Chapter 105 - Provocation

Huang Zhen lay listlessly on his back on the bed, staring at the half-finished web of a long-legged spider in the corner of the canopy. Shunhe Old Inn was a reasonably respectable establishment, and every day the innkeeper sent a young servant to tidy the room. This spider’s web had been torn down several times, but that didn’t stop the stubborn creature from insisting on being a “nail household” in this spot it considered prime real estate.

“It is said that they openly attack Buddhism while deceiving the Confucians, and secretly attack Confucianism to exalt themselves. The persistence of their heretical and poisonous doctrines is even greater than this insect…” Muttering the proud sentence from his article “I Cannot Bear Not to Speak,” Huang Zhen couldn’t help but raise his hand to brush away the half-woven web. “Does not the clarification of the world begin with one’s own room?”

Unfortunately, as soon as he raised his hand, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and the dull pain in his abdomen intensified, forcing him to lower his arm. This exertion left him completely drained, and he could only watch helplessly as the detestable spider continued to weave its web before him.

Our original master, the World-Honored One, Shakyamuni Buddha, be above. Your lay disciple Huang Tianxiang bows his head to the south. My duty to travel north and refute the demons of Ricci has not been fulfilled. Now, am I to die as a stranger in this foreign land?

Huang Zhen’s early appearance in Hangzhou was, as Zhang Yingchen had speculated, influenced by the butterfly effect. The Qiewei Inn had recently opened a land route for passengers and cargo from Guangdong to Fujian and Zhejiang. Although Qiewei had not invested in road construction and still used the old roads, its transport organization surpassed everyone else in this era. Journeys that many had once dreaded had become acceptable.

It was this improvement that prompted Huang Zhen, far away in Zhangzhou, to consider traveling to Hangzhou to debate with the missionaries ahead of schedule. Like many people of his time, Huang Zhen would not leave his hometown unless absolutely necessary, let alone travel over mountains to Zhejiang.

Gazing at the spider that went its own way, the scholar Huang, tormented by illness, prayed silently, completely unaware of the footsteps at his door.

“Sir, please watch your step. Let me carry this medicine box for you,” said Zhao Tong of the Qiewei Escort Agency, leading the way. This Mr. Zhang was a wandering Quanzhen Daoist, currently staying at Qingyun Temple outside the Yongjin Gate. Although he was a Daoist, his medical skills were superb, and he had a good reputation for helping the poor and those in distress. Most importantly, he did not have the bad habit of using his skills to exploit patients, unlike some established doctors. Moreover, this Mr. Zhang was highly favored by the important client of the agency, Mr. Zhao. Zhao Tong knew that the manager of his branch was extremely respectful to Mr. Zhao, and by extension, he was also very respectful to this Daoist.

“No need. Cultivating the body is also cultivating the mind,” Zhang Yingchen said amiably. They had already walked for nearly half an hour from Qingyun Temple. He had declined the sedan chair Zhao Tong had brought for him, insisting on walking. For a new religion, the ascetic and simple lifestyle of its preachers helped to build a positive image.

Zhang Yingchen, half a head taller than Zhao Tong, carried his medicine box and sized up the young man sent by the Qiewei Escort Agency to escort him. Although the pay at Qiewei was considered exceptional in this era, the skinny, bamboo-like Zhao Tong was not his ideal type. He also didn’t know what kind of martial arts this young man practiced, whether it was from the Sha family or Shaolin, but he walked with his ten toes gripping the ground, which disrupted the harmony of his body and was not aesthetically pleasing.

With a soft click of his tongue, Zhang Yingchen pushed his observations about the young escort to the back of his mind. This house call to Shunhe Old Inn was an exception. To enhance his status and avoid being equated with the “bell-ringing doctors” who roamed the streets, he usually did not make house calls, even though he charged nothing for his consultations and medicine. When wealthy and powerful gentry families invited him, he would only go if they sent a formal invitation.

This exception was made entirely because this scholar Huang was a crucial part of his plan.

The layman Huang Zhen, a key figure in the great debate between Confucian scholars, monks, and Christians in Zhejiang in the eighth year of Chongzhen. According to historical records, he should have arrived in Hangzhou in 1635. However, the development of the Qiewei Escort Agency made it possible for Huang Zhen, far away in Fujian, to travel north to Zhejiang earlier. The subtle influence of the Transmigration Group on this era had already begun to cause significant deviations from the historical information of the old world.

According to the relevant materials in the Great Library, Huang Zhen was a typical late-Ming escapist Confucian scholar. Besides the self-awareness of being a guardian of the Daoist tradition, which was characteristic of scholars of this era, he was also a fervent Buddhist. In his public Buddhist letter, “I Cannot Bear Not to Speak,” besides his animosity towards Matteo Ricci, Western learning, and the Jesuit society, Daoism was also a major source of his displeasure. From this perspective, the Catholic Church and he shared a common interest. Zhang Yingchen calculated that he would have to find a way to slowly eliminate these people in the future.

But for now, he had to make use of them. This fuse only needed to serve its purpose as a fuse. Contemplating the detailed plan for his next move, Zhang Yingchen followed Zhao Tong into the inn.

The innkeeper and servants of Shunhe Old Inn were already waiting. A sick guest was the last thing an innkeeper wanted to see. It was not uncommon in those days for a traveler to fall ill for several months, eventually running out of money and getting stuck at the inn. This was a great burden for a well-known, reputable inn. For the sake of their reputation, they couldn’t just throw him out, which meant they would have to spend money on him. If he died at the inn, there would be the trouble and expense of calling the authorities for an autopsy and burial. So, as soon as Huang Zhen fell ill, the innkeeper had sent for a doctor and medicine. Seeing that the illness showed no signs of improvement and hearing that a Daoist at Qingyun Temple was highly skilled in medicine, he had quickly sent someone to invite him.

“Sir, your illness is caused by dampness and stagnation in the spleen and stomach. When traveling, the food is coarse, and with the change in climate, it’s inevitable to feel some discomfort. This illness is not serious. I will write a prescription. Take the medicine according to the prescription, and you will be able to get out of bed in two days. If you want a quick recovery, you can also take Huoxiang Zhengqi San.”

After checking his pulse and observing his complexion, Zhang Yingchen had a good idea of the situation. Holding his quill pen, he wrote the prescription while giving medical advice to the bedridden Huang Zhen.

“But the last prescription from Jin’an Hall was Banxia Houpo Tang.” In this era, scholars often liked to talk about medicine, and it had become a settled trend for Confucian physicians to replace Daoist physicians. Huang Zhen had also read some medical books and could speak with some authority. Although in Zhang Yingchen’s view, this Huang Tianxiang was a standard amateur, he couldn’t help but show off in front of a professional.

Huang Zhen’s gaze fell on the quill pen in his hand. “Daoist master, this pen of yours is quite rare!”

“This is a pen used by Westerners. It’s convenient to carry, and as I am a wandering person, it is more convenient for me.” Zhang Yingchen said, steering the conversation back.

“Banxia Houpo Tang can soothe the liver qi; this prescription is not bad. But in my opinion, sir, your liver qi has been stagnant for more than a day. Since the illness comes from the seven emotions, it should be treated through the seven emotions. Banxia Houpo Tang can treat the surface but not the root.” Zhang Yingchen said, writing the prescription while answering the stubborn-looking Fujian scholar. “I heard that there is a great Chan master named Yuanwu at Tiantong Temple in Ningbo whose Chan methods are exquisite. After you have recuperated, sir, you might as well visit this venerable Chan master. In the exchange of witty remarks, you can cast aside all worldly affairs, and then, even without my medicine, seven or eight-tenths of this illness will be gone.”

“Tiantong Temple?” Huang Zhen shook his head gently. He had fallen ill as soon as he arrived in Hangzhou. Tiantong Temple was far away in Ningbo. Although Chan Master Yuanwu was also someone he intended to visit on this trip, he was afraid that if he rashly went to ask him to be the leader in refuting the “demons of Ricci,” his wish would not be easily granted.

“That great master of Tiantong Temple is very famous. Even in this city of Hangzhou, many scholars and gentry follow and take refuge in him.” As if completely unaware of the patient’s silence, Zhang Yingchen said casually while writing the prescription, “There is a benevolent man in this city of Hangzhou who happens to share my surname. Because of his ancestor’s military merits, he inherited the rank of centurion. This benevolent Mr. Zhang once studied under Master Lianchi and became a ‘Guang’ generation disciple. Now that Master Lianchi has passed away, he often interacts with Chan Master Yuanwu of Tiantong Temple. If you wish to visit the Chan master, sir, you might as well ask this centurion for help.”

Lifting the prescription in his hand and blowing on it gently, Zhang Yingchen’s gaze swept over Huang Zhen’s face. The wedge had been driven into the heart of this Fujian scholar. The good show was about to begin.

When Zhang Guangtian returned from Jingci Temple, he was still a little angry. It was no wonder. When the abbot of Jingci Temple, Monk Guangdi, saw him off, he happened to see Scholar Fan, who lived at Fengshan Gate, burning wood with several of his servants.

It was not ordinary wood, but gilded and painted statues of gods. Several rough men had brought a whole cart of them. Regardless of whether they were Bodhisattvas, Arhats, Wenchang, or the God of Wealth, they were all chopped into pieces. They used several scrolls of Buddhist and Daoist figures as kindling and held a grand cremation ceremony. Only a celadon Guanyin, exquisitely made, was spared. Monk Guangdi couldn’t bear to watch and spent a string of cash to buy it from Scholar Fan’s servant, thus saving it from this fate.

“What are they doing?” Zhang Guangtian frowned. He had no sense of sanctity towards religious statues—Chan Buddhism did not place much importance on worshipping Buddha and burning incense, and many Chan temples did not even have Buddha statues. But as a Buddhist believer, he was still quite unhappy to see someone burning statues of Bodhisattvas and Buddhas.

“Don’t you know, senior brother?” Guangdi knew that this Centurion Zhang had also taken the Bodhisattva vows under Chan Master Yunqi and was of the same generation as him. Although he was ten years younger, it was still appropriate to call him “senior brother.”

This extremely fat monk, holding the porcelain Bodhisattva, said with a dry laugh, “This Scholar Fan talked with those Western missionaries a few times last year and also borrowed a few books to copy and study. Like the old Mr. Yang Qiyuan, he has converted. And his conversion is no small matter. Now the entire Fan family believes in that Western religion. They say the Western religion does not have idols, so his old mother has given the word to get rid of all these wood and stone idols that deceive heaven and fool people.”