Chapter 42: Duel of the Masters

As soon as Huò Yuánzhēn stood up, a wave of murmurs erupted among the crowd.

"That's Master Yī Jiè from Shaolin!"

"Yes, it's him! I never expected someone who could communicate with Buddha to show up."

"Master Yī Jiè, the next time a miracle happens, we'll be sure to come and witness it!"

The common people below were in awe of Yī Jiè, treating him like a celebrity, with cheers echoing all around. The atmosphere quickly became chaotic.

Lì Xuán didn't expect Yī Jiè to be so popular. This was far from the effect he had hoped for.

In a hurry, he shouted, "Yī Jiè, you, as a monk, are calling yourself a messenger of miracles and deceiving the people. Do you even realize the gravity of your crime?"

"I have a clear conscience," Yī Jiè replied calmly. "What crime do you speak of?"

"You still dare to argue? Shaolin Temple is nothing more than a small run-down temple. Your master, Xuánmíng, has died, and you are struggling to feed yourselves. Yet you've become the abbot, and now you're exploiting the faith of the people for money by telling stories and selling incense, which is no different from those street performers. You're bringing shame upon the Buddhist faith!"

Hòu Yuánzhēn sneered. "Monks are still human, and we have to make a living. Besides, I don't see anything shameful in telling stories. As long as it's done by my own efforts, it's honorable. Lì Xuán, if you think telling stories is so shameful, then does that mean all the craftsmen in the world are disgraceful? I've never thought that way."

After Yī Jiè's retort, many in the crowd began to grumble against Lì Xuán.

Most of the people here were common folk. Aside from farmers, fishermen, and woodcutters, many of them earned their daily bread on the streets.

Immediately, voices of dissent rose.

"Lì Xuán, I'm a street performer too. When I perform well, people give me money, and when I don't, they just laugh. Tell me, how is that shameful?"

"I've listened to Master Yī Jiè's storytelling many times, and I never felt ashamed of myself."

"We have our own crafts, and people willingly pay for them. If that's shameful, then doesn't your temple's begging for alms make you even more disgraceful?"

Lì Xuán had intended to attack Yī Jiè's monkly status, but instead, he had unwittingly drawn fire from the crowd. Their anger swelled rapidly, and the mood became increasingly heated.

In desperation, Lì Xuán quickly changed tactics. "Yī Jiè, even if storytelling is a skill, you still borrowed money. According to my sources, you borrowed thousands of taels from Lǜyě Bank and fifty thousand taels from Dēngfēng County to rebuild your Shaolin Temple. You even claimed that the newly built Ten Thousand Buddha Pagoda was a miracle, tricking people into paying to pray to the Buddha. This kind of money-grubbing behavior is no different from a merchant's swindle."

At this point, Lì Xuán realized he had overstepped and quickly tried to backtrack to avoid offending the merchants.

"This obsession with worldly wealth and silver is a disgrace to Buddhism!" he concluded hastily.

Hòu Yuánzhēn chuckled. "Lì Xuán, you're truly mistaken. Wealth is a material possession, yes, but it's still essential for survival. Shaolin did borrow money—this is true—but the Ten Thousand Buddha Pagoda does receive funds. So what? Those donations go to supporting the temple and helping the people pray for Buddha's blessings. If this is wrong, then surely your temple's own incense offerings should be considered wrong too. You are profiting from people's faith as well. If you return your donations, I will do the same and refund the offerings from the Ten Thousand Buddha Pagoda. But if I return the money, the donors will likely refuse to take it back."

After Yī Jiè's words, many people in the crowd began to support him.

"I bought a merit plaque at the Ten Thousand Buddha Pagoda for a thousand taels. And let me tell you, your Buddha really works wonders! I've earned a fortune from my business. I plan to bring others to buy plaques too, but don't stop accepting them, okay? Otherwise, we'll stay here at Shaolin!"

Earlier, a merchant who had bought a plaque stood up and publicly supported Yī Jiè. When he heard Lì Xuán earlier, his mood soured, but now, he was the first to defend Yī Jiè.

The crowd grew increasingly discontented with Lì Xuán.

"I just spent a lot of money on incense. Now, if your temple returns it, I'll be the first to thank you!"

The situation was spiraling out of control. Lì Xuán had planned to reprimand Yī Jiè, but now he found himself the target of public scorn.

Seeing things slip away from his control, Lì Kōng, the abbot of Fǎwáng Temple, finally spoke up.

"Brother, sit down. Stop speaking."

Lì Xuán looked at his senior brother and, feeling ashamed, said, "Brother, this young man is clever with his words. He's hard to deal with."

"Hmph. Clever with words? I don't think so," Lì Kōng sneered as he stood up. He addressed Yī Jiè, "Master Yī Jiè, your younger brother may have spoken some harsh words, but you are the abbot. You should not lower yourself to his level."

Yī Jiè responded with a Buddhist chant, "No offense, Brother. I've already said, if there's anything he doesn't understand, he may ask me. I believe he has learned his lesson by now."

Lì Xuán fumed with anger at being mocked but didn't dare to challenge Yī Jiè any further.

Lì Kōng, skilled in the art of rhetoric, shifted the conversation to more technical matters. "In our Buddhist tradition, temples have abbots, but not every temple has an abbot. The reason is simple: only those who are virtuous, well-versed in Buddhist teachings, and spiritually accomplished can assume such a role. Only such individuals can gain the trust of the people. If not, they'll be ridiculed, which would bring shame upon Buddhism. I wonder, Master Yī Jiè, what do you think of my words?"

Lì Kōng's strategy was clear: by challenging Yī Jiè's knowledge of Buddhist doctrine, he hoped to demonstrate that Yī Jiè, being young, could not possibly match him in wisdom. If he succeeded in defeating Yī Jiè on this front, his own temple's prestige would rise.

Yī Jiè nodded. "Brother Lì Kōng's words are not without merit. An abbot must indeed be learned in Buddhist teachings, but age is not the issue. The true mark of a wise monk is the depth of their understanding and virtue. Wisdom does not depend on age, just as one's aspirations should not be bound by years. One who is wise must earn their place, regardless of their age."

"Well said!" The crowd erupted in applause.

Lì Kōng, seeing that he had failed to get the upper hand, decided to shift tactics. "In that case, I have a question that has puzzled me for some time. Perhaps Master Yī Jiè could enlighten me."

"Please, go ahead," Yī Jiè replied.

Lì Kōng, with a mysterious smile, asked, "There's a story of a man who came to a temple to pray to Guanyin Bodhisattva. After praying, he saw another person praying right beside the statue of Guanyin, and this person looked exactly like the statue. Curious, the man asked, 'Are you Guanyin?'"

The other man replied, "Yes, I am Guanyin."

The man then asked, "If you are Guanyin, why are you praying to yourself?"

The question puzzled the listeners, who tried to figure out the meaning.

Yī Jiè smiled. "This story illustrates an important lesson: While it's crucial to pray, one must never forget to rely on oneself. Even the Bodhisattva, despite being revered, is not dependent on divine help alone. He encourages us to work hard and rely on our own strength."

"Master Yī Jiè speaks wisely!" The crowd clapped and cheered.

Seeing that he had failed again, Lì Kōng grew more frustrated but tried one last time. "Alright, then, let's see how you answer this riddle. A warrior enters a monk's room, holding a live fish, and asks, 'Is the fish alive or dead?' What would you say, Master Yī Jiè?"

The crowd fell silent as they pondered the tricky question. If Yī Jiè said the fish was dead, the warrior would release it, proving it was alive. If he said the fish was alive, the warrior would crush it, proving it was dead. It seemed there was no way to answer without losing.

Yī Jiè, without hesitation, replied, "I would say the fish is dead."

Lì Kōng laughed. "Foolish! If you say it's dead, the warrior will release it, and it will still be alive. You've lost."

Yī Jiè smiled back. "Yes, I lost, but I saved the fish."

The crowd gasped, then cheered in admiration. "Master Yī Jiè is compassionate!"

At that moment, the contrast between Lì Kōng's failed riddles and Yī Jiè's wise responses made it clear to everyone who the true master was.

Guān Shānyuè, who had joined Shaolin, clasped his hands in gratitude for his choice.

Seeing his defeat, Lì Kōng tried to make one last attempt. "You've been playing word games, but you still have not proven the existence of the miracles you claimed."

Yī Jiè, looking him in the eye, said calmly, "Lì Kōng, you haven't seen it, so you refuse to believe it? Well, I have a stone here in my hand. Do you believe it exists?"

Lì Kōng glared at Yī Jiè. "I haven't seen it, so how can I believe it?"

Yī Jiè opened his hand to reveal a small stone.

"Do you deny that it exists simply because you haven't seen it?"

Lì Kōng was speechless.

"Good!" The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Yī Jiè had skillfully turned the tables, making Lì Kōng's disbelief look foolish.

The duel of wits was over, and Yī Jiè had emerged victorious.