Wreath of Lilies, Cauldron of Poison

Chapter 49

Golden Lotus of Prajnaparamita

“A price?”

“Indeed. The current you are of no use for me. I will invest in the future you instead. Unfortunately for you, it is not in my interest to invest on something that will not profit me. So yes…a payment must be made beforehand.”

“A payment? I have no money, and I am already a slave to you. What else do you want to take from me?”

“What do you think?”

“My body? No. You haven’t shown any interest in having a taste of me.”

“I want your absolute obedience. No matter what you must sacrifice, what you must do, what you must endure, you will obey me. Question me if you would, but you must never betray me.”

“That’s easy…is what I would say if I don’t know you, Mistress.”

The girl smirked with a hint of amusement. “Good. You are thinking. What I mean by absolute obedience is the kind that even if you find your heart, you will have to discard it if I ordered you to. If you came to love someone, you have to ignore that feeling if I ordered you to.”

Martell heard those cruel words being said and could not find any reason why he could not pay it. He did not have the ability to feel such things anyway. Although, he could not find any reason why he should not accept it either.

“In that sense, what I expect from you should not be bound by such a flimsy contract,” Connie placed her finger on his collar and spoke a few words. The spell within the collar made it glow slightly before slipping off his neck.

“Now you are free. Free to leave. Free to obey.”

“Freedom? You jest, Mistress. Do I ever even have a choice?” Martell confirmed with a sigh.

“Did I not I give you one just now?” The girl replied noncommittally while offering her hand.

“Even I understand my true worth. And right now, I am without one,” the boy said, kneeling on one knee and kissing her hand. “I will pay the price.”

Thud!

“OW!” The body rubbed the part of his head that had suffered Connie’s rough love.

“Why the hell did you kiss my hand?!”

“Aren’t you supposed to do that when a girl offered her hand?! The girls liked it when I do that!”

“I just want to help you up!”

Connie sighed inwardly. Ugh, these Calendian gestures are hard to get used to. That’s it. Next time I’ll make my disciples follow the Jiang Hu rules.

“Just…don’t do it again.”

Connie made him sit down and took her place before him. “Moving on. Before we continue, I must teach you the basics.”

She then told him about cultivation and the meaning of the Dao. The same as the one she told Illumca.

“Unlike Illumca. I cannot teach you Daoism. For what could I teach someone without emotion or attachment? It would be like trying to teach a fish to walk. Instead, I will teach you what I understand of Buddhism.”

“Excuse me, what is Buddhism?”

“Loosely explained, it is a path to overcome the cycle of death and rebirth through the understanding and practice of the philosophy of Buddha. To attain enlightenment or Nirvana.”

Seeing the blank face of the boy before her, Connie realized that it is harder for her to teach Buddhism compared to Daoism. It was not her main focus after all. And some of the complex philosophies cannot be digested in mere years, let alone days.

Connie played with her red hair for a while and tried once again to explain. This time trying to make it as simple as possible.

“Buddha is akin to Thalamut. A light element god. He can purify the darkness, even the demon lord who cursed you. By practicing Buddhism, I hope that you can suppress the demon yourself. I tried to exorcise the piece of the demon lord possessing you, but it has entrenched itself in your soul for so long it had its grip very deep. Any forceful exorcism would just damage your soul.”

Connie saw the despairing look on his face and made a dim smile. “I managed to suppress it with the Heart Sutra. But it did use some strange skill while it had control of you. Telekinesis, I think it was.”

“Y-yes. That is one of the two skills I had. I don’t know what the other one is.”

“Can you use it now?” The blonde-haired girl asked.

The boy opened his Status Screen and said with a disappointed tone. “It is greyed out. I cannot use it.”

“Hmm…so to it looks different to when Illumca analyzed it. Very well.”

Connie made a dharmachakra mudra with both her hands and said with a tinge of melancholy. “The Golden Lotus of Prajnaparamita is an art that belonged to a dear friend. I will not give it to anyone unworthy of it. Even if he is said to be destined for its splendor.”

Her voice trailed off as she began to explain. “It is one of the three most coveted secret arts of the Dharmic Monks, and it will grant you power. In exchange you will experience suffering and hardships that is incomparable the humiliation you subjected yourself with. Only your twisted obsession to stand above the foolish masses would be your guide.”

Martell listened to her explanation with rapt attention.

“Are you prepared?”

“…yes.”

“Remember to kneel and bow deep until your forehead hits the floor three times in front of the Vagabond Lotus Monk when you saw him.”

“What?”

Connie placed her forehead on his. She then chanted the Memory Bestowal spell which sent his mind deep into his subconscious.

Once again, Martell found himself standing in the middle of a dark environment. So dark that he could not see his hand.

He could not see what it was, but he knew that something had been watching him. More vivid than ever. The darkness before him seemed to move. Here and there, something eerie and unexplainable. As if it had gained sentience.

Martell then heard a small sound. A pulse of light came into being and he saw his face looking back at him. All about him was the same, only it had nothing but black in his eyes.

The false Martell raised his hand and he melted, turning into hands. The same hands that tried to drown him before.

“AAAHH!!!”

As the dark hands surge towards him, suddenly the deep sound of a string instrument resounded, repelling them as easily as one would swat a fly. Not giving up, more and more hands appeared until they were like a wave of tsunami.

“W-what is that?”

He could see a white hand floating just a few meters away. Below it was a metallic string. The trembling of the string brought forth a gust of wind that blew the darkness away.

Martell could finally see the owner of the beautiful hand. In front of him was the figure of a man with golden hair, garbed with deep blue robe. He was sitting on an old wooden stool, a strange wooden instrument with intricate carvings of fantastical beasts and clouds on his lap.

His face was like the carving of an ancient mountain, with creases that told of the bitter life he had led. His cerulean blue eyes had clouds over them. Two golden streaks like the shape of his sharp eyebrows were above his lips, giving him a kingly atmosphere. Unlike Connie who exuded the majestic presence of a conqueror, this one belonged to a benevolent king.

The man shook the edges of his robe and calmly plucked another string.

“What a beautiful melody. I’ve never heard bards that could make such sounds.”

Another and another. Slowly and gently like the flow of a river. Unhurried plucks. Ten lithe fingers with rough tips from years of practice - like the tips of aged mountains - teasing the metal strings.

He then opened his mouth, a deep and raspy voice added to the melody.

The golden-haired man sang with such otherworldly skills that made Martell’s cold and empty heart trembled, and a tear…the first tear he had ever shed since he was born - fell.

Every pluck of the string like a drop of water upon the dead stillness of the lake of his soul. Gentle as the breeze of a midsummer afternoon, blowing through a field of golden wheat.

At that moment, the warmth of the man’s unconditional love touched him. And he smiled.

The smile of a father.

The smile that he had never seen directed at him.

“Autumn Rain Cicada…” Martell could feel the name appearing in his mind. What a fitting name for such a great man.

The kingly man took a deep breath and brought his fingers across the instrument. Instantly the fragrance of autumn rain filled the air. The red maple leaves around his feet flew into a maelstrom, which assaulted Martell.

Martell closed his eyes and protected his eyes with his arms. When he opened them again, the darkness had been replaced by a beautiful scenery.

Mountain peaks covered by early morning mist. A row of ducks swimming nearby. Tall thin trees with red leaves, with the occasional fallen leaves floating upon the surface of the lake. The golden - haired man was sitting in an old boat, floating in the middle of the lake. The water was so calm that it resembled a mirror, mirroring the mountains and the trees with a hazy reflection.

The cold mist and the droplets of water hanging off the edges of the boat were signs that it had just drizzled.

Autumn Rain Cicada rested his hands on the strings, silencing them. The dying sound of the strings now replaced by the rhythmical drips of water from the eaves to a bronze cup of water. To the side, a servant was tending to a small earthen jug of wine, fanning the flame of a small stove he used to warm it.

Standing at the bow of the boat was a lazy looking youth. His hair was as black as ink, tied into a bun. A small silver hairpin with the lifelike shape of a swan was stuck into it.

“Vagabond Lotus Monk,” he mulled the name in his mouth. He did not look like a monk at all. Except for his humble appearance, he looked more like a nobleman.

Unlike the kingly man, this youth’s eyes were slightly droopy with a languid smile. Even his robe was a simple one made of hemp, with stains of wine in some spots. On his back was a cedar box with faded paint and few remaining specks of what once might have been gold decorations. Giving him the air of an impoverished beggar.

Autumn Rain Cicada and the Vagabond Lotus Monk looked at each other. They spoke nothing, yet they seemed to understand each other without doing so.

The older man closed his eyes and elegantly put his sleeves out of the way.

When the first string sang, the young man jumped 10 feet into the air, as if propelled by the single note, and landed lightly on top of a maple leaf floating on the river. The second string was plucked the moment he jumped once more. Barely making a ripple on the surface of the water.

As he rose, he did a finger gesture which Martell had seen Connie used before. With that gesture, the Vagabond Lotus Monk called upon the 12 swords stored within the cedar box on his back - Each one a Named Sword.

Then he shook the long sleeves of his robe and stepped upon the flying sword, He then began dancing in the air, guided by the melody and the song. Sleeves and hair flowing with the breeze. As he danced, the swords supported him, each one flew into position before he stepped onto one of them.

This magical scene caused Martell to hold his breath for who knew how long.

The kingly man then pursed as he drew breath. The poor youth spread his arms and fell backwards, letting gravity take control of him as the melody of the instrument became more frantic.

The man formed a circle with his right thumb and index finger as he faced the lake.

The swords behind him spun in the formation of a wheel, aimed their sharp tips towards the peaceful lake, and burst forth with the golden light of Buddha.

At the peak of his companion’s technique, the Autumn Rain Cicada let out a wail that pierced the morning sky. However, it did not break from the melody that he was singing, instead it added to its beauty. It sounded like the defiance of a man fighting against fate. The voice echoed from mountain to mountain. A voice empowered by the power of a Treading Earth cultivator.

The swords plunged into the lake with such force that the lake water affected by the impact was launched 40 feet into the air, causing a light rain in the vicinity.

The servant protected the jug and the fire using an umbrella set to the side as if he was used to it while Autumn Rain Cicada merely repelled it with a single note.

Vagabond Lotus Monk landed by his side and the 12 swords returned to his wooden box. He laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. In response Autumn Rain Cicada placed his hand over his before separating shortly. Their fingers lingering in the air as if contemplating unspoken words.

A voice came into Martell’s head and the knowledge poured into him.

The first art of the Golden Lotus of Prajnaparamita: The Light of Buddha Shines Over All Men.

Martell was bewildered by all the information entering his head. Only after the shock ran its course through his system did he remember to kowtow to the Vagabond Lotus Monk.

One, two, three times he did give his obeisance.

After he was finished giving his respect. Suddenly the golden-haired man turned towards Martell and said.

“Do not let go of hope, Martell.”