Chapter 36 Beat Him

“Master of the estate, don’t fall for his tricks! That bald scoundrel loves to use such schemes to extort money!”
“Master, monks are ruthless. Within three years, he’ll have taken the money and fled, leaving us nowhere to find him!”
“Master, ignore him. If he doesn’t leave, we’ll carry him out and dump him by the roadside!”
“Bald thief, get lost, or I’ll break your legs!”
“Beat him, beat him! Don’t waste words on him. These bald monks are as shameless as those from India; they want to claim anything good as their own!”
…

Before Zhang Qian could speak, voices of warning and abuse erupted all around. The estate’s retainers and tenant farmers refused to believe the monk Hui’an’s claims; they all spoke out to expose his sinister schemes.

A few elderly villagers watching the commotion thought it was a great act of virtue to offer a well in exchange for the entire county’s health and peace for three years. However, considering their own sons were working for the estate master and seeing how recently Zhang had funded bridge repairs and canal digging—tangible benefits they all witnessed—they wisely chose to remain silent.

As for the monk Hui’an, whether he had grasped the essence of Buddhism was doubtful, but his audacity certainly outmatched the temple’s stone sculptures. Despite being surrounded by scolding voices, he felt no embarrassment. Instead, he smiled and stepped closer to Zhang Qian, gently urging, “To give up a well for the benefit of the entire county is a great merit. Since you are a disciple of the Mohist school and an imperial officer, you should…”

“No problem. To give up a few buckets of well water? Zhang agrees!” Before the monk could finish his sermon, Zhang laughed heartily and nodded. “Steward, send down my order: from now on, whenever Master Hui’an comes to draw water, no need to notify anyone—let him pass freely!”

With that, he gently pushed the monk’s shoulder aside and strode quickly toward his estate gate.

“Ah—” The monk had prepared many verbal traps, expecting Zhang to fall for them, but Zhang did not follow the expected script. Caught off guard, Hui’an staggered, spun halfway around, nearly falling headlong.

“Monk, be careful!” Ren Quan, quick of hand and eye, quickly reached out to steady Hui’an. “Our master has agreed. From now on, if you need water for Buddhist rites, come and draw as much as you want. Our estate will provide it all free of charge!”

The other retainers and tenants, seeing how Zhang had easily thwarted the monk’s trap, exchanged knowing glances and jeered, “Little monk, if you promise to keep our county free of sickness and disaster for three years, then we’ll believe you. But if anyone falls ill or suffers misfortune, I swear I’ll splash your temple door with pig’s blood!”

“Little monk, do you have a yoke and buckets? If not, we’ll donate them to you—that’s a good deed, right?”

“Little monk, is your temple far from here? If it is, you’d better come earlier. The first bucket in the morning is most imbued with spiritual energy. If you come late, it means your heart isn’t sincere!”

…

It’s no wonder everyone was beating a fallen dog. Monks near the capital were the most shameless, especially those so-called high monks from India. Their behavior was nearly that of con artists. Whenever they spotted something valuable, they’d immediately approach, shamelessly coaxing people to give it up for Buddhist worship.

If the other party refused, they’d threaten with curses on deceased ancestors—hellish suffering or reincarnation as beasts—or use the community’s collective blessings as leverage to force submission.

If one wanted to escape their harassment, there was only one way: pay them enough money to chant sutras and dispel misfortune. Often, after the money was handed over and the prayers chanted, items once blessed by Buddha would suddenly lose their spiritual affinity. The chanting monks, money in hand, would then move on to the next extortion target.

“Patron, please wait!” Amid the derisive laughter, Monk Hui’an struggled to regain his footing and hurried after Zhang Qian. “You misunderstand. The true Buddha affinity lies not in mere well water, but in the ancient well itself, which gathers the essence of heaven and earth. The water drawn is but a carrier of this blessing; once it leaves the well, its spiritual energy disperses on the way. How can this be used to honor the Buddha?!”

“Monk, have no shame! If I gave you the well, would my master have to move out?”
“Monk, just say it plainly—you want my master’s estate, don’t bother with such excuses!”
“You’ve got some nerve! My master is a fifth-rank imperial officer. Do you think he’d just hand over his estate to you?”
…

The shouts of scorn quickly resumed. Without Zhang Qian speaking, the retainers and tenants around him exposed the monk’s true intentions.

Zhang had already guessed the monk wouldn’t agree to come daily to fetch water. He had long suspected that the real “Buddha affinity” in his estate wasn’t the well he had fabricated, but the shares in the Six Spirits Trading Company. So he wasn’t angered by the monk’s shamelessness. Halting, he smiled and turned around.

“The Buddha has taken a liking to my ancient well? No problem. They say Buddhism’s reach is boundless—I agree. Monk, feel free to perform your supreme miracles and take the well away. I won’t stop you, and wherever the well ends up, I won’t report it to the authorities!”

“Ah, Namo Amitabha!” Taken aback by Zhang’s words, Hui’an was stunned. After a great effort, he turned his exclamation into a Buddhist chant.

According to his plan, Zhang Qian, being a disciple of the Mohist school and known for his eloquence, would surely debate him publicly to keep the ancient well vital to the quality of Six Spirits’ floral water. If he could silence Zhang, even without forcing him to surrender significant shares, he could embarrass him publicly!

Whether Zhang lost money or face, the monk would have avenged the true Bodhisattva devotee—no longer watching her humiliated and tearful, powerless to help.

But the methods from his sect, brought from India and effective among Tang nobles, wealthy households, and officials, failed completely with Zhang. Zhang never followed typical script: he invited the monk to draw water, then to perform miracles to move the well. Each reply was wildly unpredictable, refusing any verbal confrontation!

“Master, please perform the miracle and move the well! For the county’s blessing, our master has given it to you!” As Hui’an grew increasingly flustered, Ren Quan’s sarcastic voice rang in his ears.

“Master, perform the miracle—we’ll cheer you on!”
“Master, perform the miracle—let us see something marvelous!”
“Master, keep it up!”
“Wife, bring me a stool; I want to watch the master perform his magic!”
…

Around them, retainers, tenants, and villagers all eagerly joined in mocking the fallen dog.

Even those deeply devoted to Buddhism in the village understood where their true interests lay. They knew whom to support, and one by one they taunted the monk mercilessly.

Monk Hui’an, after all, lived off his mouth. Despite his flushed face from the ridicule, he summoned his courage and pursued Zhang’s departing figure.

“Patron, wait! My training is short; I cannot perform the miracle to move the well. But if you truly have compassion, you should let the chanting of sutras resound daily beside the well…”

“No problem!” Zhang responded swiftly, even faster than the monk. Before he finished, Zhang gave a clear answer: “Ren Quan, clear the room nearest the well to be the family shrine for Master Hui’an’s practice. Provide daily one dou of rice, two portions of vegetables, monk’s robes, straw sandals, prayer beads, and Buddha statues—whatever the master needs. I trust his sincerity will prevent any wasteful spending.”

“Yes, master!” Ren Quan bowed and accepted the order with enthusiasm.

“Amitabha!” Hui’an chanted anxiously, unable to find any insincerity in Zhang’s generosity.

He wanted the well; Zhang had given it. He wanted sutras chanted daily by the well; Zhang agreed. He even provided two meals and monastic supplies. How could he claim Zhang didn’t care for the county’s blessings?

Yet if he came to cultivate at Zhang’s estate, how could he avenge the Bodhisattva? How could he meditate and discuss Dharma with her, laughing and chatting as before?

Frustrated and desperate, he heard Zhang laugh and ask, “What’s this? Too bad my temple’s too small? I recall the Buddha’s enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, without complaint about its austerity. In Tang China, no fewer than thousands of temples support monks and practitioners. If temple size dictated devotion, all their incense and effort would be wasted!”

“T-this, this is not, not what I meant, patron!” Hui’an’s prepared complaints caught in his throat. His face turned blue as he waved his hands and stepped back. “Temple big, temple small, it’s all the same, all the same!”

Who dared say otherwise? If he did, the wealthy patrons who supported these masters would tear him apart. However, recalling the Bodhisattva’s tearful humiliation gave Hui’an fresh resolve.

“Patron, please hear me out!”

“Speak freely, Zhang is listening attentively!” Zhang smiled, turning to gently flex his wrist and fingers, ready to hear the monk’s final move.

“Patron, since the ancient well in your estate has Buddha affinity, it means your estate lies in a place supremely blessed for spreading Buddhism.” With all his verbal traps failing, Hui’an abandoned subtleties and revealed his final gambit: “Therefore, for the county’s blessing, I humbly request you donate this estate to Buddha, to build a temple…”

“Smack!” A crisp slap cut him off. Zhang swung his arm and delivered a solid slap across Hui’an’s face.

The monk flew sideways nearly half a yard. Before he hit the ground, blood and several white teeth spat from his mouth.

Yet Zhang was not satisfied. He quickly caught up, stepped on Hui’an’s chest with one foot, bent down, and delivered a series of slaps to both cheeks, “Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!”

“Bald thief, I’ve already made so many concessions, and you still want to seize my home? I am a fifth-rank imperial officer; if even my home is taken, what dignity remains for the court?” As he struck, Zhang shouted loudly, so all nearby could hear, “Know this: this world ultimately belongs to His Majesty, not you bald thieves! Don’t think you can meddle with the fate of reincarnation or blessings. Even if you could, worldly affairs belong to the court, and spiritual affairs to Buddha and gods. No matter what sutras you chant or what faith you follow, don’t overreach!”