Chapter 77

When the time of the next day approached the chen hour, Pangzi put on a new set of clothes, took along a new set of clothes prepared for Yang Qiye, and under the accompaniment of me and QingSongShu, walked from home to Chan Yi Hall, preparing to bow to Yang Qiye as a secondary master.

A secondary master is a title besides the primary master, and Pangzi's first master was QingSongShu, who is also his primary master.

Speaking of this, many people probably find it strange, since they say a master is like a father and a disciple like a son; the master is still alive, so how could one go and take a second person as a master? Aren't you afraid the master will find out and you'll be struck by heavenly thunder?

However, whether in Daoist or Buddhist rites, this not only does not violate ethics, but the master will actually encourage you to take on two more secondary masters to learn more things. Because the Daoist Sect's five arts are vast and profound, although mountain physiognomy, medicine, life, and divination are not separate, in the fields of fate calculation and divination, feng shui, and exorcism and subduing demons, they are mutually applied. Yet many people spend their whole lives, exhausting their limited experience, yet can only grasp the essence of one of these arts.

Therefore, in order for the disciple to receive better guidance, even if you do not take a master, once the master feels you have talent in another art, and although he himself knows it but is not considered proficient, he will also recommend a master for you so as not to waste your talent. Of course, the first master is irreplaceable; we call him the primary master, and the masters we later take are called secondary masters, or reference masters. Not only in Buddhist rites, but sometimes between the Daoist Sect and Buddhism, they also mutually recommend disciples and masters.

The Huaguang lineage, as the representative of Buddhist rites in the Guangdong and Guangxi regions, and given Yang Qiye's considerable reputation in folk Buddhist rites, even before dawn many peers heard the news and rushed over to congratulate Yang Qiye, while many others stayed in Chan Yi Hall to watch the initiation ceremony proceed. This has nothing to do with comprehending the magic arts; it is merely a matter of etiquette.

When Pangzi and I arrived at Chan Yi Hall, the surroundings were already packed with people, most of whom were peers who had rushed in from outside after hearing the news, or else curious neighbors coming to watch the excitement.

Yang Qiye sat upright in the central chair before the hall, and a total of thirty-six water bowls were placed from the doorway to the middle of the hall, each bowl filled with water and arranged on the ground in the order of the thirty-six heavenly gangs.

Seeing these thirty-six water bowls, I was startled, but at the same time I felt happy for Pangzi.

Although the procedure for accepting disciples in folk Buddhist rites is not as elaborate as that of the Daoist Sect, its simplicity makes it more challenging.

First, the master will examine your eight characters (birth chart). Although a person's eight characters mainly indicate innate destiny, they also reveal whether one has affinity with the Dao. If the eight characters contain the gang star and the general star, the master will absolutely not accept you as a disciple; those whose fate bears two stars may study feng shui and divination, but they have no affinity with the Dao, nor can they communicate with spirits.

If one's fate bears no double stars and yet has affinity with the Dao, the master will select an auspicious day for the deities to take their seats based on the eight characters and the clashes and punishments of the current year's luck, and choose that day to perform the initiation.

The rules and tests for initiation are usually varied and manifold; for example, stepping over water bowls is one of the Huaguang lineage's disciple‑acceptance trials.

After the master lays out the water bowls, the disciple must barefoot step across them; if during the process he falls over or spills the water from a bowl, even if his eight characters place him in the position of the deities and the Proper Seal among the Ten Gods meets the Hua Cover, the master will still not accept him as a disciple.

However, stepping over water bowls also has levels; usually, folk masters lay out seven water bowls arranged in the Big Dipper formation for the first trial, then thirty‑six bowls for the second trial, and seventy‑two bowls for the third. Some have divided the Maoshan tradition into lower, middle, and upper Maoshan, thinking they are three Maoshan sects. Actually this is a misunderstanding by outsiders; the upper, middle, and lower Maoshan merely refer to three different levels of practice within Maoshan Daoism, and the results of cultivation manifest through the three levels of dharma. Lower Maoshan summons child spirits to invoke ghosts; middle Maoshan exorcises evils, subdues demons, and cultivates the soul and spirit; upper Maoshan achieves unity of heaven and man, focusing on internal thunder methods.

If you divide Maoshan into these three levels, you can also categorize the Huaguang lineage into three grades according to the number of water bowls. Normally, when a disciple first enters the door, the master gives him seven water bowls to step over; after the disciple has practiced for a while, the master uses thirty‑six bowls. Many folk masters, unless they regard the disciple as an inner‑door transmission or a biological son‑father pair, rarely lay out the thirty‑six heavenly gangs formation at the first trial. This second‑level trial transmits a more potent dharma; after passing it, the disciple's use of magic becomes more efficacious than after the first trial, able to reach the state where the master's summons arrive instantly and the heart‑moved dharma manifests, without fear of backfiring.

This is also why I was startled yet happy for Pangzi; as long as Pangzi passes the thirty‑six water bowls, I think the rest will not be a problem.

Given Pangzi's years of martial foundation, stepping over the thirty‑six water bowls in a horse stance is certainly no problem. However, his bulky physique makes me feel a pang of alarm; I'm not afraid he'll fall, but I fear the bowls on the ground might break—after all, … each bowl costs a few coins.

Fortunately, today Pangzi's character burst forth and he did not break any bowls; after passing the water bowls, the next step was to report to the Huaguang ancestor and solicit his opinion!

How to ask…… This is also a key issue in the Buddhist rites' initiation: casting lots. The lots referred to here are two cups made from ox horn, also called divine cups. In temples, the shrine keepers usually have a pair each; when you go to inquire about your prospects or family wealth, the shrine keepers kneel before the spirits and cast the lots for you—two faces up are yang, two faces down are yin, and one up one down is the yin‑yang great auspicious lot.

This is also the most crucial step in accepting disciples in the Buddhist rites: after reporting to the ancestor, one must cast lots—once at minimum, three times being ideal. After three attempts, if one cannot produce the yin‑yang lot, it shows the ancestor does not consent. Although some folk practitioners, for money, will stubbornly cast lots, reciting over ten sections of memorial texts and casting ten or eight times until they finally get a yin‑yang lot, such forced casting is of little use; even if they gain entry, they will likely find the magic arts hard to wield smoothly.

After Yang Qiye reported to the ancestor, he threw the two divine cups to the ground; the first throw yielded a yang cup, and when he picked them up again and threw them to the ground, what appeared on the floor was the yin‑yang great auspicious lot.

The ancestor agreed, and the subsequent matters are no longer important; they are merely some rituals and procedures, requiring the submission of memorial texts and informing the disciple of the precepts to observe after entering the Dao, etc.

Of course, there is also the depositing of stones to conceal the soul and the transmission of teachings; these two procedures are secrets within secrets. The soul‑concealing tablet needs no explanation, and the transmission of teachings is also a hidden matter of the sect, inaccessible to outsiders.

However, the Huanguang martial art is pure yang, so it is not suitable to teach at night; the time for teaching martial arts is usually daytime, and the place for transmitting the dharma is some unnamed mountaintop.

After the procedures were finished, Master Seven left the heavy burdens behind, took Pangzi by car to the mountaintop. Although I was also curious, I know this is a sect's secret, not to be probed, so I too had to sit resentfully with everyone, eating eight‑treasure rice and dishes.

Around seven o'clock in the evening, Master Seven led Pangzi back; after returning, he went straight into the room. After about two more hours, a call from Master Seven came from inside the room.

"Hai Sheng, come in with us too!"

A voice from Master Seven came from inside the room; when I first heard it I was stunned, wondering inexplicably why he was calling me in to do what.

Finally, QingSongShu nodded at me and said, "Go in!"; only then did I step forward calmly and enter the room.

The Five Manifestations of the Great Emperor Huaguang sat solemnly enthroned in the house's divine urn; below were Master Seven and Pangzi. Pangzi clasped his hands together devoutly and stood beside Master Seven.

Meanwhile, Master Seven was holding a bowl of wine; after I closed the door, he tipped his head back and gulped the wine down into his stomach.

I puzzledly asked Pangzi, "What is Master Seven doing?" Pangzi made a gesture of silence, hissed, and indicated I should not make noise first.

Not long after, a sudden angry shout rang out in the room, like thunderous wrath striking the heart, making my heart suddenly jolt.

I traced the sound and found that the angry shout came from Master Seven's mouth; seeing his face flush red, fine sweat trickled from his forehead to the corners of his eyes.

Seeing him lift his foot, preparing to stomp on the ground, Pangzi and I hurriedly covered our ears in fright.

Soon after, a booming roar erupted from the flat ground; even with our ears covered we could feel our heads swimming.

When I regained my composure and opened my eyes, I saw Master Seven standing not far away, eyes closed, standing motionless like an old monk in deep meditation, and he said nothing.

The room was filled with a desolate atmosphere; if I were to describe this feeling, it would be that all things are dead silent, devoid of any trace of vitality, and everything before me is a hazy gray.

Suddenly, Master Seven opened his eyes; his gaze shot forth like two bolts of lightning toward me, making me involuntarily stagger backward.

At that moment I finally understood what Master Seven was doing—he was invoking a master.

This is a procedure unknown to ordinary people; we insiders call it the Yin Master's Dharma Transmission. When accepting disciples, the master invites the spirit of a deceased predecessor from the lineage to possess him, or teaches the disciple two lost secret arts, or gives the disciple some pointers. The Yin Masters that the master summons were, in life, often renowned Daoists who pacified the four directions; whether they are imparting dharma or giving advice, they greatly benefit the disciple.

Thinking of this, my heart also swelled with excitement; since Master Seven called me in, it naturally means I can also listen to the Yin Master's transmitted dharma. Although the Daoist lineages differ, learning more would also be greatly beneficial to me.

Just as I had thought, not long after, the old monk‑like Master Seven who had entered meditation spoke.

"You two, come over." Compared with Master Seven's usual vigorous voice, this voice sounded like that of a seventy‑year‑old elder, weathered and bearing a trace of weary insight into the world.

However, Pangzi and I dare not slight this Yin Master who has possessed him; just look at the vigor he showed when he first opened his eyes earlier, and it's easy to imagine that this elder was certainly no ordinary person in life.

When Pangzi and I walked up to the possessed Master Seven, he suddenly drew a sharp breath, looked at us in astonishment, and shouted.

"In the human path, a lone star; in the Buddhist path, an asura."

Pangzi and I stared at each other, wondering what nonsense the Yin Master was spouting—talking about lone stars and asuras.

The strange matter did not end there; after uttering a sentence we could not understand, he began rubbing his hands over our bodies. To be precise, he was feeling our bones with his hands—a lost technique; even Pangzi and I do not know its secret.

He paused a moment on Pangzi's forehead, then paused again when his hand reached my armpit. After a while, he solemnly told Pangzi and me, "I have nothing to teach you; the only thing I can tell you are these two lines—remember them well."

Pangzi and I immediately sharpened our focus, not daring to be negligent.

"The mortal world is a furnace, passion like a tiger; a single thought can make a Buddha, a single thought can make a demon." This is what he said to Pangzi.

"Depending on ghosts, a life of drifting; hatred like maggots—look after yourself." This is what he said to me.

"Alright, I'm tired and it's time to go. Before I leave, let me leave you two juniors something." As he spoke, Master Seven's body grew stooped, like a dying old man on his last breath.

He broke his middle finger, letting two drops of blood fall into the wine‑filled bowl. Then he leaned over the nearby table and gradually fell into a faint sleep.

Those two drops of blood slowly dissolved, turning the whole bowl a vivid red; not long after, something seemed to float up on the surface.

Pangzi and I stepped forward to look, and saw two strings of small‑leaf sandalwood bracelets. Seeing this, we understood that these were the gifts the Yin Master left for us both.

Pangzi and I each took one string and put it on our wrists; at that moment, Master Seven also woke up.

"Master Seven..." Pangzi raised the sandalwood bracelet on his wrist, but Master Seven waved his hand to cut him off.

"Don't ask, don't say, since it's what the Yin Master left for you, just wear it." Grandpa Seven told us that.

"Get out!" Grandpa Seven wearily waved at us.

Pangzi and I exchanged a glance, then we respectfully withdrew.

Although it was a bit strange and we didn't learn any magic, we earned a string of small-leaf purple sandalwood, and Grandpa Pangzi was in a particularly good mood. When we came out, he also quietly pulled my shoulder and muttered: "Looks like a good thing; when you're short on money, you can sell it for two coins."

I;... "Grandpa Pangzi, how lacking in money must you be?"