Chapter 152: Burning Books

Capital, Eastern Great Temple.

This ancient temple, standing on the land of the Dwarf Country for hundreds of years, was once the symbol of Buddhism's supreme authority.

In the past, on the first and fifteenth of each lunar month, worshippers coming to pay respects to the Buddha came in an endless stream; incense swirled inside the hall, the sound of chanting rose and fell, and even the air was filled with the scent of sandalwood and devotion.

But now, the entire temple is shrouded in a deathly silence, as if even the wind refuses to linger here; only the occasional muffled chime from the copper bells under the eaves remains, like a soft whimper.

The once bustling Great Hero Hall now lies empty, thin dust-covered mats scattered about, devoid of any former liveliness.

Only the colossal Vairocana Buddha statue in the center still maintains its lowered-eyes gaze; in the dim candlelight, the gilded robes' patterns emit a faint glow.

The Buddha's eyes seem compassionate, yet helpless, as if silently gazing through the hall's emptiness at the suffering on this land, quietly weeping for the nation about to lose its faith.

Grand Master Xuanli knelt on a mat before the Buddha statue; he was over seventy, his head full of white hair simply tied with a wooden pin, the wrinkles on his face deep as gullies, each line etched with the vicissitudes of time and the sedimentation of the Dharma.

He held a yellowed scroll of the Lotus Sutra, the characters on it long blurred, the edges frayed from years of turning, yet at this moment he could not take in a single word; his gaze lay blankly on the Buddha's lotus pedestal, as if his soul had drifted far away.

Behind him, the temple's remaining few dozen monks knelt in neat rows; most, like Grand Master Xuanli, were elderly monks with white hair, their sparse beards dusted with a little grime, their robes washed white and patched in several places.

Those young, strong monks had, in the earlier years of war, either been forcibly conscripted or fled back to secular life to survive; the few left now are the Eastern Great Temple's last defenders, and the final glimmer of faith.

"Master...", a disciple in a light-gray monk's robe spoke, his voice trembling uncontrollably, breaking the hall's deathly silence.

His body trembled slightly, his hands clenched tightly at his robe's hem, as if he had mustered all his strength just to speak: "The 'Purification Squad' down the mountain has already surrounded... surrounded Pure Water Temple. I heard they took all the scriptures from the temple, piled them in the courtyard, and then... then set them on fire..."

He couldn't finish his words; his voice choked off in his throat. Yet all the monks in the hall understood what he left unsaid—that fire burned not only the scriptures, but also the faith they had guarded their whole lives, the trace of Buddhism's centuries-long presence on this land.

"Amitabha...", Grand Master Xuanli slowly closed his eyes; long lashes cast a faint shadow on his face, his palms pressed together, lips moving slightly, the uttered Buddha's name heavy with fatigue and sorrow echoed in the vast hall, yet sounded especially powerless.

What was bound to come, finally came.

Since the Matsura Shogunate issued the edict 'Abolish Buddhism, Destroy Teachings, Exalt Han Learning,' Grand Master Xuanli knew that the doom of these monks had long been sealed.

At first, officials merely came to confiscate the temple's land, assigning its fields to the 'Wang Family's possession,' then, under the pretext of 'reducing surplus population,' they forcibly dispersed the young monks, sending them back to secular life to farm.

Back then he still held a sliver of hope, thinking that as long as they guarded the Buddha statue and scriptures in the hall, Buddhism would surely have a day of revival.

But now, even the Buddha's scriptures, they refuse to spare. Pure Water Temple's fate is a warning to Eastern Great Temple; those raging flames seem already to have reached before their eyes, scorching each monk's heart.

"Master, let's fight them to the death!", an elderly monk of somewhat sturdy build shot up his head, eyes full of bloodshot veins, voice grinding his teeth, with the resolve to break the cauldron and sink the boat, "These scriptures are the painstaking work of generations of eminent monks, the foundation of the Buddhist gate! Even if we die, we cannot let these Buddhist classics be destroyed in the hands of those traitors!"

His words were like a stone tossed into a calm lake. Other monks also lifted their heads, despair in their eyes gradually replaced by fury; some clenched their prayer beads, others silently rose to their feet, gazing at Grand Master Xuanli with expectation and determination, willing to sacrifice their lives to guard this last spark of faith.

Grand Master Xuanli slowly opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over these disciples who stood guard behind him; a glimmer of light flickered in his cloudy depths.

He drew a deep breath, carefully placed the Lotus Sutra he held beside the mat, then slowly rose to his feet; his voice, though aged, carried undeniable force: "Foolish child, death is easy, but the transmission of faith cannot rely solely on dying."

He lifted his head to gaze upon the Vairocana Buddha, his eyes becoming utterly devout: "But today, the Buddhist lamp of Eastern Great Temple must not be extinguished!"

"But Master..."

"Go.", Grand Master Xuanli said no more, waving his hand, "Move all the scriptures from the Scripture Storage Pavilion into the main hall."

The disciples, though puzzled, still obeyed the Abbot's order.

Soon, thousands of precious scripture volumes carrying hundreds of years of Buddhist history from the Dwarf Country were neatly stacked at the feet of the Vairocana Buddha.

These volumes included originals brought back from the Tang Dynasty, as well as rare manuscripts hand-copied by eminent monks of past generations; any single one taken out would be priceless.

Grand Master Xuanli leaned on the edge of the Buddha's lotus pedestal, rising shakily; his legs numb from long kneeling, each step felt extraordinarily difficult, his body occasionally swaying slightly, he approached the mountain-like pile of scriptures, extending his withered hand to gently caress them.

In his eyes lay endless sorrow and reluctance.

"Buddha, your disciple is unfilial.", Grand Master Xuanli lowered his head, lips trembling slightly, his voice hoarse to the point of near inaudibility, only the hall's emptiness allowing this whisper to barely carry: "Today, I can only use this true fire of the threefold meditation to make a final offering to your golden body."

He knew that once the Purification Squad broke in, these scriptures would inevitably meet the fate of being burned; better to let them perish at others' hands than to have him personally offer them to the Buddha, using a solemn blaze to place the final period on the Buddhist lineage's transmission.

Having said that, he took out a fire starter from his bosom.

"Master! No!", all the disciples cried out in terror.

Almost the instant the fire starter appeared, the disciples behind him all shouted in terror. They leapt to their feet, some even staggering forward two steps, faces filled with disbelief; only now did they finally grasp the Abbot's intention.

He was not seeking to resist, nor to flee, but to immolate himself together with these scriptures, Eastern Great Temple, and the faith they had guarded, turning all to ashes!

He would use his own life, and the scriptures filling the hall, to make a final stand!

"Boom!"

Just then, the heavy gate of Eastern Great Temple was slammed open from outside by a tremendous force.

A fully armed "Cultural Purification Squad" rushed in, wielding torches and long blades, like wolves and tigers.

Leading them was a man with a scar across his face. He was a rising star of the prince's faction back then, but that also let him avoid the fate of Wang Tianhai; he is now the leader of the "Purification Squad," a Wa person granted the name "Li Dingguo" by the Wang Family.

"Old Monk Xuanli! I advise you not to do something foolish!", Li Dingguo eyed the tense atmosphere in the hall, sneering, "The Wang Family orders: burn the books, not kill people. If you cooperate obediently, you may still have a way out. If you dare to resist..."

He hadn't finished speaking when the soldiers behind him simultaneously raised their firelocks; the dark muzzles aimed at the unarmed monks.

Grand Master Xuanli looked at him, his face showing not a trace of fear.

"Patron, the sea of suffering is boundless; turning back is shore.", He said calmly, "You burn the scriptures today; someday, the karmic fire will burn your own bodies."

"Cut the crap, old man!", Li Dingguo, annoyed by his words, hated these mystic monks, "I only ask you one thing: are you going to handle these books yourselves, or let us handle them?"

Grand Master Xuanli did not answer him.

He simply turned his body, slowly knelt before that great Buddha statue, and then knocked his head heavily three times.

"Amitabha..."

As his final utterance of the Buddha's name left his lips, the fire starter in his hand also fell toward the mountain-like pile of scriptures beneath him.

"No good!", Li Dingguo's face changed dramatically. He hadn't expected this old monk to be so steadfast!

The dry scriptures, upon encountering open flame, instantly ignited; the fire, aided by the wind, rapidly spread throughout the hall.

"Master!"

"Abbot!"

Dozens of monks, seeing the Abbot immolate himself, were overcome with grief; some of them, without hesitation, rushed into the blaze, choosing to join their master and the Buddhist scriptures in turning to ashes.

"Crazy! All of them crazy!", Li Dingguo stared at the sea of fire before him, only feeling his scalp go numb.

"Leader, what should we do? Should we still charge in?", a subordinate asked.

"Charge my ass!", Li Dingguo cursed, "The fire's huge—going in would just be suicide. I order you to surround the temple! Not a single fly may escape! If they want to die, then let them all die here!"

"Yes!"

The roaring flames dyed the night sky of the Capital red.

East Great Temple, this ancient temple that had witnessed the rise and fall of Wa for hundreds of years, thus marched toward destruction in the flames.

And the same thing took place simultaneously in every corner of Wa that night.

Whether it was a shrine inheriting a thousand years of tradition or a noble manor storing ancient waka, they all suffered a bloodbath at the hands of the 'Cultural Purification Squad'.

Countless histories, classics, paintings, Buddhist sutras…… everything written in Wa script was consigned to the flames.

Wang Meng stood on the highest point of Guard East City, and could even gaze far off to the east where the sky was set ablaze by the firelight.

From now on, this land will gradually become a true blank sheet, allowing the Wang Family to freely scribble upon it, slowly shaping the land into its own form.