour had passed since they entered the Scripture Pavilion.

Ruan Xuezong surveyed the interior of the ancient building. The Scripture Pavilion had stood for centuries, its weathered eaves bearing the marks of wind and rain, steeped in profound historical aura. It shared the same timeless allure as Myriad Laws Temple itself, nestled in these mountains.

At first, Ruan Xuezong’s mind had been too agitated to settle. Gradually, as the sun dipped westward and the temple’s evening drums and morning bells resounded once more, he poured himself a pot of clear tea.

His restlessness faded away. With clean hands, he sat at the desk and began copying a page of the Heart Sutra.

The words of the Heart Sutra were sparse yet profound. As he copied, a refreshing power seeped into his heart, utterly unlike the clash of blades in the martial world.

His inner world grew profoundly calm.

In that moment, he understood why the temple’s high monks revered these texts as supreme treasures of Buddhism.

Three days and nights passed in the blink of an eye. Ruan Xuezong glanced at his desk, where the scriptures he had personally copied formed a small mountain. He rubbed his aching shoulders on instinct. Regardless of how much he had absorbed, this stack of work alone proved the trip hadn’t been wasted.

Zisha Mi, the Mad Monk of the Western Regions, seemed equally reluctant to leave. Over those days, he had immersed himself in the boundless sea of Buddhist wisdom, lost in fervent rapture.

Seeing the man’s demeanor, Ruan Xuezong realized that while this Western Regions mad monk was indeed wild-tempered, he wasn’t necessarily a bad person.

As Ruan Xuezong settled into copying scriptures, a strange scent wafted through the air to his nose. His brows furrowed sharply—he recognized the smell of burning wood, drifting up from below. He leaped back abruptly, grabbing Zisha Mi and smashing through the window to escape.

In the distance, the cries of patrolling young novices erupted in chaos. “Fire! Oh no, the Scripture Pavilion is on fire! Brothers, hurry and put it out!”

“Quick, notify the Master!”

Countless young novices rushed forward with copper basins sloshing full of water. Their panicked voices shattered the night’s silence, rousing the temple’s high monks from their meditations amid the rhythmic of wooden fish.

Ruan Xuezong saw thick black smoke billowing from the first floor of the Scripture Pavilion. Flames roared wildly amid swirling ash, licking up the stairs toward the upper levels.

The acrid stench of oil lingered in the air, rendering the firefighting efforts nearly futile.

“Not good—the scriptures on the second floor!” Zisha Mi collapsed to the ground, choked by the thick smoke. He suddenly remembered and shouted hoarsely, his voice raw with anguish, jolting Ruan Xuezong alert.

An even more shocking sight followed: Amid the crimson blaze, a group of Scripture Pavilion monks charged through the flames to the second floor. Seconds later, they burst out clutching armfuls of scriptures, depositing them on the open ground before plunging back in. Their robes’ hems charred at the edges.

They dove into the inferno without hesitation, their valiant figures swallowed by the flames.

Moments later, as the beams groaned and threatened collapse, they emerged with soot-blackened faces, cradling volumes of scriptures that gleamed with golden light—pristine and protected. Not even the copies Ruan Xuezong had made were overlooked.

Behind them, the Scripture Pavilion blazed skyward. Seeing the monks rescuing the texts, Zisha Mi staggered to his feet and charged back into the fire.

【These monks are insane!?】

Ruan Xuezong’s heart shook profoundly. On instinct, he joined the effort.

The blaze spread further. Finally, the Scripture Pavilion monks staggered out clutching scriptures, collapsing one by one from exhaustion.

Among them, a young monk Ruan Xuezong vaguely recognized was covered in blood and grime, his eyes barely open. He cradled several volumes carefully—the scriptures unharmed, their gold-embroidered edges pristine.

But the monk was injured; his leg seemed broken. In a feeble voice, he said to Ruan Xuezong, “Junior Brother Ruzong, tell the Sect Leader… This disciple has saved over a hundred volumes. I have not failed in my duty…”

Then he collapsed.

Ruan Xuezong extended a trembling hand to check the young monk’s breathing. Fortunately, the man had merely exhausted his strength and been struck by a falling beam on the leg—no life-threatening injuries.

That night, flames and black smoke engulfed Myriad Laws Temple’s Scripture Pavilion, lighting up the entire mountain gate under the starry sky.

When the fire finally died down, the open space before the pavilion was littered with sorrowful old monks. After meticulously tallying the items, a trace of relief crossed their faces. Hands pressed together, they chanted, “Amitabha, Buddha’s mercy. The Southern Canon, the Northern Canon, the hundred volumes of Southern Transmission scriptures on palm leaves, and a hundred other texts—all intact, not a single one lost…”

The other monks of Myriad Laws Temple joined in, hands clasped: “Amitabha, Buddha’s mercy. A fortunate turn amid misfortune.”

Of the thirty-four disciples who fought the fire the night before, all had awakened by morning. After treatment by the temple physicians, none suffered serious harm—truly a blessing in disaster.

Ruan Xuezong seethed with anger. He knew without a doubt that the Demonic Sects were behind this blaze. But he couldn’t fathom why—they aimed to destroy the Scripture Pavilion? Burn the Buddhist treasures and force the monks to risk their lives saving them?

Just then, he overheard Grandmaster Tianyi.

“Amitabha,” Grandmaster Tianyi said. “Hundreds of scriptures are safe, but one item from the Scripture Pavilion remains missing…”

The other high monks seemed reminded. They fixed their gazes and said, “Sect Leader Senior Brother, do you mean the Companion Stone?”

What was a Companion Stone?

That was exactly what Ruan Xuezong wondered—and voiced aloud. He had helped fight the fire the previous night and spent the latter half tending to the injured monks. His once-fair face was smeared with grime, unwashed, leaving only his starry black eyes shining through.

No sooner had he spoken than Grandmaster Tianyi’s palm rested gently on his head, ruffling his hair with affection.

“Ah, Ruzong,” Grandmaster Tianyi said. “The Companion Stone is a peculiar crystal, clear and translucent. When held, it conjures an illusory realm that deceives the senses. As the Buddha taught, ‘Like a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow; like dew or lightning.’ Since it first arrived tucked within a Buddhist text, our predecessors named it the ‘Companion Stone.’ As nothing extraordinary, it has always been kept in the Scripture Pavilion.”

At these words, enlightenment dawned on Ruan Xuezong. The so-called Companion Stone was none other than the Phantom Stone—a gem that generated illusions.

So this was the Demonic Sects’ true target.

Kept high on the shelves as a scriptural accessory, guarded day and night by Scripture Pavilion disciples, it was nearly impossible to obtain. No wonder they resorted to arson.

In the original plot, Huo Chonglou must have gotten his hands on it—which explained why Grandmaster Bai Ye’s divine illusions of shattering the void fooled nearly everyone, yet Huo Chonglou, wielding the strange stone, saw through the deception at a glance.

Perhaps pitying Ruan Xuezong, who had never even seen the stone before it vanished, the Buddhist faithful took turns describing the Companion Stone’s appearance.

“Sect Leader Senior Brother,” one Myriad Laws Temple disciple reported, “we inspected the fire scene. The candle on the first floor hadn’t toppled. Nor was it dry leaves or high winds. The origin is suspicious—likely oil was splashed deliberately to start the blaze…”

The revelation stunned the assembled high monks. It pointed to an arsonist within the temple itself—a deliberate act of murder by fire.

Whether the culprit sought to destroy scriptures or kill the two staying in the pavilion, the crime was heinous.

Grandmaster Tianyi paused briefly before saying, “Amitabha. To think someone would commit such arson amid our compassionate Buddhist disciples. Have the Scripture Pavilion monks investigate at once.”

No need for investigation—Ruan Xuezong already knew the culprit. He sneered inwardly.

Speak of the devil, and he appears. Du Rulan approached at that moment, his white monk’s robe framing a strikingly handsome face—pale as the moon, lips dotted red, eyes a soft hue, smile gentle and compassionate. As his robes swayed lightly, an air of serene clarity enveloped him.

Seeing Ruan Xuezong’s state, he drew a clean white handkerchief scented with faint sandalwood from his sleeve and sighed. “Far water can’t quench near fire. Junior Brother, how did you let yourself get into such a mess?”

“Where were you last night? I suspect that arsonist was you…” Ruan Xuezong’s face hardened as he slapped away the young demon monk’s hand with a sharp crack. He didn’t hold back—within seconds, a red welt bloomed on the young demon monk’s pale hand.

“So Junior Brother suspects me after all.”

The young monk gazed deeply at Ruan Xuezong, withdrawing the handkerchief. A flicker of hurt crossed his exquisitely beautiful face. Lowering his voice meaningfully, he said, “I never realized Junior Brother misunderstood me so deeply.”

Your temperament is twisted and cruel. In the future, you’ll kill and burn by day while burning incense before the Buddha by night—and you’re the son of the peerless enchantress Du Qing’e. Who else could it be?

Ruan Xuezong replied coldly, “Enough talk. Come with me.”

Since Du Rulan offered no resistance, Ruan Xuezong subdued him with a single move, intending to drag the man before Grandmaster Tianyi.

At that moment, the patrolling young novice Miaoxin came panting up. Seeing Ruan Xuezong’s hold on the captive, he blinked in surprise before catching his breath. “Senior Brother Ruzong, we’ve caught the arsonist! It was one of the Scripture Pavilion brothers!”

How could that be?

Ruan Xuezong’s gaze iced over, locking onto the young demon monk’s half-smile. In that instant, the red gleam in his eyes burned hotter than sunset, more lingering than a breeze.

A low, enigmatic chuckle bubbled from the young demon monk’s throat. Ruan Xuezong’s temples throbbed; he itched to slap the man dead.