The Monk

1,199 words

The black dirt road wound through the forest. Li Huowang raised a torch and led the others forward.

The sky was still dark, but none of them felt sleepy after everything that had just happened. Sleep was out of the question.

The donkey cart was piled with slabs of horse meat. Apart from a few bits of silver taken from the bandits' corpses, this was Li Huowang's only loot.

"That's far enough. We'll rest here until dawn. Traveling at night on these roads isn't safe." At his command, the torches were gathered together to form a new campfire.

"Even if you can't sleep, just close your eyes. We have more walking tomorrow. Save your strength. I'll take the first watch."

As the sounds of hooves and footsteps faded, the dirt road fell silent again.

Li Huowang sat by the fire and turned to look back the way they had come. It was pitch black. It seemed the old beggar wouldn't be catching up until he finished burying all the dead.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, Li Huowang couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness. This place was truly chaotic.

All sorts of random horrors were dangerous enough, and instead of banding together for warmth, people of the same kind slaughtered each other.

He poked the dying fire with his longsword and tossed in another piece of firewood.

As time passed, the stragglers who had scattered into the woods gradually drifted back toward Li Huowang's campfire. Soon, several smaller fires had risen around the main one.

There was no sign of the Lü family among those who had returned, but Li Huowang wasn't worried. When the bandits had come, they were the first to run.

Old Lü Zhuangyuan really was a seasoned veteran. No wonder that miser had chosen horses for his cart. He must have foreseen this exact situation long ago.

Time passed. The sky slowly brightened. The others began to stir, roasting horse meat for breakfast and preparing for the next leg of the journey.

It didn't matter if horse meat tasted good or not. At least it was meat. It would give them strength.

As they were eating, a trembling figure emerged from the path behind them.

Seeing who it was, Li Huowang's wariness eased slightly. It was the old beggar. It looked like he had been burying bodies all night.

The morning dew had soaked his tattered monk's robe, and he was shivering violently. He walked close to the fire, crouched down, and curled into a ball.

When he noticed Li Huowang watching him, the beggar gave a simple, honest smile.

Thinking back to how the man had thrown himself into danger the night before to save them, Li Huowang felt his hostility fade.

He still believed that this old beggar's soft heart would make it hard for him to survive in this dangerous world. But no one would reject a good person.

When Li Huowang handed him a steamed bun, the beggar snatched it up eagerly, chewing as he mumbled, "May the Buddha bless you."

Hearing this, Li Huowang grew curious. "Which Buddha are you talking about?"

"Huh? Isn't the Buddha just the Buddha? What do you mean, which one?" The old beggar looked confused.

"Alright, just eat. It's rare to find someone like you in this world. I hope you're not lying to me."

"How could I lie? I'm a monk. Monks don't lie," the old beggar said firmly.

"You only know how to chant 'Amitabha,' and you don't even know which Buddha you believe in. What kind of monk are you supposed to be?"

"Scholar Sun said monks are bald, so I shaved my head. Tailor Wang said monks can't take wives, so I didn't take one. Shopkeeper Liu said monks can't eat meat, so I stopped eating meat! And I saw other monks shouting 'Amitabha,' so I learned to shout 'Amitabha' too. I did all of it. How am I not a monk?"

The old beggar seemed very sensitive about this, insisting stubbornly.

Listening to him, Li Huowang let out a dry laugh. This old man was even more of a fake monk than he was a fake Daoist. "That doesn't make you a monk."

The old beggar froze, clutching the half-eaten bun, and looked at Li Huowang seriously. "Then tell me, what should a monk be like?"

Meeting his gaze, Li Huowang opened his mouth, but found he couldn't answer. The old man's words seemed foolish, yet somehow carried a sliver of truth.

For some reason, Li Huowang saw Danyangzi in him—a stubborn persistence wrapped in ignorance.

"I'm guessing you can't read?"

"How did you know? Can you Daoists all tell fortunes like that?"

"Heh."

"Why are you so set on being a monk?"

"If a monk hadn't saved me back then, I'd be dead by now. From that day on, I swore I'd become a monk too! I have to be a good monk!"

As he spoke, Li Huowang saw the Lü family troupe returning from the distance. He patted the dust off his pants, stood up, and walked over to meet them.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. The old monk followed them the whole way. Sometimes, when Li Huowang saw him chewing raw wild vegetables from hunger, he would toss him a bun or two out of pity.

After about ten days of travel, a city far more magnificent and imposing than Jianye appeared before Li Huowang's eyes. They had reached Xijing City.

Rows of green brick walls rose tall and mighty. Standing at the city gate and looking up, an immense sense of pressure came crashing down.

"Finally here." Seeing the city gate, Li Huowang felt a wave of relief for the first time. The whole journey had been nerve-wracking, but at least the nightmare he dreaded hadn't come true.

"Little Daoist, you can't just pick any inn in Xijing. They'll fleece you blind. Let me take you to one. It'll be cheap, I promise." Lü Zhuangyuan made to head toward the towering gate, but Li Huowang stopped him.

"Wait. That temple you mentioned earlier—where is it?" Li Huowang asked impatiently. This was the most important reason he had come here.

Under Lü Zhuangyuan's lead, Li Huowang headed for Zhengde Temple, the most popular shrine in Xijing City.

Before he could even see the temple, Li Huowang caught the distinctive scent of sandalwood that marked a Buddhist holy ground. The wide streets were beginning to crowd.

Old men, women, adults, children—people of all kinds filled the road.

Seeing the thick bundles of incense sticks in their hands, Li Huowang immediately understood. These people were all here to worship the Buddha.

"Is this temple always this busy?"

As Li Huowang spoke to Lü Zhuangyuan beside him, a nearby worshiper chimed in: "Of course it is! The bodhisattva at Zhengde Temple is very efficacious! My daughter-in-law got pregnant right after praying here once!"

"And the great masters at Zhengde Temple are wonderful people. They give out porridge to the poor every few days."

"Yes, yes. For a city like Xijing to have such a fine temple, it must be the fortune of many lifetimes."

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Reading Guide Decoding

A Beggar's Faith, a City of Sandalwood and Shadows

Cultural / Xianxia Notes

This chapter quietly deconstructs a question that runs through the entire Dao-Twisted World: what makes a religious identity real? The old beggar's definition of being a monk (剃光头, 不吃肉, 不讨婆娘, 念阿弥陀佛) is pure surface-level mimicry drawn from local gossip—Scholar Sun says this, Tailor Wang says that, Shopkeeper Liu says the other. He has no doctrinal knowledge, no scripture, no lineage. Yet his sincerity and gratitude toward the monk who saved him are unmistakably genuine. In a world of corrupt abbots and flesh buddhas, this man may be the most honest "monk" we've met.

Li Huowang's inability to answer the old man's question is significant. As a "fake Daoist" himself—posing as Danyangzi's disciple while secretly planning his escape—he realizes that intellectual knowledge (knowing which Buddha) and lived faith (deciding to be a monk through action) are not the same thing. This ambiguity is central to the novel's theme of whether belief shapes reality or reality shapes belief.

Zhengde Temple (正德寺) is introduced with all the trappings of a legitimate, thriving Buddhist institution: efficacious bodhisattva, charity porridge, overflowing incense offerings. But readers who remember the grotesque Vase-Girl ritual and the Flesh Buddha from earlier chapters know better. The temple's public piety is a mask. The more popular and "virtuous" it appears, the more sinister its hidden practices likely are. This is the Dao-Twisted World's signature move: take something sacred and familiar, and rot it from the inside out.

Charity porridge (布施粥)

A traditional act of Buddhist merit-making where temples provide free food to the poor. In this world, even such kindness may be a cover for darker exchange.

Chapter Overview

Li Huowang's ragged crew finally reaches the gates of Xijing City, and our traumatized Daoist gets his first real glimpse of organized religion in the Dao-Twisted World. But before the city walls come into view, this chapter serves up a quiet but devastating roadside conversation with the old beggar-monk. What starts as casual curiosity about his faith turns into a philosophical gut-punch: can someone be a true believer if they don't know what they believe? Li Huowang, the fake Daoist with a stolen scripture and a head full of lies, suddenly finds himself out-argued by a man who defines "monk" through a checklist of surface behaviors. It's a deceptively tender scene that lingers long after the sandalwood smoke of Zhengde Temple hits your nostrils.

Key Plot Points

The group camps overnight after narrowly surviving the bandit attack; Li Huowang takes first watch and reflects on the brutal logic of this world where humans are as dangerous as monsters.
The old beggar-monk catches up after burying the dead all night, damp and shivering; Li Huowang's hostility softens after remembering the man's selfless rescue.
A probing conversation unfolds: the old man insists he is a monk because he shaved his head, avoids women, abstains from meat, and chants Amitabha—but he cannot name which Buddha he worships.
Li Huowang is struck speechless when asked to define what a real monk is; he sees a disturbing likeness to Danyangzi—ignorance mixed with fierce, stubborn commitment.
The old man reveals his origin story: a monk once saved his life, so he swore to become one himself, pursuing holiness through mimicry.
After ten uneventful days of travel, Xijing City rises before them—an imposing, walled metropolis that dwarfs Jianye.
Lü Zhuangyuan warns about predatory inns; Li Huowang cuts him off to demand directions to Zhengde Temple, the main reason for his journey.
The temple's overwhelming popularity is confirmed by thick crowds and the heavy scent of incense; worshippers enthusiastically praise its efficacy and the monks' charity.

Reading Guide

This chapter is a palate cleanser before the storm. After the relentless action and horror of previous chapters, The Monk slows everything down to walking pace. It gives you room to breathe, to watch Li Huowang be genuinely stumped by an old beggar's innocent questions, and to feel the relief of finally seeing a city gate that doesn't promise immediate death. But don't let the calm fool you. Every time this novel introduces a bustling religious center with happy worshippers, you should feel your stomach tighten. The sandalwood is covering something.

Pay special attention to the mirroring between the old monk and Danyangzi. Both are defined by a kind of blind, stubborn faith—one in the Buddha, one in his own immortality scheme. Both are illiterate. Both operate on fragments of knowledge repurposed into a system. The difference is that the old monk's faith leads him to selfless rescue, while Danyangzi's led him to alchemical murder. That contrast is doing a lot of thematic heavy lifting.

Also, note that Li Huowang sees the resemblance but doesn't fully process it. That blindness is his character flaw for this arc: he recognizes patterns of ignorance without yet understanding that his own "fake Daoist" act also fits the same mold. The old monk's question—"Then tell me, what should a monk be like?"—is one Li Huowang cannot answer for himself either.