Chapter 16 — Deep in the Old Temple a Young Girl Hides
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 2 of 3
First stance of the Eight Thunderclaps: Alone on the Eastern Sea, Gripping the Spring Thunder!
He struck out fist after fist, and in his mind rose the image of the great river surging, its waves roaring like thunder, plunging into the sea — and before he knew it, that same realm had entered his fists.
His fist suddenly opened wide, the five fingers and the palm shuddering hard; the air before his palm was violently compressed and then exploded, blowing the river's surface into a spray of water.
"Still no good. I can't manage the palm-thunder."
Shen Mu was somewhat disappointed. Even the lowest level of Grandpa Ma's Eight Thunderclaps required palm-thunder — one fist, one palm, bursting with the crack of thunder, not merely soul-shaking but terrifying in its power.
And to cultivate it to the higher levels was a divine art, the command of thunder — far, far beyond anything he could reach now.
Still running, he took a bamboo staff from his back, its tip stabbing and dotting — and what he performed was no ordinary staff art, but spear art. He had learned the staff from the Blind Elder, and the Blind Elder's staff art was spear art: the great spear like a raging dragon lashing the river, curling, dotting, thrusting, lifting, each stroke accompanied by the water heaving and turning with the bamboo staff.
Shen Mu put the staff back behind him, and took from his back a great iron hammer, performing the hammer art the mute blacksmith had taught him. That hammer art was plain and clumsy, its force immense, ponderous beyond words — the exact opposite pole to Shen Mu's swiftness as he ran.
After a long while, he felt his vital essence running a little short, his body wearying, his strength nearly spent; only then did he look around, and saw that he had left Yincan Village far behind and come a hundred li or more downstream.
"I ran that far without even noticing?"
Shen Mu saw a green islet in the middle of the river, the current surging past on either side. His heart stirred, and at once he dashed toward it.
A moment later his feet struck solid ground, and he stepped onto the islet.
The islet was not large — like a little hill in the river's heart, a li or so across either way, standing some forty zhang above the water, thick with grass and trees.
In the dense woods there was no birdsong at all, only the clatter and rush of water; and not far ahead of Shen Mu a temple hid among the trees, showing a broken wall.
Shen Mu walked up to it. The temple was ruined, long unrepaired, cobwebs everywhere — but it would do well enough for a rest.
He halted before the gate. One of the doors had fallen; inside all was dim, yet he could still make out a great Buddha standing in the hall, its image covered in gold foil that gave off a golden gleam.
But no one had come here for a very long time. Much of the gold foil had peeled away, exposing the bronze beneath, and on the bronze were written strange characters, twisted and crooked as though made of tadpoles.
And around the Buddha's body ran great thick chains. These chains bound the Buddha, and Shen Mu saw at once that they stretched out from the little temple, all the way to the islet's shore and down into the waters of the Yong River.
"Strange. Why would these chains bind this great Buddha...? Blind Grandpa says that when you enter a temple you burn incense — that's the rule. I haven't brought any incense, so I can only rest outside the gate."
Shen Mu cleared his throat and bowed to the temple: "This humble one is a man of Yincan Village; my home stands by the river. Passing by your honored temple, I would borrow this fine place to rest a while. That I have disturbed its master troubles my heart."
He hesitated, then went on with the speech the Blind Elder had taught him: "This humble one has been weak in the kidneys and frail since childhood, his primal yang long since leaked away. If there be any fairy sister in this temple, do not come to do me harm."