Chapter 659: Xiangji Temple and a New Storm

What a fine book...

Chang'an, Xiangji Temple.

This was a temple of immense scale, sitting north and facing south, on high ground, with the Hao River to its south, the Jue River to its west, and the scenic Fanchuan to its north. At its height it was said to house three thousand monks, and closing the mountain gate required riding a horse.

That is to say, when it came time to close the mountain gate, one had to ride a horse to make it in time.

This line, brimming with swagger, would be quoted again and again over the next thousand years in the introductions of great temples all across the country.

Xiangji Temple was endlessly glorious in the Great Tang era, adored by everyone from the Emperor down to the common people. When Emperor Gaozong, Li Zhi, paid his respects to the Buddha at Xiangji Temple, he donated more than a thousand relics in a single offering.

Yet this glorious Buddhist temple was reduced to ashes with the decline of the Great Tang Empire.

Historically, it was not rebuilt until the third year of Taiping Xingguo of the Song, that is, 978 AD, when the Pure Land school of Buddhism began to flourish, and as the ancestral seat of the Pure Land school, Xiangji Temple was restored.

But in this time and space, Xiangji Temple would not have to wait for the God of Cars to restore it. After Zhang Zhao recovered Guanzhong and began repairing the city of Chang'an, the very first restoration he undertook was Xiangji Temple.

Others looked at Xiangji Temple and saw the ancestral seat of the Pure Land school, a sacred ground of Buddhism.

But what Zhang Zhao saw was the Battle of Xiangji Temple, fought one hundred and ninety years ago, a battle that profoundly shaped Chinese history.

Many people in later generations may have little impression of the Battle of Xiangji Temple; it does not even have its own Baidu Baike entry.

But in truth, the Battle of Xiangji Temple can be called the pinnacle of cold-weapon combat in Chinese history — a pinnacle without equal.

It could even be called a world war. The Tang army alone fielded one hundred and ten thousand yabing guards from Anxi and Beiting, Hexi and Longyou, and the two Chuan regions of Jiannan.

In addition, there were more than forty thousand allied Tang troops from Khotan, the southwestern barbarians, the Kyrgyz, the Uyghurs, the Arabs, and Tokharistan (Afghanistan).

On the rebel side, An Lushan's personal guard, the Yeluohe heavy cavalry, the yabing guards of Hebei and Hedong, and around one hundred and ten thousand Khitan, Tongluo, and Xi tribesmen all took the field.

Of these two hundred fifty or sixty thousand troops, the true armored soldiers numbered at least one hundred fifty thousand or more.

The two sides fought at Xiangji Temple from morning until night, a full eight hours of bitter combat. Armies from every region took turns entering the fray, and basically no unit withdrew until it had lost more than forty percent of its strength.

The two sides matched corps against corps in layer after layer of grinding combat, until the rebels could no longer hold and gambled everything on a sneak attack — only to be ambushed by the Uyghur cavalry that had long been lying in wait, and only then were they finally shattered.

According to records, in those eight hours the government and rebel forces clashed in more than three hundred engagements, great and small, and no one knows how many brave men lay dead upon the field.

The quality of the troops on both sides was so high, and their equipment so fine, that during the battle neither side's cavalry — especially the heavy cavalry — dared to move recklessly.

This was a phenomenon that only appeared when heavy infantry had grown strong to a monstrous degree.

Facing them, let alone heavy cavalry charging a square of infantry head-on, even deploying became extremely difficult, and the cavalry could only choose to guard the infantry's flanks in a supporting role.

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For example, the eight thousand armored riders of the Yeluohe, whom An Lushan trusted as his heart and soul, had their room to maneuver steadily squeezed, and in the end were even counter-encircled and crushed by infantry.

After the battle ended, a count revealed that sixty thousand rebels had been slain in the line of battle.

Note: this was slain in the line of battle, not merely sixty thousand heads taken.

In Chinese history there are many battles with tens of thousands of heads taken, because after routing an enemy in a great battle mobilizing hundreds of thousands of men, cutting off tens of thousands of heads is no difficult thing.

What is difficult is slaying in the line of battle — that means men hacked to death in the midst of combat. At Xiangji Temple, more than sixty thousand rebels were slain in the line of battle, of whom at least forty-five thousand or more were armored soldiers.

As for why they were not killed in a rout, it was because the rebel commander Li Guiren and the others, though suffering this great defeat, were not completely routed, but could still gather their remaining troops and withdraw. Had they been routed, they naturally could not have departed so composedly.

"Xiangji Temple! The Great Tang's battle-hardened elite, the two hundred thousand armored warriors the Han people took such pride in — nearly one hundred thousand were wiped out in a single battle. After that, such splendor was never seen again."

Zhang Zhao stood in the broad plaza outside the Hall of Heavenly Kings at Xiangji Temple and sighed softly. Closing his eyes, he could almost still feel the bloody winds of one hundred and ninety years ago.

Had there been no An Lushan Rebellion, had Emperor Xuanzong, Li Sanlang, remained wise from beginning to end, these two hundred thousand armored warriors would have been the empire's sharpest modao glaive glaive glaive.

With them present, even if the military provinces grew stronger, the strategy of expanding outward for living space would surely have continued.

Perhaps Gao Xianzhi would have defeated the Arabs and gone to Persia to become king; Guo Ziyi, Li Guangbi, and the rest could have finally dealt with the Tibetans.

Later generations would not have suffered the humiliations brought by "my Great Song," and Chinese politics would not have drifted into the deformed pattern of exalting the civil over the military.

It is just that history can be imagined otherwise, and yet cannot be imagined otherwise.

Even Zhang Zhao did not know where he would ultimately lead this nation.

Because after the timeline had been repeatedly altered, Zhang Zhao, who had opened his "heavenly eye," no longer knew what the future held either.

"Namo Great Sovereign Buddha of Self-Mastery!"

A low Buddhist invocation rang out. In the faint dawn light of the mao hour, a monk in a brocade ochre-yellow robe, wearing sandalwood prayer beads worth ten thousand in gold, appeared before Zhang Zhao.

This monk was not bald; instead he had a head of fluffy, soft hair. His features were not Chinese either, but rather somewhat dark, looking like a man from India — and like a low-caste A-san at that.

Yet his Chinese was extremely standard, so standard that without looking at his face, one would instinctively assume he was a great talent who had just passed the jinshi examination.

And his voice was clear and bright, carrying a touch of youthful enthusiasm, even more at odds with his appearance.

"This humble monk senses the confusion upon the Dharma King — and not ordinary confusion, but the kind that will either bring blessings to all under heaven, or a terrible great calamity."

For a split second, Zhang Zhao thought this monk was an eminent monk of his Hexi Six Dharma Sect, but he quickly dismissed that judgment.

Because this man's bearing was utterly different from the Six Dharma Sect. The monks of the Six Dharma Sect would never be so calm and composed.

"Master calls me Dharma King — are you preparing to take refuge in the Six Dharma Sect?"

Zhang Zhao did not bother asking how this man had appeared. Though he found it strange — Xiangji Temple had been sealed off by his personal army, so that not even birds or beasts could enter. Surely this foreign monk did not have the power to fly through the heavens and tunnel through the earth?

"The Dharma King possesses the Buddha-nature, yet it is a pity he cannot guide this humble monk to the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss." The foreign monk shook his head, his expression still serene.

Zhang Zhao suddenly gave a cold smile. "Master has taken human lives, and still wishes to ferry himself to the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. Is that not a bit of wishful thinking?"

The smile on the foreign monk's face froze for the briefest instant, then returned to normal. He looked at Zhang Zhao and said:

"The Dharma King should not be angry, for this humble monk cannot influence the faithful of the Six Dharma Sect. Had this humble monk dared to provoke them, he would long since have been buried in the wilderness."

Now it was Zhang Zhao's expression that froze for a second. The gap in doctrine between the Six Dharma Sect and other Buddhist schools was not a small one.

Monks outside the Six Dharma Sect truly could not influence his followers, who devoutly believed in the Six Dharma Sect and believed that Zhang Zhao was a guard of the Supreme Heaven.

The only possibility was that his Han personal guards had let the man through.

At that thought, Zhang Zhao stopped dwelling on the matter and became even more interested in this foreign monk before him.

"Where is Master's ordination certificate? For what purpose have you come? Where will you go?"

The foreign monk pressed his palms together and bowed to Zhang Zhao. "This humble monk came from India, and has long forgotten whence he came and whither he returns. After entering the Middle Kingdom, I was graciously called Cixian by the faithful.

I have come now to unlock the shackles in my heart, and do not yet know where I shall go."

Zhang Zhao's eyes suddenly flashed with sharp light. He knew who this foreign monk before him was — this was the foreign monk Master Cixian, known as the last great Indian master in the Central Lands!

Master Cixian's most famous deed in later ages was the legend that after his death in seated meditation, his body did not decay for a thousand years, and even his brain tissue remained intact.

In 2017 of later times, when Dinghui Temple in Hebei donated his physical body, it caused a great uproar throughout the city.

Zhang Zhao naturally did not quite believe that brain tissue could be preserved for a thousand years. Most likely this was a miracle exaggerated to some degree by believers.

But Master Cixian as a person truly deserved the title of the last great Indian master of the Central Lands.

He was not some pretentious "eminent monk," but a truly great master who upheld a heart of compassion.

Historically, he translated ten Buddhist scriptures, and played a decisive role especially in the spread of Buddhism among the Khitan. He had also once persuaded Yelu Deguang not to carry out a great slaughter in the Eastern Capital.

Zhang Zhao despised those who used religion for selfish desires, but he held genuine respect for true eminent monks.

He looked at Master Cixian and said, "We respect the Master for having once sheltered the people of the Eastern Capital. But the Master should not have appeared like this. To an emperor, this is a provocation!"

Master Cixian bowed deeply to Zhang Zhao. "In those years, when this humble monk traveled from India to the Khitan, the Dharma King must have just descended upon India. Regrettably, there was no karmic connection, and I could not personally see the Dharma King and the land where the Buddha was born to protect the Dharma. For more than ten years, this has been my regret.

Coming to meet you today, this humble monk did not see an earthly emperor, but only the supreme Dharma King above the nine heavens."

Master Cixian's words were veiled and elusive, never revealing his true inner thoughts. Yet Zhang Zhao suddenly caught a thread of a clue from his drifting words.

Great Dharma King Zhang frowned, his eyes fixed on Master Cixian like a falcon's, then slowly shook his head.

Could this foreign monk be thinking that once Zhang Zhao had sufficient strength, he would go to India again to protect the Dharma?

"India has no hope left. The Shramana movement is nothing but your wishful thinking.

It cannot change secular emperors, kings, ministers, and powerful chieftains, nor can it stop ordinary people from yearning to become emperors, kings, and ministers. Oppression and class — for at least a thousand years, there is absolutely no end in sight."

The Shramana movement was a religious and philosophical reflection in ancient India. Its origin lay in the doctrinal and organizational flaws of ancient Brahmanism, which made it increasingly unable to command obedience.

The deeper underlying cause was the dissatisfaction of the newly risen warrior class, the great urban merchants, and even the kings of various states toward the Brahmins.

For according to the rules of Brahmanism, the highest class was the Brahmins, who held the authority over religion and the transmission of knowledge. Kings were Kshatriyas, born lower than Brahmins.

Was that not absurd! It was not enough for gods to be above kings — now priests had to be above kings too. Did they think those who held the armies were easy to bully?

Therefore, ancient India soon erupted with the Shramana movement, and the kingly class all began to fantastically advocate the equality of all people.

Equality of all people? It sounded fine on their lips, but give a Vaishya a hundred times more courage, and he still would not dare claim equality with a king.

But the Kshatriya kings, as the second class, dared to claim equality with the Brahmins, and even climbed above their heads.

The Shramana movement arose from the greed and imperfections of the Brahmins. But once they had nearly destroyed the entire foundation of Brahmanism's existence, and the kings had seized all power, it was inevitable that the tide would begin to recede.

And the Brahmin system — this doctrine that divided people into ranks and made the "lower classes" content with their ordained fate — naturally won greater approval from the ruling class.

Especially in recent decades, when the Brahmin class stopped seeking to treat the kings of various states as ordinary Kshatriyas, and instead made the caste divisions even more complex, allowing the kingly class to belong to the Kshatriyas yet transcend them.

Buddhism, which advocated the equality of all beings, along with the other strange Shramana philosophical ideas born at the same time, quickly lost their market.

Therefore, Zhang Zhao said that Buddhism had long since lost its soil in India.

Not to mention that within his lifetime, the Chinese were unlikely to fully control India. Even if they could, Zhang Zhao had no intention of changing anything.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. It was best to handle matters according to other people's rules.

Master Cixian looked at Zhang Zhao, his eyes growing more and more despairing. After a long silence, he struggled to make himself appear to have regained his composure.

"This humble monk did not hope that high and low could be made equal in this mortal world. What the Central Lands cannot achieve, India naturally cannot either. But at the very least, one could avoid dividing people into ranks from birth."

"The Master is attached to appearances!" Zhang Zhao did not wish to say more, because he suddenly realized that he and Master Cixian were simply not on the same path.

The Buddhist teachings of equality of all beings and compassion for all were, in truth, the same as the emperor's saying that all people under heaven are his own children.

Both stood from the position of the absolute ruler, treating all other beings with equal regard. It was not truly about equality among all people. This was also what Zhang Zhao believed.

But this Master Cixian truly practiced equality in his own conduct, treating all with compassion regardless of rank.

The thoughts and perspectives of the two men were clearly not on the same plane at all.

No! Zhang Zhao suddenly turned back. How should one describe Buddhist thought at this time? It was still somewhat different from the Buddhism in the understanding of later generations.

For example, Buddhist ideas such as the equality of all beings and compassion for all were not born during the Indian period.

They should have originated in the Shramana movement of ancient India, and only after being transmitted to China and deeply fused with Chinese culture did they take form.

Had Master Cixian appeared so suddenly and strangely, and then spoken to him of these things, truly only to seek a great army from him to go to India once more to protect the Dharma, in order to save the declining Buddhism of India?

Could it be that they wanted to restore what Buddhism had lost in India — the state of affairs during the time of King Harsha, when Buddhism held a transcendent status, formed its own power, and nearly ruled jointly with the king?

And in the present Central Plains, they seemed to possess just such strength.

The money houses had never completely severed ties with the Buddhist establishment. Buddhist temples throughout the land had their own temple fields, estates, and even fortified manors.

As for armed force, they were not truly lacking either. For example, Xiangji Temple had just been rebuilt and already had more than sixty warrior monks guarding it. With so many temples across the realm, two to three thousand warrior monks should exist.

Moreover, Buddhism was already quite popular in the Central Plains. Among the civil and military officials and meritorious subjects of the Central Plains, devout Buddhist believers were not few.

Back when Zhang Zhao forcibly integrated the Buddhist establishment of Hexi and turned them into the Six Dharma Sect, many Hexi monks who did not accept Zhang Zhao's approach had left. Over a hundred people had departed from Dayun Temple in Liangzhou.

What was even more worrying was that back when Zhang Zhao was still King of Liang, the Brocade Guard had operated through the Buddhist establishment's networks across the Central Plains.

Liu Tao and Fan Zhi going to Liangzhou, the rescue of Pei Yuan's family, and Murong Xinzhang's return to Hexi had all received help from the Buddhist establishment of the Central Plains.

A surge of extreme fury, mixed with a trace of fear, shot straight up to the crown of Zhang Zhao's head!

He wanted to immediately order the arrest of this foreign monk before him, and then have the Hexi Buddhist establishment, dominated by the Zhang clan, conduct a thorough review of the Brocade Guard.

He even thought of immediately sending people to investigate those among the old officials of the Central Plains faction who were deeply entangled with the Buddhist establishment.

Purge! An immediate great purge!

The face of the Great Loving Father, "kindly" as ever, flashed through Sage Zhang's mind.

Just as his fury reached its peak, a voice like the song of an oriole sounded behind him.

"Dharma King, the morning meal is ready. The Duke of Qiao is also waiting for you."

Xiao Sagezhi came swaying over. During these days, the former Khitan empress Xiao Sagezhi had become Zhang Zhao's closest bed companion.

For ever since coming to believe that Zhang Zhao was the Supreme Heaven descended to earth, the devoutly Buddhist Xiao Sagezhi had been utterly devoted to Zhang Zhao. To say she was completely obedient would be an understatement — her attitude was entirely that of a slave toward her master.

Therefore, with no one to rely on, no faction, and youthful beauty, Xiao Sagezhi — completely submissive in spirit and body — was the woman Zhang Zhao could trust most.

"Hah!" Zhang Zhao suddenly drew a deep breath, and his mind cleared considerably.

There are some openings that, no matter how angry one is, must never be opened.

The Buddhist forces of Hexi must not be allowed to investigate the Brocade Guard, and even less could a great purge be launched when the realm was on the verge of being settled.

Thinking of this, Zhang Zhao restrained his emotions with tremendous willpower, and looked at Xiao Sagezhi with a beaming smile.

"Prepare some vegetarian fare. I wish to speak with the Master over a meal."

The words had barely left his mouth when Master Cixian suddenly felt a surge of immense fear. The Emperor before him had clearly sensed something, yet had reined himself in with tremendous willpower.

Master Cixian had met more than a dozen rulers great and small, including Yelu Deguang, but he had never felt such self-control in anyone as he did in Zhang Zhao.

For a moment, Master Cixian did not know whether taking on this task might instead push the Buddhist order into an abyss.

"Sage, in this mortal world, there should be a place for the Buddhist order."

"Of course, of course there will be! We also need the Buddhist order's help, and We Ourselves are a member of the Buddhist order!"

Zhang Zhao suddenly smiled with dazzling brilliance. This Master Cixian was truly not a qualified envoy. He had surely been entrusted by the Buddhist order to come and probe Zhang Zhao's attitude toward Buddhism.

Because Master Cixian was a man of India, no matter how the talks went, he could distance the Central Plains Buddhist order to the greatest extent.

Yet in just a few sentences, Master Cixian had pushed the Buddhist order into the position Zhang Zhao most dreaded in his heart.

Was he doing it deliberately? Or was this compassionate master truly not politically sensitive enough?

Zhang Zhao appeared calm on the surface, but in his heart, stormy waves were surging. A new storm was about to begin.