Having left the Tower of Loyal Valor some time ago, Sun Lang had no inkling that a great net of intrigue was settling silently down over his head. He hadn't gone home; instead he'd taken a roundabout route to a middling-sized temple in the city.
"Hey, big monk, payday."
In a small meditation cell, Sun Lang sat across from a monk — white of hair and beard, kindly of face, palms pressed together, legs crossed, every inch the enlightened master. He made a stark contrast with the slouching Sun Lang opposite him.
Sun Lang spun the money pouch he'd gotten from Hu Shouxin around his hand a few times, opened it, and poured out half the silver. The precious metal clattered down onto the little table. The monk's expression didn't change.
"This time it's that street on the north road of Xianglan Ward, by the Qin's Pawnshop." Sun Lang put the pouch away, pressed a finger on a chunk of broken silver, and pushed it toward the monk. "There's a household named Zheng — the one with two children, the man's called Zheng San. His old mother's taken ill. Your temple has healer-monks; have one look her over. This is for the doctor's fee and medicine, with about two qian of silver left over — buy the old lady some tonics."
Then he pushed out a second piece. "There's also a household named Xu. The parents are gone, and three children get by leaning on one another. The eldest works as a porter at a grain shop by day to feed the younger brother training at a martial hall, and there's a little sister who secretly goes outside the city to pick flowers and fruit and hawk them along the streets. Things have been restless lately; a young girl wandering about alone is no good. I see your temple's got plenty of monks — a set of robes each would keep that girl busy a while, sharpening her craft. So buy some cloth, have her mend a few robes, and this silver is her wages."
He pushed out a few more pieces. "Cloth money. Plus four sets of children's clothes, five short shirts ready-made, three women's blouses — to be given to..."
Piece after piece slid across the table, each with its purpose, every detail spelled out plainly. At last he pushed a larger ingot to the monk. "Last, five taels — your trouble money. You've helped me out a few times, call it your fee. The temple's expenses aren't small, and now and then you hand out gruel; treat it as a subsidy. Don't take a fraction more, don't take a hair less."
"Amitābha... I thank the layman on behalf of these poor families." The monk opened his eyes, a smile on his face, and bowed with his palms together. "To my shame, I, a disciple of the Buddha, know the people's hardships less well than the layman does."
"The rich can gamble, whore, and watch the shows — their nightlife's plenty rich. But the poor don't have much for amusement. Their biggest entertainment is sitting together at the street corners after a full meal, chewing over each other's business — gossip, the lot of it. Especially the old men who don't have to work anymore; they know a great deal." Sun Lang smiled. "Listen to them prattle when you've nothing better to do, and you come to know a few things."
"Amitābha. The layman is a man of great compassion," the old monk said earnestly. "This merit, these good deeds, spring from the layman's merciful heart. We disciples dare not steal the credit — pray, leave us your name."
"Then I just wouldn't come find you again." Sun Lang smiled. "What use have I for that scrap of fame? Besides, if I handed out the money in person, they'd take me for a living bodhisattva — and the next time they had trouble, they'd come looking for me. One or two, fine, but if a hundred came swarming, I'd grow sick of it. I don't live to help others. People weeping their woes at my door for money every day — how could I stand it? And the human heart holds cunning. If word of my sainthood got out, the ones who truly need help would come, sure — but what about the idlers and swindlers who'd come to cheat me? I'm not easily fooled, and my temper's foul. Meet that sort and I'd likely cut down every last one on the spot — and there, you see, that breeds no end of fresh trouble..."
"So these bothersome matters are better left to you. Your name is good, this temple's name is good — I looked into it quietly, and it's quite good indeed... The court has its almshouses, its paupers' graves, its foundling homes, and the common folk have their benevolent societies, so the widowed and orphaned have some care. But the human heart is hard to keep, and the world never bends entirely to our wishes — there are always gaps, always people who need help and don't get it. You come and fill that gap. I won't stay long in this city, and these good deeds are only whims, done in passing — one day I may tire of them and stop. The ones who can keep at it are about only you religious folk. So don't sit chanting and meditating all day; get out and about more, lend the suffering people a hand. With all these pious men and women keeping the incense burning and the offerings coming year-round, don't just write empty cheques and melt the incense money into gold for Buddha statues, prattling of reincarnation and peace in the next life. Better to do a few real things in this one."
The old monk found himself with no reply, yet sensed something not quite right about it all, and could only fall back on the cure-all answer: "Amitābha..."
Seeing the constipated look on his face, Sun Lang pointed at him and laughed. "You bald donkey, chanted one sutra too many? What I think doesn't matter. What kind of man I am doesn't matter. What matters is that the money's been put to better use and the people who needed help got it. The hell are you still dissatisfied about?"
The old monk blinked, then smiled with an open heart. "It is this bald donkey who clings to appearances... The layman is a man at ease with himself."
"No telling how much of that old monk's flattery was true and how much was bootlicking, but sure enough... it still feels pretty good." Seeing himself off with a bow from the reception monk, Sun Lang went bouncing out of the temple in high spirits. He'd done some good, and that felt good; he'd been flattered, and that felt good too — and the two pleasures bred still more pleasure. Better yet, in a few days he could go look in on those households and watch a glimmer of light and hope brighten their once-grieving, dimmed faces, and that would feel better still.
And the greatest pleasure of all would be to discover that the temple's monks hadn't distributed the charity as he'd instructed, but had skimmed and pocketed it instead — for then, on some dark and windy night, he could stand in for the Buddha himself and deliver heaven's just punishment upon the bold thieving bald-pate, let him die in despair and regret, and rid the world of one more piece of scum. Doing that, sure enough, would feel very good too.
"Mercy, mercy. Lately I do feel a bit psychologically warped — what a shame, what a shame." Sun Lang heaved a theatrical sigh. "Ah, it's not my fault. Keep a man lonely and solitary long enough and his mind's bound to go wrong. Seems the me of late needs a long-term toy... I mean, companion. Though rough fellows are an eyesore, and women are too much trouble. A peerless trap would be just the thing..."
He'd gone only a few steps when, head-on, a mounted column escorting a carriage came riding toward him. The reception monk, who'd been respectfully watching Sun Lang off, changed expression and turned to hurry back into the temple.
Sun Lang gave a slight smile and stepped a few paces aside to clear the road. The riders slowed too, and one fine horse after another passed by him — several cold, wary gazes settling on him as they went. The errant shook his head and walked straight on, muttering, "Another rich dog come to burn incense and pay for some peace of mind..."
He hadn't deliberately lowered his voice; it was only an offhand remark. But a few riders at the tail of the column caught it, and one — seeming to want to show off before his master — changed expression, reined in his horse, leveled his whip at Sun Lang, and barked, "You there! What did you say?"
Sun Lang turned his head and smiled mildly. "I said: another rich dog come to burn incense and pay for some peace of mind. What — you there, got a problem?"
His expression was neither cowed nor arrogant; he merely repeated himself, calm and composed. That placid manner was harder to read than outright insolence... but to these riders, used to looking down on everyone, showing no fear, no caution, no retreat was the greatest provocation of all.
The rider who'd spoken wheeled his mount, meaning to ride up and teach Sun Lang a lesson. The errant stayed where he was, cocked his head with great interest, wearing a what're-you-looking-at expression — which, to the riders reining around to look, made him seem like nothing so much as a madman trying to hold back a chariot with his arms.
None of them knew that behind this placid errant's face surged a mighty desire to show off.
Aha! Business comes knocking!