Chapter 27: Calling on an Old Acquaintance

Suddenly, the view opened up before him, revealing a tidy temple courtyard, elegant in its simplicity. In the center of the yard stood a grand incense burner, wisps of smoke curling through the air, but apart from that, not a soul was in sight. Directly ahead lay the main hall, and looking up, he saw a plaque inscribed with three characters: "Hall of the Heavenly King."

Monk Zhiguang stepped forward a few paces when a voice resonated from within the hall, intoning a Buddhist benediction, "Amitabha. I do not know which honored guest has graced my humble abode. Forgive me for not coming out to greet you sooner." Zhiguang instantly recognized the voice of Master Xukong. After more than fifty years apart, the stir of emotion at seeing an old friend rose unbidden in his heart.

Zhiguang made no reply. With a sweep of his sleeve, his robe transformed into a sheet of golden radiance, expanding rapidly until it enveloped the Hall of the Heavenly King like a brilliant cloud. From within the hall came a startled exclamation, "A universe within your sleeve! Who are you?" At that moment, a streak of gray light shot up from the hall, soaring into the sky and unfurling into countless silvery-gray threads that wove across the heavens.

The colorful cloud descended just as the gray threads spread, and the two forces crackled and sizzled as they intertwined, seemingly matched in strength. Zhiguang silently formed a hand seal, and the cloud surged, revealing at its heart a pitch-black vortex that radiated immense suction, as if to draw in half of the gray threads. Indeed, the threads wavered, many being pulled into the void, vanishing without a trace.

Yet the monk within the temple seemed unsurprised by this, as if he had anticipated such a move. In a calm voice he cried, "Condense!" Instantly, the myriad gray threads contracted and, with a flash of light, transformed into a dark gray alms bowl that spun in midair. From it radiated a subtle force of attraction, countering the pull of the black vortex. Once more, the two powers found themselves at an impasse.

Zhiguang smiled faintly and called out in a clear voice, "Master Xukong, it is I, Zhiguang, come to pay my respects!" No sooner had he spoken than laughter rang from within the hall. "Such mastery of the universe-within-the-sleeve technique could only belong to Master Zhiguang. Old friend, it has been too long since we last met."

With the words still hanging in the air, Zhiguang saw an elderly monk emerge from the doorway, clad in yellow robes, about sixty years of age, his features gentle and kindly, though a long scar stretching to his brow marked his face strikingly. Before Zhiguang could speak, the old monk regarded him for a long moment, then sighed, "Master Zhiguang retains his elegance as ever, while I have grown old and gray."

Zhiguang laughed and replied, "Master Xukong, spare me your modesty. Your display just now of the Lesser Immeasurable Divine Art far surpasses my own abilities! Truly, it is you whose spirit remains undiminished." Xukong shook his head with a smile. "Come in, quickly. It has been so long since we last met. Now that you are here, we must reminisce about the old days." Zhiguang responded, "I have come on urgent business and hoped to consult with you. Perhaps we might speak inside?"

"Of course," Xukong agreed. The two entered and sat together.

Zhiguang surveyed the furnishings of the room. In the center stood a medicine furnace; a few landscapes in ink adorned the walls; beneath them, several meditation mats were arranged against the wall. The room was otherwise bare, lending it a sense of emptiness.

He asked, "The furnishings remain unchanged. Have you spent these decades in seclusion here, never venturing into the world?"

Master Xukong answered, "Indeed. After the battle with Liao, my vitality was gravely injured. It took decades of seclusion before I could even partly recover."

Zhiguang said gravely, "I must thank you again for saving my life. Had you not risked yourself to rescue us, my brothers and I would long since have perished. I have spent these decades cultivating in quietude on North Peak, until this very day."

Xukong replied, "Let us not speak of that. Tell me, have you had any news of your missing brothers?"

Zhiguang sighed, "None. Still, there is no word—the chances of their survival grow ever slimmer."

Master Xukong sighed softly, "It all happened so suddenly back then, and I never fully understood the causes and consequences. Could you perhaps recount the events in detail?"

Zhiguang gazed for a long moment at the landscape paintings on the wall before speaking in a heavy, pained voice, "Six years after the light first dawned, the Regent Prince Yuan of the capital called all heroes to resist the demons from across the sea. The whole world responded, and my sixteen brothers from North Peak joined the gathering in the Black Mountains of Liao to oppose them. News arrived that a small force of the demons would slip through the Cold Capital, passing by Dragon Cliff to infiltrate the Liao Kingdom. We volunteered to lie in ambush at the foot of Dragon Cliff. Indeed, after five or six days, we encountered a party of thirty or forty demons. Most were of the Worthy Realm, a few had attained the Saint Realm, but their demonic essence was shallow and their arts no match for ours. We made short work of them, and, elated by our easy victory, we grew careless...