Chapter 16: The Ageless Xuan Yi?

The Taoist still maintained his smile. He bowed to us again and said that if we insisted on entering, there was nothing he could do, but the immortals of the Daoist tradition would not stand idly by. He added that if anything were to happen to us, the Three Pines Temple would not be held responsible. Though outwardly kind, there was a clear warning in his tone, as if to get the unpleasant words out of the way first.

Luo Feng’s two men could not tolerate being spoken to like that. They grabbed the Taoist by the collar and seemed ready to hit him, but before they could act, a crowd gathered, pointing and shouting at us. Luo Feng’s men grew even more furious and were about to explode when I stopped them.

Reluctantly, they released the Taoist. I looked him up and down. He was handsome and refined, appearing to be around thirty. Yet he remained calm, standing straight before us. The crowd around us grew. I asked the Taoist why he thought we looked so ominous.

He smiled and replied, “A fierce visage does not appear without cause; it is born from the heart.”

Chen Fan was also irritated. After all, we were just trying to enter a temple—others had gone in freely, yet we were being held up. He swore, “So, burly folks don’t look fierce, but we do? Don’t talk nonsense.” But as soon as Chen Fan cursed, people in the crowd began to throw things at us. I dodged quickly, but Chen Fan wasn’t so lucky—a streak of black ash hit his face.

In the end, it was the Taoist who calmed everyone down. He urged the crowd not to do evil, and said that, for some matters, the temple’s spirits would handle things themselves. I did not lose my temper; our purpose here was to investigate, not to fight. I mimicked the Taoist’s tone, asking how he could see the fierceness in our hearts.

I had expected him to claim some mystical power, perhaps a “third eye,” but as soon as he spoke, I realized this temple was different from the usual charlatan’s place. He said, people come up the mountain seeking the Way, but we had come not for enlightenment, but with anger and blood on our hands.

I pressed on, asking him why he thought we had come. The Taoist waved his hand, pointing down the mountain. He said if we wanted to investigate something, we should go back down. The mountain, he said, was home to immortals and spirits, not the strife of the mundane world. I could no longer take him lightly—he had discerned that we were here on a case.

His words, however, only piqued my curiosity further; I was even more determined to look into this unusual temple.

When we came up the mountain, we had planned to investigate quietly, so we hadn’t asked the district police for a search warrant. But given the current situation, the police wouldn’t easily grant one anyway—unless there was special cause or immediate evidence, they respected religious sites and beliefs, especially those with many followers.

The people on the mountain already saw us as enemies, and all because of a few words from the Taoist. As we hesitated, an old Taoist called out to the one before us. This elder had his hair tied up but wore no cap. His hair and long beard were snowy white. He called the younger Taoist “Xuan Yi,” and Xuan Yi addressed him as senior brother, with great respect—despite the obvious difference in their ages, they were of the same generation.

Xuan Yi respectfully stepped aside. The old Taoist glanced at us kindly and said that guests should feel free to enter. As soon as he spoke, the crowd dispersed, and Xuan Yi simply smiled at us, saying, “Please,” before turning away.

At last, we entered the temple. The thick scent of incense filled the air. The place was large, people coming and going, most of them burning incense and praying, but we felt many hostile eyes on us. I told Chen Fan and Luo Feng’s men to bear it patiently to avoid trouble.

Though reluctant, they smoothed the roughness from their faces. The temple housed a main hall and several smaller ones, all open to worshippers. The main hall was the most crowded, with many Taoists present. As we passed, I caught snatches of conversation between them and the locals.

Most of these residents had come because of troubles at home, seeking guidance. The Taoists spoke in cryptic, profound terms, hard to comprehend. The people listened, sometimes shaking their heads, sometimes nodding, lost in confusion. Still, the Taoists were unfailingly patient and polite.

We walked a full circuit of the temple but found nothing suspicious—except for one place we couldn’t enter. Behind the main hall was an inconspicuous little door, marked with a sign: “No Admittance.” A young Taoist guarded it, and as soon as we approached, he shooed us away.

Chen Fan asked whether we would leave empty-handed. I shook my head and approached a worshipper for information. This burly man hadn’t been outside earlier, so he didn’t know who we were or that we’d had a conflict with the temple Taoists. He thought we were first-timers and was happy to answer.

He told us that all regular visitors knew that door was the “Forbidden Gate” of Three Pines Temple. Not only were worshippers barred, but even the Taoists themselves could not enter. Some residents had asked about it before, and the Taoists said only the old abbot could go in—not even Xuan Yi had access.

I noticed the man addressed Xuan Yi and the old Taoist with special titles. He explained that, in the temple, those two alone stood at the top of the hierarchy. No one knew the old abbot’s Daoist name or title; because of his age, everyone simply called him the old abbot. Xuan Yi, of course, was the younger Taoist who had stopped us.

Chen Fan was surprised. “No one knows the old abbot’s name? Not even the people in the temple?”

The man shook his head. “No one knows.”

Chen Fan muttered that the abbot acted like a thief, hiding his name. This annoyed the burly man, who scolded Chen Fan for his disrespect. To keep him talking, Chen Fan pretended to apologize.

I asked how old Xuan Yi was. The man said no one had ever asked, but many believed he might be as old as the old abbot. He said Xuan Yi was a gentle person, and would usually respond indirectly to rumors, except on the subject of his age—he never denied he was old.

So, everyone believed Xuan Yi and the old abbot were of similar age; otherwise, with such a generation gap, they would be master and disciple, not senior brothers. The man looked around, then confided, “I have an elderly friend who met Xuan Yi twenty years ago, and after all this time, Xuan Yi hasn’t changed a bit.”

I was taken aback and asked for more details. The man, a talker, explained that Three Pines Temple was rebuilt only in recent years. It was originally a small temple in the southernmost district, already somewhat well-known locally, though not as famous as now. His old friend had visited often before the move and knew Xuan Yi by sight.

Moreover, the man said, others among the worshippers claimed to have seen Xuan Yi long ago, and he had not aged. People said Xuan Yi never grew old, and that his cultivation might even surpass the old abbot’s.

I asked the man if he knew Yun Qing. His face changed instantly—he warned us never to mention that name inside the temple, as everyone hated Yun Qing. That fire, he said, had desecrated their sacred ground. I asked about the fire, and he pointed toward the Forbidden Gate.

The fire had started inside the Forbidden Gate, he explained, which meant Yun Qing had not only set the temple ablaze but had secretly entered the forbidden area. Chen Fan asked, “Wasn’t everyone barred from that gate? When the fire broke out, didn’t anyone go in to put it out?”

The man nodded. After the fire began, the entire temple was in an uproar. Some wanted to rush in, but the old abbot stopped them. He went inside alone, closed the small wooden door, and, though everyone was worried, the fire soon died out by itself.

The old abbot had extinguished the flames single-handedly, and people praised his cultivation and spiritual power all the more.

As the man spoke, the main hall suddenly grew quiet. Xuan Yi was now seated at its center, apparently about to deliver a sermon. The man excused himself and hurried away.

Once he was gone, Chen Fan remarked that the story was sounding more far-fetched by the minute.

I hadn’t paid attention to Xuan Yi’s age before, but now, listening to his voice as he addressed the hall, I noticed it was hoarse and aged—if you ignored his youthful face, he sounded like a man of seventy or eighty.

“Is it possible Xuan Yi really doesn’t age?” Chen Fan asked.

I snorted. “How could there be such a thing? Interesting. When we get back, let’s look into Xuan Yi’s background—maybe we’ll find something.”

Chen Fan was startled. “Are we leaving already?”

I shook my head and said one word: “Wait.”