Chapter 14: Picking Up a Cousin

Within the monastery, most monks were adept at writing and translating scriptures, but when it came to debating Buddhist doctrine, not a single one could utter a word. Witnessing this, Dao Xuan grew indignant and said to Zhang Chi, “Elder Brother Zhang, I know you are the most eloquent among us. Why don’t you take the stage and teach that arrogant Daoist a lesson?”

Zhang Chi pondered for a moment, then walked over to a young novice below the platform and asked, “Little master, I’m new to the temple—could you tell me who those people on stage are?”

At that time, Zhang Chi was still dressed in Dao Xuan’s monk’s robes. The young novice, seeing Zhang Chi attired like a monk, replied, “That eminent monk over there is my master. The Daoist beside him is here to cause trouble, spouting nonsense.”

“And do you know how that Daoist is addressed?” Zhang Chi inquired.

The little monk scratched his head and thought for a while. “I heard just now the Daoist’s surname is Ge. He claims to be a descendant of Immortal Ge Hong, and his religious name, I think, is Master Shouyin.”

“Shouyin, hmm…” Zhang Chi broke out in a sweat—the Daoist’s chosen name was certainly extraordinary. He couldn’t help but laugh aloud.

The young monk cast Zhang Chi a strange look, finding his behavior odd. Since he had never traveled through time, he had no idea what was so amusing about the name.

“And what about this monk here?” Zhang Chi continued.

“That’s my master, a renowned abbot of this monastery. His secular surname is Ye, and we all call him Master Ye. My master has translated dozens of scriptures and is famous throughout Jiangdong. If you don’t even know that, what kind of monk are you?” The novice glared at Zhang Chi, displeased that he didn’t recognize his own master.

Newly arrived in this world, Zhang Chi wasn’t at all embarrassed not to know a monk’s name. Having gathered enough information, he asked, “And this Lord Wang—is he the Vice Minister of State, Lord Wang Guobao, from the court?”

In truth, Zhang Chi only knew of one Lord Wang, and that was only because Wang Guobao was Miss Wang’s father.

“No, this Lord Wang is the cousin of the current Vice Minister of State, Lord Wang,” the novice replied.

“What does ‘cousin’ mean?” Zhang Chi asked.

The little monk nearly spat blood. Was this man born of the earth itself, not even knowing what a cousin was? But recalling his master’s teachings on respect, the novice patiently explained, “A cousin is a paternal uncle or elder uncle’s son—if he’s younger than you, he’s your younger cousin.”

Worried Zhang Chi still wouldn’t understand, he added earnestly, “It’s your uncle’s or elder uncle’s son. If he’s younger than you, he’s your younger cousin.”

Thoroughly looked down upon, Zhang Chi felt a metaphorical black cloud descend over his head.

Lord Wang waited a moment, and seeing no response, addressed the assembly again: “Are there any learned monks present with words of wisdom?”

“I do,” came a sudden shout from below the stage, just as Lord Wang finished speaking. “I have something to say.”

Who else could be so immodest but Zhang Chi?

Dao Yuan smiled at Zhang Chi and accompanied him onto the stage. The Daoist, seeing Zhang Chi’s youth and his short hair, and noting Dao Yuan’s white eyebrows and dignified bearing, arrogantly demanded, “Old monk, state your name.”

“Amitabha,” intoned Dao Yuan, “I am Dao Yuan, a humble monk from Chang’an. Yet today, the one who will debate with you is not I, but this young gentleman.”

With that, Dao Yuan pointed to Zhang Chi.

Master Shouyin now realized that Zhang Chi was not a monk. Seeing his hair and incongruous monk’s robes, and hearing Dao Yuan address him as “Sir,” he asked, “You’re not a monk?”

“I am not,” Zhang Chi replied.

“Then are you of the gentry?”

Zhang Chi shook his head. Master Shouyin snorted disdainfully, “You are neither monk, nor Daoist, nor gentleman—how can I debate with a mere commoner? It would be beneath me.”

During the Wei and Jin era, lineage was of utmost importance; monks and Daoists ranked far above ordinary folk, while those of humble birth held the lowest status. In Huainan, had people not taken Zhang Chi for a monk at first, he would not have been allowed into the banquet at all.

Lord Wang, upon learning Zhang Chi’s status, chimed in, “If you are a commoner, step down at once. You probably can’t even read—how can you debate the learned on stage?”

The gentry, to preserve their privileges, always sought to maintain their lofty status. An upstart commoner could not be allowed to disrupt things.

Zhang Chi, growing frustrated, suddenly saw a handsome young gentleman, more striking than himself, approach with a grin and ask, “Who are you?”

Already vexed by the disdain, Zhang Chi was further irked by this newcomer’s good looks. He could not abide anyone more handsome than himself and grumbled, “I’m your elder cousin.”

Of course, this was mere jest.

Unexpectedly, the gentleman did not take offense but replied, “May I ask my cousin’s esteemed surname?”

Zhang Chi paused, then answered, “My name is Zhang Chi.”

The gentleman bowed deeply. “Forgive my earlier rudeness. It has been many years since last we met, and you have grown thinner; I almost didn’t recognize you. Yi Zhi greets his elder brother.”

Zhang Chi was left completely baffled by this bow.

Turning to Lord Wang, the young gentleman continued, “My lord, you may not know: this man is no mere commoner, but my cousin, Zhang Chi of Pengcheng. When Fu Qin attacked Pengcheng before the Battle of Feishui, my cousin was separated from his family amid the chaos and captured by Fu Qin’s army—he has been missing ever since. My aunt has prayed and kept a vegetarian diet daily, hoping for reunion in this lifetime. To meet again here at Daoxiang Temple proves her devotion was not in vain; truly, the Buddha’s blessing is upon us.”

Master Shouyin almost spat blood at this—unintentionally, they had provided yet another miracle to prove the Buddha’s power. Yet, with the brothers reunited, he could hardly object and could only snort in frustration.

Lord Wang said, “Nephew, you are from Kuaiji Shanyin, yet your cousin is from Pengcheng. If you met in childhood, that was long ago. Besides, the attack on Pengcheng by Fu Qin was many years past. Nephew, do not mistake a man for your cousin simply because they share a name.”

The young gentleman pondered and replied, “You are right, my lord. My cousin Zhang Chi was exceptionally talented. I was a child during the war, but before he was taken, he entrusted a letter to someone for me, containing a poem. If this man can recall that verse, then he is surely my cousin.”

Lord Wang nodded, “That is a good idea. If he can recite it, and it matches your memory, then he is your cousin indeed.”

The gentleman turned, full of anticipation, to Zhang Chi.

Zhang Chi found this odd, but since arriving in Huainan, he had become inured to strange events—meeting fortune-telling Daoists, encountering Emei disciples on the road, and hearing Miss Wang recount the world’s troubles. He was not easily surprised anymore.

Clever as he was, Zhang Chi saw the young gentleman’s intent, and, more than willing to accept a gentry identity, he played along. He slowly recited a poem by Bai Juyi:

“My gaze longs for my distant homeland;
Between Chu’s waters and Wu’s mountains, a thousand miles lie.
Today, at your behest, I seek out my brother,
A few lines of homesick tears in a single letter.”

The gentleman’s expectant face finally broke into a smile. After a moment, he turned to Lord Wang and said, “My lord, that is the poem.”

Lord Wang nodded, savoring the verse Zhang Chi had recited. “A few lines of homesick tears in a single letter. A fine poem, truly a fine poem.”

Master Shouyin, growing impatient, strode forward and demanded, “You can discuss your brotherly matters later. Now that you’re on stage, do you have any proof that this Daoist scripture is a forgery?”

Zhang Chi almost laughed aloud at the thought of Shouyin’s religious name, but managed to compose himself. “Master Shouyin, you misunderstand—I never said the scripture was forged.”

Master Shouyin was taken aback—so why was he on stage? But suddenly he had a flash of inspiration: if even the monks acknowledged that the Buddha was Laozi incarnate, the debate would be won. So he quickly changed his expression and asked, “Then do you believe what this scripture says is true?”

But Zhang Chi only spread his hands. “I did not say the scripture is true, either.”

“Then are you here to make a mockery of me?” Master Shouyin’s face twisted with anger, adding a dozen new wrinkles to his already sagging features.

“Master, I truly do not know if the scripture is real or false,” Zhang Chi replied. “But if it is false, it is not worth mentioning. If it is genuine, then Buddhism and Daoism are one family, sharing the same origin, and should learn from one another. If the Buddha is truly Laozi incarnate, and Daoists revere Laozi, then why call Buddhism a barbarian faith? Why burn Buddhist scriptures, persecute monks, and abolish temples in Jiangdong? Would that not contradict Laozi’s intentions?”

“This…”

“If the scripture is false, you have no grounds to cause trouble here in Daoxiang Temple. If it is true, then you should follow Laozi’s will and support the propagation of Buddhism.”

Master Shouyin was so thoroughly refuted by Zhang Chi that his mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Zhang Chi continued, “Thus, though I cannot prove the scripture true or false, by this reasoning, it seems more likely that it was someone else who falsely attributed it to Laozi, intending to slander Buddhism.”

“If the Buddha was not Laozi incarnate, then how do you explain all Buddhist statues facing east toward the Central Lands?” Master Shouyin, unconvinced, tried one last argument.

But Zhang Chi laughed heartily. “Master, you see only one side. Statues of the Buddha do indeed face east, which you may say proves the Buddha is Laozi incarnate, his heart set on the east. But worshippers face west when they pray, signifying reverence for the Buddha in the west—hence they bow westward, which also implies the Buddha came from the west.”

With these words, Master Shouyin struggled for a long moment, but could not utter a single retort. At last, he was left speechless.

The perplexing question that had troubled all the monks was thus dispelled by Zhang Chi in a few words, much to the monks’ delight.

Master Shouyin, having nothing left to say, stood on stage feeling awkward. With a heavy snort, he turned on his heel and strode toward the temple gates without so much as a farewell to Lord Wang. His wide Daoist robes and long sleeves swayed as he walked, and though he felt nothing, to the monks of Daoxiang Temple his defeated, waddling figure, with sleeves flapping left and right, looked for all the world like a duck. The monks could not help but break into laughter.