Tome of Troubled Times-Chapter 699: The Hidden Hand

The so-called chat, of course, could not be a straightforward visit. It had to be conducted in secret, away from prying eyes. Any trace of it would be thoroughly hidden, with all critical clues hidden from sight.

Zhao Changhe felt a flicker of nostalgia for his days wandering the jianghu. Like a shadow in the night, he slipped over the rear wall of the temple, his figure vanishing into the shadows of the rear hall.

Outside, the temple fair was winding down.

While Da Zhou had mentioned that smaller gatherings had been frequent lately, this grand event for the Laba Festival was clearly the largest public celebration since Buddhism’s resurgence. The temple had spared no effort, deploying monks to maintain order and ensure safety. Any disruption here could deal a devastating blow to Buddhism’s revival efforts.

Inside the hall, the abbot, Master Yuan Cheng, sat cross-legged, chanting sutras with closed eyes. In reality, he was employing a secret technique to extend his senses, monitoring the area within several li for any disturbances.

Unfortunately for him, his cultivation, only enough to be in the middle of the Ranking of Earth, was no match for Zhao Changhe’s current prowess. He remained blissfully unaware of the intruder observing him from the rear of the hall.

Beside Yuan Cheng sat another elderly monk, Master Yuan Xing, a figure Zhao Changhe also recognized. Yuan Xing had once shielded Zhao Changhe from an assassination attempt by the Wang Clan and had even provided a map to the Black Tortoise Secret Realm. While it was partly a gesture of gratitude for Zhao Changhe saving them from the members of the Maitreya Cult, the goodwill between them was undeniable. Zhao Changhe held a favorable impression of Yuan Xing.

This goodwill extended somewhat to Yuan Cheng as well. During the fight against the Maitreya cult, Yuan Cheng had been a quiet but effective ally, playing a key role while keeping his demands for rewards reasonable.

These two monks were among the last remaining stalwarts of orthodox Buddhism in this world. Their presence here underscored the importance of this location to their cause.

In general, Zhao Changhe did not see the orthodox Buddhist sects as inherently problematic. Their principles seemed solid. However, certain issues arose from their position in society—particularly in areas like faith and fortune, where their growth inherently detracted from others. Similarly, conflicts arose over land ownership, taxation, labor exemptions, and social organization. From the perspective of an empire, as Da Zhou had pointed out, their methods were not so different from those of the Maitreya Cult, even if their intentions were less extreme.

Still, Zhao Changhe knew better than to overreact. He had seen the Buddhist and Daoist sects of his world reduced to harmless huskies—manageable and even beneficial to society. Not every religious movement was destined to culminate in apocalyptic proclamations such as “the Yellow Heaven shall rise[1]” or “Maitreya shall descend.”

However, there was something undeniably strange here. The speed of Buddhism’s resurgence was unsettling, and their escalating tensions with the local branch of the Blood God Cult seemed ominous. It felt like the temple had been stifled for too long, and now that it had room to breathe, it was pushing too aggressively—perhaps too recklessly.

Even Da Zhou had detected signs of a hidden hand at work, further corroborating Zhao Changhe’s instincts. What that hand sought to achieve, however, remained unclear. To uncover its motives would require deeper observation.

Hidden in the shadows, Zhao Changhe resolved to gather more information before making his move. Whatever lay behind this seemingly innocuous temple fair, it was far from simple.

At that moment, a monk entered the hall to report, “The temple fair has ended, and the masses have begun dispersing. Everything appears to be in order.”

Yuan Cheng nodded solemnly. “We must remain vigilant. Dispatch monks to accompany the attendees along the roads and ensure everyone returns safely to the city. Even a single incident, such as someone being attacked or killed, could damage our reputation irreparably.”

The reporting monk added, “We’ve already made arrangements for that. However... we noticed some members of the Blood God Cult lurking about. It’s unclear what their intentions are...”

Yuan Xing interjected calmly, “Don’t be alarmed. The Blood God Cult now operates directly under Benefactor Zhao’s command. They wouldn’t dare tarnish the reputation of their saint by acting recklessly. Officially, they’re part of the city’s defense forces, so they’re likely shadowing the crowd to prevent any incidents. If anything, they’re probably grumbling to themselves about us, calling us meddlesome monks for giving them extra work on such a cold night.”

Laughter filled the hall. The monks could easily imagine the scene of the members of the Blood God Cult making complaints.

However, not everyone shared his perspective. Some monks remained skeptical, and one voiced their concerns, “The Blood God Cult venerates blood and slaughter. They have no desire to lead others toward virtue. I simply can’t believe that a demonic cult could transform into a band of knights overnight. While King Zhao may be able to keep them in check, he isn’t here. In his absence, who knows what they might do? Should something go wrong, they could even turn the blame on us. Given their favor with King Zhao, we’d have no way to defend ourselves.”

This apprehension mirrored the sentiments of several others, and even Yuan Cheng looked uneasy. He spoke quietly, “Right now, there’s no better place to reestablish Buddhism than Jingxiang. We can’t afford to retreat over something as minor as a few Blood God Cult members. That said, caution is warranted. Avoid direct conflict with them if possible.”

Yuan Xing nodded in agreement. “The previous incident, where someone was killed, was clearly our fault. It wasn’t the Blood God Cult’s doing. On the contrary, they upheld the law. Our monks must reflect on this and impose stricter discipline on the followers of Buddhism.”

Hidden in the shadows, Zhao Changhe nodded to himself. Orthodox Buddhism appeared to be more measured and reasonable than Da Zhou’s wary assessments suggested.

As for their concerns about the Blood God Cult, Zhao Changhe was far less worried.

The truth was, this particular group was not composed of true members of the Blood God Cult. They had never undergone the cult’s rituals, nor had they learned its infamous Vicious Blood Art. These men were his former subordinates from Beimang—a ragtag band of mountain bandits who had been left behind when Xue Canghai led his forces north. Deemed too unskilled for battle, they had been stationed in the relative peace of Jingxiang, where they had taken up roles in the city’s defense force under Zhao Changhe’s patronage.

While this group was not exactly made up of paragons of virtue, they would not dare tarnish his reputation. Moreover, they were a far cry from the stereotypical berserkers of the Blood God Cult. True members of the cult had little interest in worldly attachments, while these men had fully embraced domestic life. Over the past year, at least half of them had married and settled down, trading their bandit pasts for warm homes and families.

Even Da Zhou’s only complaint about them was that they were like firecrackers in that they were quick to anger and prone to rashness. That might include some disdain for their intelligence, but it clearly was not a critique of their behavior. They were far removed from the bloodthirsty savages that people often associated with the Blood God Cult.

As Zhao Changhe considered this, a faint smile crossed his lips. This group of reformed bandits might have been a ragtag bunch, but they were reliable in their own way, and they were definitely far less trouble than anyone would have expected.

One of the monks in the hall suddenly spoke up, “How could a faithful follower have flown into such a rage that they killed someone? I still suspect this was the result of the manipulation of vicious qi. The Blood God Cult’s cultivation techniques excel in this area. I honestly can’t help but think that they instigated it in secret and then framed us.”

Zhao Changhe’s interest was piqued. It was an intriguing theory, even if misplaced—the particular members of the Blood God Cult in question did not even know the Vicious Blood Art, after all. Still, this line of thinking raised a compelling question: could there be a third party at work, orchestrating events from the shadows?

Yuan Xing frowned. “Ridiculous. What motive would they have for such actions? If it were to extort us, they haven’t made any demands.”

“A clear motive isn’t necessary,” the monk countered. “We are Buddhist monks, and they belong to the Four Idols Cult. The competition over karma and incense offerings is motive enough.”

Yuan Xing retorted, “These are low-level members of the Blood God Cult. How could they possess such a far-reaching strategic vision? Do you think Vermillion Bird herself is operating here?”

“That might not necessarily have to be the case...”

The hall descended into argument, with monks debating the possibility of conspiracy.

Zhao Changhe’s brow furrowed as a sense of unease settled in. In this tense atmosphere, it would not take much—a monk killing a member of the Blood God Cult, or vice versa—for outright conflict to erupt. Could the true goal be to engineer a rift between Buddhism and the new dynasty, throwing Jingxiang into chaos?

“Something terrible has happened!”

As if on cue, a panicked monk rushed into the hall, shouting before he even crossed the threshold. “At the edge of the city, near the forest, Blood God Cult members have attacked some of the attendees returning home. One of our brothers tried to intervene and was killed!”

The monks in the hall leaped to their feet, the tension rising to a breaking point.

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One of the old monks roared, “Abbot, what more is there to consider? We respect King Zhao, but we cannot stand by and endure such humiliation!”

Yuan Cheng’s face was grim. Without another word, he moved to lead the monks outside. “Do not act rashly. Stop the conflict first, then we’ll decide what to do.”

Zhao Changhe, watching the scene unfold, raised his head and activated his Qi Observation Technique.

The qi above the temple was shrouded in an unnatural distortion. The swirling energy of incense and faith, instead of dissipating naturally, twisted and warped, expanding into grotesque, shadowy shapes in the night sky. It resembled a giant, leering ghostly face.

Sensing the unnatural distortion, Zhao Changhe swiftly came to a decision. Instead of heading to the site of the supposed attack, he turned back to the forest he had passed earlier.

From the shadows, he pulled out a small piece of parchment and scribbled a message. Affixing it to Snow-Treading Crow’s saddle, he patted the horse’s neck and said, “Go.”

Snow-Treading Crow snorted softly, as if understanding what to do, and galloped off, vanishing into the dark sky.

Meanwhile, Zhao Changhe slipped back into the temple, making his way to the rear. With the senior monks now occupied, he felt no hesitation in releasing his senses fully, probing the depths of the temple.

There was a secret realm here, one tied to the temple. Zhao Changhe was nearly certain it contained the “Buddha” revered by the monks. But he also suspected that the monks themselves were unaware of everything within. Somewhere in that secret realm, something unknown—something deeply unsettling—was waiting.

1. This is a reference to the Yellow Turban Rebellion. ☜