Chapter Thirty: A Heart of Mercy

The heavenly marshal’s incantation had barely left his lips when the fish spirit, believing victory already within its grasp, lunged toward its own inner elixir. At last Daoist Dust found a chance to act. He hurled out the talisman he had painstakingly drawn to summon the Great Celestial Marshal. Golden sparks flashed as before, but this time they were far denser than last.

A towering deity in golden armor appeared out of thin air. The instant he saw the fish spirit, he let out a thunderous roar and raised the Marshal’s rod in his hand, bringing it down in a savage blow. Terror seized the fish spirit’s soul; it abandoned even its inner elixir and fled frantically for the open water. There was a splash, and with consummate skill in water escape arts, its form vanished.

The marshal was about to give chase when Daoist Dust, already certain of victory, formed a hand seal and cried in a low voice, “Eight Gates, Eight Trigrams, golden locks seal the road. Life and death turn, and the Door of Obstruction and Door of Rest change and shift!”

As his words fell, the air currents within the lakebed realm changed at once. A faint sensation of space itself twisting and turning arose in the depths. The fish spirit, still running for its life, suddenly felt the water around it harden as though frozen. It was as if it were no longer swimming beneath a lake, but in open air, unable to advance even a fraction.

Then the space before its eyes shifted. In the next instant, it had been thrown off course.

When it gathered itself and looked again, its heart and gall split apart in terror: it was already beneath the Marshal of Heaven’s rod.

A streak of golden light flashed.

With a single strike of the divine sword-staff, the fish spirit was cleaved cleanly in two. Blood bled into the surrounding water, staining a great expanse of the lake red. Yet even then, half its body still thrashed there, its mouth opening and closing as it struggled desperately to draw in one more breath of air, as though still hoping to cling to life.

Watching this, Daoist Dust suddenly felt a trace of sorrow and pity. Perhaps it was truly to be lamented, that after so many hardships in cultivation, after escaping so many calamities, it had not been able to evade death today.

“Great Supreme Savior of Suffering, though your pursuit of the Dao through the lives of living beings was a grave error, your cultivation was not easy. This poor Daoist shall recite prayers for your crossing and liberation for three days, and I hope that in your next life you may know peace and never suffer again.”

Seeing the fish spirit open its huge mouth and labor to breathe at the bottom of the lake, its eyes filled only with pleading and longing for survival, Daoist Dust found himself unable to do more than offer a few words of comfort. After calling on the sacred title of the Savior of Suffering, he made this promise to the fish spirit.

The fish spirit looked at him, and its gaze gradually dimmed.

Daoist Dust then turned to the Celestial Marshal and bowed deeply. “May blessings abound and the Supreme Heavenly Venerable be exalted. This poor Daoist thanks the Marshal of Heaven for lending your hand.”

The golden-armored deity merely glanced at him, gave a slight nod, and said nothing. With a scatter of golden light, the Marshal returned to Heaven.

Daoist Dust lifted his right hand and drew the fish spirit’s inner elixir into his palm. Much ferocity remained within it, showing clearly that the fish spirit had never received a complete orthodox inheritance and had likely mixed in demonic methods as well. Still, so long as the impurities and savage qi within the elixir could be refined away, it would make excellent material for forging an external elixir.

He produced an exquisite white jade bottle, carefully sealed the inner elixir inside, and pasted a talisman upon it to prevent the spiritual energy from leaking away. Only then did he store it in his cosmos pouch.

“May you travel in peace, fellow Daoist.”

Daoist Dust came to the fish spirit’s side. By now its breathing had grown faint, and it was nearly drawing its final breath of the mortal world. Seeing this, he no longer attended to anything else, but sat down beside it and began chanting the rites for the departed over and over, hoping the fish spirit might shed the ferocity in its heart, dissolve its blood-guilt, and be freed as soon as possible.

With each repetition of the scripture, he became inwardly devoid of all things, devoid of self. As the chant flowed on, Daoist Dust’s heart grew calm and still, as though he and Heaven and Earth had merged into one. He was Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth were he. No Heaven, no Earth. No self, no other.

By then, it was night over Lake Dongting. As Daoist Dust’s mind drifted into that state of selflessness through the flowing scripture, the sound of his chanting slowly rose from the lakebed to the surface and spread across the water. At once the lake lay utterly still, as smooth as a mirror. Countless beings upon the lake heard, as though beside their very ears, the chanting of a Daoist scripture.

The scripture did not cease. A dim radiance rippled over the surface of Lake Dongting, and countless spirits of the drowned rose from the depths and hurried toward Daoist Dust’s direction. Dark winds surged; the lake became a night road for a hundred ghosts. Countless boatmen and travelers on the lake heard the scripture with their own ears, and saw innumerable wandering souls hastening toward the place of liberation. Frightened to the point of trembling in both legs, they all fell to their knees. In that instant the scripture seemed like a clear spring washing the heart, sweeping away every vulgar and evil thought. Only emptiness remained.

The chanting continued through the night, and after dawn it still did not stop. The boatmen on Lake Dongting unanimously refrained from fishing, returning home instead to prepare masses of incense, candles, paper offerings, and lotus lanterns and scriptures, then going to the lakeside to make offerings for the dead. The chanting did not cease; birds and beasts were silent. All within Lake Dongting was tranquil and auspicious.

Such marvels naturally spread from the lakeshore in all directions. Before long, countless people hurried to the shore to listen to the scriptures, remember the dead, and burn paper money and incense. By nightfall, innumerable boat lanterns drifted out onto the lake, and the starlight above and the lamps below merged into one expanse, so that heaven and earth were difficult to distinguish. It became a wondrous sight.

By then, the towers of both Yellow Crane Tower and Yueyang Tower were packed with dignitaries and celebrated scholars from the provinces bordering the lake. Hearing the continuous chanting rising from the water, many could not help but think of departed relatives, tears quietly streaming down their faces.

“Who knows from what distant mountain temple this Daoist priest has arisen, to perform rites for the dead and liberate wandering souls upon the lake! His voice seems to merge with heaven and earth, carrying the scripture to the four quarters. He must surely be an immortal cultivator who has already awakened to the Heavenly Way.”

An old Daoist in a plain robe looked out over the lake, where the starlight above and the lanterns below shone against one another, and could not help but sigh. As one of the most renowned religious figures in the province, he privately admitted that he could never bring forth such a marvel.

Yet little did he know that his remark turned the faces of several Buddhist abbots nearby, along with a few pious officials, quite livid. For every word of the scripture was crystal clear, as though spoken right beside the ear. It was a Daoist rite for crossing the dead, not a Buddhist sutra of salvation. Plainly, this was the work of a Daoist master, not a Buddhist achievement, and there was no stealing it away even if one wished to. After this, who knew how many people would turn to the Dao.

“I wonder who has brought forth these scriptures. Such a lofty figure—one wonders whether one might ever be fortunate enough to meet him.”

An elderly man in fine brocade gazed at the lake and sighed. Seeing the crowd of officials of every rank gathered around him like stars around the moon, one could tell that though he wore no official robes, his position was not low. As an old man devoted wholly to seeking immortality, he had long since taken wealth and glory lightly. What he now desired was only to cultivate the Dao and attain longevity.

Yet this sigh, too, left the surrounding officials staring at one another, none daring to guarantee that the near-divine Daoist master in the lake would consent to appear.

On the third day, at daybreak, countless boatmen—some tempted by silver, others compelled by power—began following the sound of the chanting into the lake, and among them were even many official vessels of the Dongting naval forces. Clearly, numerous grandees had been moved by desire, enough even to stir the fleet.

Yet though the scripture could be heard everywhere on the water, near or far alike, and though the lake swarmed with boats, the source could not be found. They searched every corner of the vast sandbank and open water, but discovered nothing at all. Only by sunset did the exhausted crowds return disappointed. Countless people would again have a sleepless night.

Daoist Dust’s chanting had now reached its final night. At this moment he seemed to be drifting in an endless void, unaware of where he was, unaware of what might be, all hazy and undefined, yet wholly complete. No one knew when it began, but around the lakebed where he sat reciting the scriptures, countless ghostly souls had already knelt. Strange and varied in shape, they were mostly those who had drowned in the water, their faces pale and their yin qi cold and sinister. Had any living person seen such a scene, they might truly have been frightened to death on the spot. For the sight was not only vast, but profoundly eerie and terrifying.

The hour of midnight drew near, the moment when yin and yang of Heaven and Earth exchanged places. Daoist Dust’s scripture was nearly finished. At some point, the fish spirit’s soul had also knelt before him, free of all resentment and viciousness. A copper coin and a golden coin-sword floated before him, rising and falling with the cadence of the chant.

Suddenly the coin-sword gave a clear cry and released wave after wave of golden radiance. At the same time, the copper coin rose into the air, and from its square central hole a shaft of golden light shot straight toward the heavens, extending from the lakebed all the way to the ninth heaven like a sky-pillar.

Then the coin-sword flew of its own accord, carving a streak of sword-light that followed the pillar skyward and pierced into the ninefold heavens. Where the sword-light passed, a thunderous crash rolled across the firmament, as though the Heavenly Gate were opening with a deep and mighty rumble.

Such an immense spectacle drew cries of astonishment from both shores. Countless people dropped to their knees, worshiping the divine sign. And at this moment, Daoist Dust finally awoke from his absorption in Heaven and Earth. His eyes opened slowly, and within them lay a tranquil depth, unlike any mortal gaze.

“The hour has come, and the Heavenly Gate is open. This chance is rare indeed. Hurry on your way!”

He waved a hand and spoke.

“Thank you, immortal master, for your compassion.”

Together with the fish spirit, countless souls bowed in gratitude to the ground. After kowtowing in thanks, they rushed into the golden light, ascending slowly along it toward the Heavenly Gate. What the people on shore saw was precisely this: countless figures and souls rising within the golden radiance and departing for Heaven. In an instant, cries of grief shook the shore.

How could they not know that these were now receiving Heavenly grace, liberated and carried away by some nameless immortal? Imagining their own kin, buried in the depths of the lake, escaping the sea of suffering, how could they not weep with fierce emotion?

The golden light shooting from the lakebed lasted for the full span of one stick of incense. By the time those with keen eyes followed its source to look for it, Daoist Dust had already completed the rites, and not a single soul remained beside him. He then put away the coin-sword, and the golden radiance vanished as if it had never been. Countless people, seeing an immortal opportunity right before their eyes yet unable to seize it, beat their chests in utter regret.

Daoist Dust paid no attention to what the people on the lake were thinking. He had already stepped into the residence of the Clear Water Divine Lord. He was certain that this cave dwelling could never have been created by a fish spirit. He simply did not know why it had been occupied by one. Naturally, he had to go in and see everything clearly for himself.