Killing Monks

Nan San's legs went weak.

He steadied himself by gripping the edge of the table. He looked at Ma Wu, at Tai Jiu, and at the still-dripping head on the ground.

He wanted to ask why, but he didn't. He knew why.

He knew all of this. He just didn't dare to think about it. But when someone does something you don't dare to think about, you can no longer pretend you don't know.

Ma Wu is an anomaly among the Twelve Earthly Fiends.

He was always in the minority. At every meeting, he sat in the corner and didn't say much.

He listens to what others say; he watches when others argue; he picks up his teacup and drinks when others bang on the table and smash cups.

The tea got cold, so we refilled it; then it got cold again.

He wasn't in a hurry. He was patiently waiting.

We tolerated those people fighting for power at the meeting, tolerated those people squeezing out the "old men" one by one, and tolerated those people turning the Heaven and Earth Society into a larger imperial court.

They have ranks, salaries, and a grand lifestyle; they have the things they used to hate the most, but now they want the most.

He endured it for years, to the point that he gritted his teeth, dug his nails into his flesh, and tossed and turned at night, even biting his pillow to pieces.

He thought he could endure it forever. Endure it until the world is at peace, until the people live in peace and prosperity, until those fools wake up on their own.

But he couldn't live to see that day. Those people were getting dumber, greedier, and more shameless.

They treated Guangyuan's words as nonsense, regarded their brothers who had shared life and death with them as stumbling blocks, and treated the people of the world as leeks—cut one crop, and another grows; grow one crop, and then cut another.

As the harvest continued, the land became barren. When the land became barren, people starved to death. When people starved to death, the world descended into chaos.

If the world falls into chaos, all the battles they fought, all the deaths, and all the blood they shed will have been for nothing.

He finally understood what Guangyuan meant when he said, "This battle is not over yet."

He didn't understand before.

He felt that with the Buddha gone and the Tang Dynasty established, the world would belong to them.

They could finally rest, sit down, and enjoy the good life they'd earned with their lives. But Guangyuan said it wasn't over yet. He...

He had thought Guangyuan was talking about the enemies who hadn't been eliminated yet, about the Northern Zhou, about the threats lurking in the shadows. Now he knew.

Guangyuan was referring to themselves. Their greatest enemy was never those outside. Their greatest enemy was themselves. It was those sitting at that long table, dressed in official robes and hats, who felt they had already won and could rest on their laurels.

Those people are more terrifying than Buddha. Buddha bullies you, you know he's Buddha, you hate him, and you want to defeat him.

When those people bully you, you still think they are your brothers. You feel embarrassed to hate them, and you feel embarrassed to hit them. You can only endure it.

When you finally can't hold back anymore, you realize that what you've been enduring isn't your brother, but a scoundrel disguised as a brother.

Ma Wu couldn't take it anymore.

He went to find Boss Xu. After listening to him, Boss Xu remained silent for a long time. So silent that Ma Wu thought he was going to refuse and prepared to take action himself.

Then Old Xu stood up and took down the knife that hadn't been used in a long time from the wall. The knife was old; the paint on the scabbard had been worn away, revealing the wood underneath.

He drew the knife; the blade was still gleaming, even after all these years. He sheathed it, tucked it into his waistband, and glanced at Ma Wu.

One glance was all it took. Ma Wu understood.

That night, they made their move.

Su Er was drinking at home until midnight, getting completely drunk.

He was asleep in the main room, clutching a wine jar. He didn't wake up when Ma Wu went in.

Ma Wu stood in front of him, staring at his flushed face for a long time. He thought to himself, this man wasn't like this before.

Su Er used to not drink alcohol. Su Er used to say that drinking would cause trouble. Su Er used to be reluctant to drink even a sip of water on the battlefield, for fear that drinking too much would make him need to urinate and delay the march.

Su Er is now so weak that he can't even wake up if someone stands in front of him.

Ma Wu drew his sword and slashed down. There was no second strike.

Su Er's head rolled twice on the ground, then stopped, face up, eyes open, mouth agape. He didn't know how he died. Perhaps that's for the best. Knowing would only make it worse.

Tai Jiu was outside. His knife was much faster than Ma Wu's.

He killed one person at a time, one after another, all night long. By the time dawn was breaking, his knife was dulled, his clothes were soaked in blood, and his face was covered in blood, indistinguishable between his own and others'.

After killing the last person, he stood in the courtyard, looking at the corpses scattered on the ground, and suddenly laughed. Not with joy, but with amusement.

These people, they used to call them "brothers." Brothers. Now, even he himself feels disgusted saying those two words.

Of the twelve Earthly Fiends, only three remain.

Ma Wu, Tai Jiu, Xu Laoda, and Nan San.

Nan San didn't die. It wasn't because he was lucky, but because Ma Wu didn't kill him.

Ma Wu stood at the entrance of the main room, looking at Nan San, at his sallow face from staying up all night, and at the shock and fear in his eyes that he hadn't had time to hide.

Ma Wu didn't speak, and neither did Tai Jiu. They stood there, waiting. Waiting for Nan San to speak.

Nan San squatted down, picked up Su Er's head, wrapped it in the tattered cloth, and tied it tightly. He stood up and looked at Ma Wu.

"Guangyuan is coming back," he said.

Ma Wu's eyes twitched.

It wasn't surprise, it was something else. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was disbelief, maybe it was believing but not daring to believe, maybe it was believing and yet not knowing whether to be happy or sad.

Guangyuan is coming back. Before he said it, he thought it would make everyone happy.

Now he knows, not everyone. Some people are no longer here. Because they're gone, he won't be happy. Because they're gone, he won't be unhappy.

If it's gone, then nothing is left. Whether you were happy or not, it's all gone.

Nan San held Su Er's head in his arms, blood seeping from the seams of the cloth, staining his clothes red.

He held the head in his arms, walked out of the main room, out of the courtyard, and onto the street.

Daylight had broken, and the streets were filled with people. They saw him walking down the street carrying a human head; some screamed, some ran away, and some stood still, mouths agape, watching him pass by.

He walked through one street, then another, until he reached the city gate and left the city.

He was going to find Guangyuan. He wanted to tell Guangyuan—Living Buddha, that we agreed to restart "Old Man" as you said.

But now, before "Old Man" can be restarted, "Brother" is gone. Gone, that's it. Do you have a way to bring them back to life? Do you have a way to make those who have died stand before you again and call you "Living Buddha"?

Do you have a way to get the blood that has flowed out back into their bodies?

He knew the answer. But he still went.

We're not here to ask for answers, but to tell Guangyuan—you asked us to come see you, and we've come. Fewer people have come than you expected.

They've come, they've come. One comes, one counts. Three come, three counts. Even if one comes, it's still "you".

The "you" you mentioned was never twelve people.