Chapter 323: This Is All a Parable the Buddha, Through Master Huineng, Gives to the World

Du Shuying's fingers twirling the prayer beads suddenly pause, the sandalwood beads clacking softly.

When she lifts her eyes, the corners that had been smiling are now drawn tight.

Pei Suiwan reacts even faster; as the last word of the verse falls, the rouge on her face fades to a pallid hue.

She was born into the He Dong Pei Clan, raised hearing the court's hidden currents; the meaning of the verse is as clear as a polished mirror in her mind.

The fingertip presses into her palm, the pain cannot suppress the cold that shoots up her spine; she lowers her eyelids, pretending the incense smoke makes her uncomfortable.

What is the old monk saying?.......... Yun Xi understands each word, but the combination makes no sense; she mutters inwardly, turns to ask the two women, and sees their faces visibly grow solemn and displeased, and she asks in doubt, "Suiwan sister, Shuying sister, is there a problem with this verse?"

Having known them for so long, Yun Xi sees for the first time the two high‑born sisters wear such an expression...

What's the problem? That's a huge problem!........... Upon hearing this, Du Shuying mutters a sarcastic remark in her heart, the chill at the corner of her eyes instantly thickens, she swiftly lifts her hand, presses three fingers lightly before her lips, signaling Yun Xi to be silent.

Even Du Shuying cannot discern the meaning of such pointed verses; whether Master Huineng is being intentional or deliberate...

"This place is not fit for lingering!"

Pei Suiwan furrows her brows; the rouge at her brow spreads like ink bleeding on rice paper, her tone carries an unquestionable resolve as she says, "We must quickly descend the mountain and return to Chang'an!"

She doesn't want to stay here even a moment longer.

"Hmm." Du Shuying nods, fully agreeing.

That verse escapes; this place has become a field of controversy, lingering any longer adds more danger...

These two keen‑sensed aristocratic women certainly don't want to bring trouble to their families.

Yun Xi blinks her almond eyes, glances at Pei Suiwan's solemnity and at Du Shuying's fear, realizing the gravity of the issue; her curiosity, like a sprouting spring bud, whispers in a very low voice, "Suiwan sister, what exactly does that verse refer to...?"

"Miss Yun, do not ask further here; after returning to the residence, the answer will reveal itself..."

Pei Suiwan expressionless, after exchanging a glance with Du Shuying, the two pull Yun Xi and head outward.

The group's silhouettes quickly vanish around the corner of the Tanhua Temple gate.

From outside the carriage comes a crisp, mellow crack of a raised whip; the wagon wheels roll, speeding away from this place of controversy.

Master Huineng finishes reciting the verse, no longer watches the varied expressions of the worshippers, slowly brings his hands together in prayer, and bows deeply before the Buddha statue.

The wide sleeves of his kasaya hang down, covering the hand that twirls the prayer beads.

Then he turns and walks down the Gaotai, stepping slowly along the side door beside the Buddha statue.

Beneath the Gaotai, at the back row, a middle‑aged man in a brocade robe suddenly stands, clears his throat, raises his voice a bit, repeats the six verses, folds his hands inside his sleeves, wears a forced smile, and bows toward the now empty Gaotai, saying, "The verse the Buddha bestowed upon Master Huineng is truly thought‑provoking!"

After speaking, he scratches his head, puzzled, and asks, "But what does this signify?"

This is Zhang Laoban of the Chengxi Silk Brocade Manor; he doesn't read much, though he claps loudly at the verses, the bewilderment in his eyes cannot be hidden.

"Indeed!"

It's not only Zhang Laoban who is puzzled; a woman in a jujube‑thorn hairpin and cloth skirt on the steps, holding a child, echoes, "The verse the Buddha granted is far too profound..."

"No!"

At that moment, a young scholar in a green robe suddenly jerks as if pricked by a needle, the color in his face "swish" fades to a stark pallor.

He stares toward the preaching platform, pupils slightly dilated, lips trembling, and after a while forces out a low gasp from his throat.

"This... how could this be?!" he mutters to himself, his fingertips digging hard into his palm as if he has seen some great terror.

The surrounding people are drawn to the green‑robed scholar's oddity, especially seeing his ashen face, they turn and ask, "Tan Yue, what's wrong with you?"

The green‑robed scholar's terror can no longer be hidden, as if an invisible hand clamps his throat, the blue veins on his neck throb sharply.

He jerks his head up, his voice warped by extreme fright, exploding amid the hall's gasps, "The Buddha's verse hints that a pillar‑state official is plotting treason, about to rebel, to change strings and shift dynasties!"

"What?!"

"What did you say?!"

The surrounding worshippers step back half a pace, some covering their mouths, eyes full of disbelief.

An elderly man with a goat‑beard, leaning on a cane, steps forward two paces, points at the green‑robed scholar's trembling hand, and kindly warns, "Tan Yue, such words must not be spoken carelessly..."

"One slip, and it's a capital crime!"

Someone nearby immediately echoes, their voice trembling with fear, "Exactly, you may eat recklessly, but you must not speak recklessly!"

"If it spreads, it would be a disaster that wipes out entire families!"

The green‑robed scholar, as if throwing caution to the wind, rushes forward two more steps, his robe's hem sweeping over the candle tears on the ground, leaving a crooked mark, "I did not speak recklessly!"

"This is all a parable the Buddha, through Master Huineng, gives to the world...."

He inhales deeply, almost roaring as he spits out the final words.

In the crowd, a lean man suddenly squeezes out, his coat half‑open, still clutching an unfinished wheat biscuit, a mischievous grin on his face, "Tan Yue probably has grasped the true meaning of the verse..."

"Quickly tell us then!"

The surrounding people, their curiosity piqued, also shout, "Yes, we wish to hear the details!"

The green‑robed scholar inhales deeply, the tremor in his chest giving his voice an echo, yet steadier than before, "Everyone, listen to me... each line of this verse hides a subtle clue!"

"The opening line, 'The pillar will topple,' where 'pillar' refers to the old pillar‑state official!" he points north, "Combined with 'will topple,' it means the old pillar‑state official is about to dominate the court!"

"This explanation is perhaps a bit too far‑fetched..." From the back of the crowd a steady voice retorts, an elderly man in dark‑blue linen, twirling a string of bodhi beads, leisurely steps forward two paces, "How can you be sure that 'pillar' must refer to the old pillar‑state official?"

He pauses, his gaze sweeping over the hall's panic, and continues, "And you say a rebellion is imminent?"

Beside him, a scholar wearing a square scarf immediately retorts, "The remaining old pillar‑state officials are precisely the nation's pillars, aren't they?"

In his view, the pillar and the old pillar‑state official can be equated entirely.

And now the few remaining old pillar‑state officials, without exception, all have suspicion...

Immediately, both sides cling to their own views and begin to argue.

"Hold on!"

The green‑robed scholar raises his voice, presses his hand again, signaling them to stay calm, and says, "Now listen as I explain slowly..."

"The third line later, Zhao Rang Chiwu, the Buddha directly points out the foot!"

A dark‑skinned man scratches his head, bewildered, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing, first raises the question, "What does this mean?"

The surrounding worshippers kept echoing in agreement.

The green‑robed scholar cleared his throat, deliberately raising his voice: "You may not know, but the meaning of the Red Mist is that war and chaos will be incited!"

"And 'Zhao Soil', may I ask among the pillars of the state, which one bears the surname Zhao?"

"Duke of Chu Zhao Qian!" a girl dressed in a moon‑white ruqun blurted out.

"Only that Duke of Chu Zhao Qian, a single person with the surname Zhao!" The old man with a Sheep‑beard suddenly lifted his head, thumped his cane into the ground with a "thud", his face turning instantly pallid, his voice trembling with sudden realization.

"Sss—" a uniform hissing breath rang through the hall, the worshippers glanced at each other, the terror in their eyes greater than when they had previously heard of "dynastic change".

The old man in a dark‑blue lamellar shirt opened his mouth, wanting to retort, but found his throat dry and unable to speak, and could only droop his head dejectedly.

"Alright, alright!"

A middle‑aged scholar in a round‑collared lamellar shirt suddenly slapped his thigh, suddenly enlightened, saying: "The palace city's cinnabar steps are gilded, 'Blood‑Stained Golden Steps'… that's a palace upheaval! It means that on the day the Duke of Chu storms Huangcheng, blood will flow over those steps!"

"'Red Gates Changing Banners' means he intends to usurp the throne! Change the royal flag!"

The moment his words fell, he shivered.

His complexion turned as white as if just dragged out of an ice cellar, the terror in his eyes even greater than before.

The green‑robed scholar's gaze grew deeper, sharp with insight into hearts: "What is even more startling are the last two lines—"