Notes on Longevity

Chapter 206 Do not speak the words of the dead tonight, but let the Dharma be wondrous.
The brightly lit street was bustling again, and Ping An and his group of four headed towards the direction where the sound of gongs could be heard in the distance.

On the road, Ping An walked side by side with Zhao Han, but Zhao Han's eight-foot height made Ping An look like a five or six-year-old child. She Li and Xiao Chang Gong followed behind the two with faces full of shame, each with their own thoughts.

She Li felt guilty for his selfishness. In fact, he should have let Xiao Changgong leave back in Yangjia Village, but he suppressed him because his cultivation was higher than Xiao Changgong's. Although the two were friends, She Li ultimately chose Ping An over Xiao Changgong. After all, as fellow disciples of Zouma Guan, it was only right for them to look after each other. Moreover, Ping An was someone that the Old Ancestor of Yuyang cared about.

When he returned to Zoumaguan last time, he heard a lot about Ping An from Yu Yan. After learning about his experiences, She Li felt even more sorry for Ping An, especially when he almost lost his life due to a qi deviation because he was thinking of his master Qing Xuanzi.

That's why he favored Ping An even more.

As for Xiao Changgong, although he received the divine ape's inheritance, he also lost his innate talent for cultivation; as the saying goes, there are gains and losses. The good or bad of a situation doesn't depend on how important what you gain is, but on your innate talents. Humans have human supernatural abilities, and demons have demonic gifts.

Fox demons cultivate the path of allure, drawing inspiration from the human desire for beauty. After transforming into humans, they can cultivate based on their appearance; the more beautiful and handsome the fox demon, the higher their cultivation level. However, having received the inheritance of the divine ape, Xiao Changgong has embarked on a deviant path, causing him much distress and hindering his cultivation progress. This is why he has always been suppressed by She Li.

Ping An simply didn't understand these things.

At the end of the long street, Uncle Fu, carrying a bunch of trinkets, burst into the stage that seemed out of place behind him. One side was brightly lit, while the other side had only a few white lanterns hanging above the stage, making it look so lifeless.

But the scene below the stage was quite different. Dozens of wooden chairs were arranged in order of increasing number from the front of the stage, and each person sitting on a chair held a red lantern. On each lantern was a line of text that caught Ping An's eye: "Last autumn in the third or fifth month, this autumn it still shines on the beams. Alas, human nature is different, once gone, forever forgotten. All things come to an end, leaving only sorrow for those who remain."

Ping An looked up at Zhao Yan, while She Li and Xiao Chang Gong remained frowning and looking down. It wasn't until a sudden, earth-shattering sound of gongs and drums startled them awake.

Uncle Fu sat in the middle of the seven chairs at the front, looking at the empty stage yet hearing the sound of gongs and drums, which made him curious. Just as he was about to get up, a square table appeared in the southwest corner of the stage, and four middle-aged men with beards dressed in white mourning clothes sat on three stools, carrying suonas, leaving one seat with their backs to the audience empty.

Before Uncle Fu could react, a mournful suona horn suddenly rang out, startling Ping An, She Li, and Xiao Chang Gong. Zhao Kun stared at the dumbfounded Uncle Fu with a wry smile.

As the suona music faded on stage, a middle-aged man in white mourning clothes appeared in the middle of the stage. Unlike the previous ones, he had a full head of white hair, no beard, and his face was full of sorrow.

He cried out in anguish to the dozens of people below the stage: "Far away, my loved ones; close at hand, I behold the person in the coffin. Tears stream down my face as I sing a farewell song!"

The man's voice was sharp and high-pitched, yet at times low and resonant, seemingly both strong and gentle, soft yet powerful. As soon as he finished speaking, four stools appeared in the southeast corner. Two of them faced the audience below the stage, and the other two faced the lyricist.

With a bang, four people appeared, just like the four suona players. The only difference was that these four people used gongs, drums, flutes, sheng, and erhu instead of suonas.

As the gongs and drums fell silent, the flutes and sheng joined in, playing a mournful and lingering tune. Just before it ended, three notes from the erhu followed, and the half-finished dirge stopped. Apart from Uncle Fu, who seemed a little lost, everyone else in the audience sat down, their eyes blank and staring straight ahead.

Looking at the scene before him, Ping An asked Zhao Yan, "What's going on here?"

"A mournful tune is played to send off the deceased."

Zhao Yan didn't say much, and Ping An already understood. However, he didn't understand what those people on stage were doing. Just as he was frowning in thought, the lyricist suddenly spoke up: "Where do the wandering souls go?"

His voice was passionate and rousing, yet filled with immense sorrow. As soon as he finished speaking, the eight people behind him chimed in, "The departed souls return to their homeland! Return to their native land! Fallen leaves return to their roots!"

The sound of gongs and drums begins, followed by the startlingly mournful sound of the suona, then the plaintive notes of the flute and sheng, and finally the broken, half-played erhu.

“These are the Eight Platforms.” Ping An was listening intently when Zhao Han suddenly spoke up.

"What is the Eight Platforms?" Ping An asked, puzzled.

"The eight platforms are for eight people. Four suonas play for the deceased, and at the first watch, gongs and drums announce the news to relatives and friends. Flutes and sheng play together to attract cranes, and half an erhu plays a life song."

As soon as Zhao Chu finished speaking, the lyricist began again, "Life is but a hundred years!"

Eight drums and gongs sounded, gradually rising in cadence, followed by the chant: "A hundred years of life!"

"Is there anything you regret?"

"Yes, I have!"

"What is it?"

"I will have no wife or children, and will be all alone in my old age!"

"Do you have wealth and fame?"

"Not even the slightest bit of progress, three years of hard study yielded no results!"

"You!"

"me?"

"Yes, it is difficult!"

"I am destined to suffer in this life, but life and death are not my own to control."

"No! Let's go!"

"On the Bridge of Helplessness, one will not turn back; in the Soup of Oblivion, one will forget this life!"

As soon as these words were spoken, the drums and gongs thundered, as if a thunderclap was rolling down from the heavens.

The flute and sheng were played from the side, their sound faint and eerie, with no living person in sight.

The erhu plays a mournful tune; to whom can it be told? Who will listen?

"They're still just bones turned to ash in the yellow earth." Ping An listened to the singer and the eight performers exchanging words on stage, but his eyes were fixed on Uncle Fu. From the lyrics, Ping An knew they were talking about Uncle Fu, but he seemed indifferent, or perhaps completely oblivious.

He kept throwing things he was carrying onto the stage while shouting, "Great! Brilliant! Who says otherwise!"

Ping An was deeply saddened. Although he was singing sad songs and playing mournful tunes, in Uncle Fu's eyes and ears, it seemed as if he was watching a good show, and he smiled broadly.

"Tell me, where do people go after they die?" Zhao Yan looked down at Ping An.

Ping An looked up, their eyes met, and Ping An asked, "Didn't you say you were going to the underworld?"

Zhao Yan laughed, he laughed loudly, he turned to look at She Li and Xiao Changgong, and said, "When people die, they go to the underworld, meet the Ten Kings of Hell, and then drink Meng Po's soup to cross the Bridge of Helplessness. But who leaves the human world and goes to heaven?"

Ping An frowned, deep in thought. He shook his head and asked, "Who went to heaven?"

Zhao Xun waved his hand and laughed, "How would I know? I've never been there."

Ping An was speechless, but also intrigued, so he asked, "Is it a deity?"

“No, no,” Zhao Yan shook his head and said, “He is not a god, he is not a god.”

Zhao Xun laughed loudly. He looked at Ping An and continued, "You'll know one day."

After saying that, Zhao Xun strode forward, and this time Ping An did not follow.

Amidst the deafening sound of gongs and drums, the singer on stage suddenly said to Uncle Fu, "This deceased person, come forward!"

Uncle Fu stared blankly at the man, unsure of what to do. Just then, Zhao Yan came to his side, and Uncle Fu said happily, "Young man, there really is a stage here! I thought you were joking with me. Where would a town or stage come from in this desolate forest?"

Zhao Yan looked at Uncle Fu and smiled as well: "They've invited you to go on stage, so hurry up and go!"

Faced with Zhao Yan's urging, Uncle Fu said "Oh" and quickly handed over the few remaining items in his arms to Zhao Yan, "You have to keep an eye on them for me, I need to give them to you later!"

Zhao Chu smiled and nodded.

After receiving a response, Uncle Fu handed the item to Zhao Yan and hurriedly floated up from below the stage, asking, "What is it?"

The lyricist remained silent, watching as Uncle Fu tapped his head with his finger before finally speaking: "The skin is tattered, the bones are blown away; speak carefully before Yama's table. Don't wait until your three souls and seven spirits perish, then regret your past actions."

Eight musicians rose and chanted in unison: "Do not linger on the road to rebirth, for once you cross the bridge, you will be reborn!"

Uncle Fu calmed Zhao Yan's soul, and Zhao Yan took his seat. A melodious voice then arose: "This seat is no ordinary seat; the Supreme Heavenly Venerable once sat here. I now preach the Dharma to liberate the living and the dead, and all hells will be freed. The Supreme Heavenly Venerable sits on a lotus throne, with the Ten Kings of Hell on either side. Judges unfold the Book of Life and Death, and summon souls to receive salvation."

As the chanting began, the red lanterns rose into the air from his hands. Zhao Yan closed his eyes and softly chanted along. As the chanting ended, the red lanterns coalesced into a blooming red lotus, and a golden light shone from Zhao Yan's body.

The three of them, including Ping An, stared in disbelief at the scene before them, especially She Li, who had cultivated for many years. He watched as golden light suddenly emanated from Zhao Qun's body, and he floated leisurely towards the red lotus. He chanted in praise: "The Compassionate One sits on a nine-colored lotus throne, each seat adorned with seven-jeweled celestial trees. Within the billions of auspicious lights of these celestial trees, within the auspicious light appears the Wondrous and Majestic Palace."

As the eight stages of music began, the lyricist sang: "Endless salvation of the dead, the dead are often sent to the Southern Palace."

The suona horns sounded, the drums beat, and the long street behind them began to dissipate, the noisy crowd quieting down. They headed towards where Ping An and the others were.

The golden light on Zhao Yan's body dissipated, and a giant golden lotus appeared and spun in the air. He turned his head to look at Ping An and said to him in his mind's voice: "The Dao is beyond words, five thousand words have opened the source of the Great Dao. To deliver wandering souls, to cultivate the kin of the sect, slowly ascend the twelve courtyards of the tower, tonight countless people will be saved."

As soon as the words were spoken, the stage disappeared, and the people below the stage slowly dispersed.

In the lamplight, the long street resembles a forest, with fallen leaves flowing to the ground.

Do not speak of the words of the dead tonight, but let the Dharma be wondrous in itself.

Everything returned to normal, and Ping An suddenly felt a pang of heartache, but her eyes were shrouded in mist, making it impossible to see clearly.

She Li sighed, "This handsome young man is no ordinary person; he must be a ghost immortal."

Xiao Changgong frowned and remained silent, unable to utter a word of peace.

By the time everything had cleared up, it was already the next morning.

Ping An woke up early under the tree, and as he recalled the events of the previous night, a sense of sadness overwhelmed him. He had no desire to read today.

She Li was also depressed and dejected, perhaps because he remembered everything Zhao Jun said and could hardly forget it.

As for Xiao Changgong, he was completely lifeless. He lay among the leaves with red eyes, indicating that he had not slept all night.

Each of the three had their own worries, but none of them spoke of them, and they could only suffer in their hearts.

The three of them ate white flour steamed buns that they had brought from Zhoujia Village for breakfast. None of them had a good appetite, and after a few bites, they put them back in their pockets.

It's time to get going. According to the route, we should reach Qumu Town before tonight.

The three of them spoke very little along the way, and they went straight ahead, finally reaching the outskirts of town before dark.

They found an inn, having traveled all day and been exhausted from Zhao Chu's affair the previous night. She Li and Xiao Changgong went to bed early, while Ping An sat in the guest room, taking out the *Qingjing Jing* (Classic of Purity and Tranquility) from his chest and reciting it again: "Laozi often said in the *Qingjing Jing*: 'Laozi said: The Great Dao is formless, yet it gives birth to heaven and earth; the Great Dao is without emotion, yet it governs the sun and moon; the Great Dao is nameless, yet it nourishes all things. I do not know its name, so I call it Dao.'"

(End of this chapter)