Chapter 83: Words of Zen

I coughed twice, waving my hand to dispel the drifting secondhand smoke, signaling my displeasure. But Zhang the Grimace acted as if he hadn't seen me, still puffing away as if he were alone, the smoke stinging my eyes and leaving me dazed.

The Kaleidoscope lay sprawled atop the stone platform for twenty minutes, while Zhang's cigarette never ceased—one after another, relentless. I was nearly coughing blood from the fumes. Just as I was close to passing out, the Kaleidoscope finally slithered down from the platform. "Third Brother, it's done!" he announced, flashing an "okay" gesture, his face brimming with pride.

"So, tell me, what does this ‘fire-spitting script’ on the platform mean?"

I couldn't help but snort with laughter—fire-spitting, indeed! I was about to spit blood, standing next to this human chimney, undergoing a baptism so intense I was nearly headed for the ICU.

The Kaleidoscope, hearing the hint of weakness in Zhang's voice, gave a subtle chuckle—less obvious than mine. "Third Brother, that's the Kushan dynasty's Tocharian script, not fire-spitting."

Zhang shot us a sidelong glance, as if sensing our mockery, and snorted coldly. "Enough word games. The most important thing now is getting through the door. If you can't unlock it, I have other ways." He pointed to a nearby equipment box. "I've brought explosives. If it comes to it, I'll blast the door open."

We were stunned—this was the bottom of the Fishbone Cave. Even a slight tremor could bury us alive. I sighed inwardly; there was no reasoning with someone who only knew brute force. All I could do was pray for deliverance, hoping to escape this unlucky team and the jaws of death.

The Kaleidoscope shuddered at the mention of explosives, hurriedly stopping Zhang. "Third Brother, please don’t! If you blast it, we'll end up buried here, companions to the dead. Let me explain the inscription."

Zhang nodded. The Kaleidoscope pointed to the first line of text: "Third Brother, this is a Zen saying. Its gist is: if your heart is clear, everything is pure; if your heart is muddied, everything is dark. If your heart is obsessed, everything is confused. If your heart is tranquil, all is sudden enlightenment."

I cursed inwardly. After all that effort, the stone slab just had a few lines of spiritual chicken soup! I’ve always hated such empty platitudes—especially those so-called "masters" who share this nonsense on social media, full of pretentious morality. It’s infuriating.

"What the hell is this nonsense? Who has time for such lofty wisdom?" Zhang spat, stepping up to the black stone platform. "Are you sure you read it right?"

The Kaleidoscope waved his hand. "How could I be wrong, Third Brother?"

Zhang spat again at the black stone. "After all that translation, just more crap. Useless, really."

"Third Brother," the Kaleidoscope tried to stop him, "there shouldn’t be such pretentious words in a tomb. If they’re here, there must be a reason. Otherwise, why go to such trouble?"

Zhang grew impatient, glaring at the Kaleidoscope. "So, what do you make of it? Is it only monks who can enter? Old Fourth’s already inside—does he look like he has Buddhist affinity?"

I laughed secretly; he was right. My master didn’t seem particularly Buddhist, yet he’d gotten inside behind the Buddha statue. If anything, Zhang seemed more the type for pretentious airs.

The Kaleidoscope, cornered, seemed at a loss, but didn’t dare admit it for fear Zhang would resort to explosives. He scratched his head, feigning contemplation.

"Master Zhang, maybe it’s a riddle," said the Black Cloak, approaching with a smile.

Zhang eyed her. "What riddle? Don’t drag it out—I don’t have patience for guessing games."

"Ah," the Black Cloak smiled mischievously. "The inscription talks about the heart. Maybe we should look for the 'heart' of the tomb door and study how to open it?"

"Nonsense, there’s no 'heart' in the tomb door," Zhang retorted.

His words stumped us. The Black Cloak’s suggestion left us even more puzzled—the 'heart' of the door? What heart? Wait... heart? Suddenly, a flash of insight struck me like lightning.

"Prajñāpāramitā."

Of course! The highest purpose of Buddhism is liberation, reaching the other shore. There is no heart. This brings to mind Zen’s famous question: "Who am I? Who is me? Which is me?"—the so-called "doubt of self."

Long ago, the Buddha’s disciple Ananda was out begging and encountered Matangi’s daughter, who nearly caused him to lose his precepts. Foreseeing this, the Buddha instructed Manjushri to bring the "Great Buddha's Crown Sutra" to rescue Ananda.

After his rescue, Ananda was deeply ashamed. To enlighten him, the Buddha posed the "doubt of self"—what is you? Ananda answered, "My eyes are me, I see." The Buddha countered: "The blind do not see, but if their eyes are healed, they can. So 'sight' among the six senses is not you." The six senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind—none are you. Ananda, stumped, asked, "Then what are we?" The Buddha smiled and said, "It cannot be said."

I immediately thought of the famous passage from the Crown Sutra: if there is no heart, why cling to it? I glanced at the Parla Black Stone Buddha, which held no lotus scepter—the flower both exists and does not. Must we insist upon it?

A famous Zen story: the Buddha, while teaching, plucked a flower without a word. The bodhisattvas failed to grasp its meaning, save for Mahakasyapa, who smiled in response. The Buddha declared, "Only Mahakasyapa understands my teaching; none else." This is the essence of Zen's "sudden enlightenment." After the Buddha’s passing, Mahakasyapa became the first patriarch of Zen.

Zen's principle of "not relying on words" is because the true teaching cannot pass through six ears; if the teaching reaches a third person, it carries the second’s interpretation, distorting its truth. Thus, Zen values practice—cultivation and action. One should neither confine oneself nor be blinded by worldly matters. This is Zen's "worldly law."

Realizing this, I understood why the stone platform bore this so-called "spiritual chicken soup." I nodded quietly, feeling drawn by an invisible force. My legs carried me to the center of the tomb door, where I gazed at the immense iron-cut golden lotus motif and closed my eyes, silent.

Everyone noticed my odd behavior and was startled, staring at my back in surprise.

"Has he been possessed by something unclean from the tomb?" the Kaleidoscope whispered.

Zhang, equally shocked, still remembered to light another cigarette, taking a deep drag as he murmured, "Doesn't look like it. And anyway, if something unclean were here, why not possess you?"

I sat down cross-legged, closed my eyes, as if entering meditation.

"Qiu—"

The Black Cloak started to call my name, but Zhang stopped her with a hand, lowering his voice, "Let’s see what he’s up to. If things go south, I’ve got rhino horn in my pocket; we’ll use force if necessary."

The Black Cloak hesitated, then nodded quietly, murmuring her assent.