Take control of Wei Zhongxian at the start and confiscate 100 million from him!

Chapter 264 A Storm is Brewing, Thunder and Lightning Lurk in the Shadows

The afternoon sun dappled through the exquisitely carved wooden window of the meditation room at Jiming Temple, casting a patchwork of light and shadow.

The rich aroma of premium Da Hong Pao tea floats in the air, blending perfectly with the faint scent of sandalwood wafting in from outside the window, creating a unique ambiance that can calm and soothe the soul of anyone in the mundane world.

This is Buddhism.

This is a pure land.

Abbot Liaofan sat upright in the main seat, wearing a faded gray monk's robe, his face was thin and his eyes were slightly closed, and he held a string of shiny sandalwood prayer beads in his hand.

He was like an ancient pine tree growing on a cliff, possessing a serene and otherworldly air.

"The abbot's discourse on emptiness and non-emptiness is truly enlightening." At the next table, a well-to-do gentleman dressed in a royal blue Hangzhou silk robe gently set down his Ru kiln teacup, his face full of admiration. "We ordinary mortals are preoccupied with fame and fortune all day long, yet we do not know that all these myriad sights are ultimately just illusions. Listening to the abbot's words today is better than reading the classics for ten years."

This man was Liu Yongxin, a renowned silk tycoon in Nanjing. His ancestors made their fortune through business with the weaving bureau. They were extremely wealthy and also very charitable. In particular, the money they donated to Jiming Temple every year was enough to rebuild a small temple.

"Layman Liu, you flatter me." Abbot Liaofan slowly opened his eyes, his gaze as calm as water. "It is not that my words are profound, but rather that you possess wisdom within yourself. The Buddha said, 'Afflictions are enlightenment.' If there were no worldly troubles, how could one attain the purity and freedom that comes after seeing through them?"

His voice was warm and magnetic, as if it carried a strange, soothing power.

The other people at the table were all prominent figures in Jinling City.

There were retired vice ministers of the Ministry of Revenue, landlords who owned large tracts of fertile land outside the city, and renowned scholars who were well-known in literary circles.

They have gathered here today, ostensibly to enjoy tea and discuss Zen, but in reality, they are building their own peaceful haven in this serene Buddhist sanctuary.

They discussed the philosophy of mind in the *Chuan Xi Lu* and explored the Zen teachings in the *Platform Sutra*. Their words conveyed the concepts of "extending innate knowledge," "enlightening the mind and seeing one's true nature," and the profound mystery of "originally there is nothing, so where can dust settle?"

At this moment, Jiming Temple is their spiritual paradise.

Here, the court intrigues, the heavy taxes, and the cries of the displaced people all seem to be separated by an invisible glass dome, becoming distant and unreal.

They only need to donate a small amount of money and land to gain the abbot's understanding, inner peace, and... some tangible protection.

This deal is a great one.

Outside the meditation room, the afternoon classes had just ended.

The young monks, with the innocent purity of youth on their faces, walked in twos and threes toward the dining hall.

The old monk on the bell tower was preparing to ring the bell for the meal, while the cook in the backyard carried out a large bucket of steaming white rice.

Pilgrims kowtowed devoutly before the various halls, praying for their own blessings.

Everything was as peaceful and tranquil as it had been for the past few centuries, as if it would continue until the end of time.

Abbot Liaofan sat upright in the main seat, about to speak again about the Zen principle of "nothing exists outside the mind," with a faint smile on his lips.

However, just as he was about to speak, his brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

A faint commotion broke the tranquility of the meditation room.

At first, no one paid any attention, taking it as just an occasional commotion.

But the sound did not disappear; instead, it grew rapidly from afar, becoming clearer and clearer at an ominous pace!

The sounds were chaotic, unlike ordinary human voices, and included sharp shouts, dull thuds, and the scraping sounds of metal objects being dragged.

The discussion of Zen in the meditation room stopped abruptly, and the leisurely and Zen-like expressions on the faces of the gentry and celebrities quickly faded, replaced by surprise and unease.

The aroma of tea remained, but everyone sensed an impending storm.

Liu Yongxin stood up abruptly, straining his ears to listen. His once-plump face was now completely drained of color. "Abbot, what is that sound? It doesn't sound like worshippers. It sounds more like... more like soldiers passing through!"

Before he could finish speaking, the door to the meditation room was suddenly pushed open!

A young monk responsible for greeting guests stumbled in, not tumbling and crawling, but as if he had been pushed in from behind by an invisible force.

He collapsed to the ground, his face deathly pale with terror. His mouth was agape, making hoarse sounds as he pointed out the door, his eyes filled with the image of a demon from hell, yet he couldn't utter a single word.

Liao Fan felt a chill run down his spine; the ominous premonition reached its peak at that moment, transforming into a raging storm.

He suddenly stood up, and the gentry behind him also hurriedly stood up, their faces filled with horror.

what is the problem?

What kind of troops dared to break into this premier temple of the Southern Dynasties so silently and with such overwhelming force?!

Liao Fan was filled with a mixture of anger and horror. He had been the abbot of Jiming Temple for more than 30 years. Even when the Duke of Wei came in person, he was treated with courtesy. He had never experienced such a strange thing before.
He flicked his sleeve and said sternly, "What's the panic! Come with me and see who these scoundrels are, putting on this act of ghosts and spirits!"

Liao Fan, accompanied by several trusted martial monks from the side hall, strode out of the meditation room.

The gentry hesitated for a moment, but mustered their courage and followed behind. They still had a sliver of hope in their hearts that perhaps it was just some soldiers from the city on some secret mission, passing through here.

As long as they're not targeting me, there's always room for maneuver. After all, everyone here is a respectable person; who would dare to harm me without cause?
However, the moment they rushed to the corridor and saw what was before them, all their hopes, anger, and composure were shattered by a silent terror.

The Buddhist Pure Land has become a prison sealed with steel.

There were no earth-shattering shouts of killing, no flying blood and flesh, yet the scene before us was more terrifying than any Shura slaughterhouse.

Every corner of the temple was now filled with armored soldiers carrying swords.

They were like ghosts emerging from the ground, appearing silently in every crucial position.

In the courtyard outside the meditation room, dozens of monks were kneeling on the ground. Behind them stood a row of fierce-looking Imperial Guards, their embroidered spring knives already drawn, but they held them quietly, the cold glint of the blades reflecting the monks' terrified faces.

Along the passageway leading to the main hall, every ten steps, there stood a soldier from the Beijing garrison, clad in iron-plated armor, like a lifeless statue, blocking all the way with his spear.

They didn't make a fuss or cause any damage; they simply took over the temple with a calm, even ruthless, efficiency. "Go in!" A member of the Imperial Guard gently pressed the scabbard against the back of an old monk who was trying to argue. The old monk trembled, swallowed all his words, and could only be led away, head down, staggering towards the open space in front of the main hall.

This was a silent invasion, seeping in like mercury from every inch of the temple walls and every crack. Before anyone could react, these soldiers had seized the throat of this ancient temple.

This silent action, this terrifying efficiency, was more deadly than any shout of killing; its message was crystal clear: resistance was futile.

The screams of terror, the cries of women and children, and the suppressed curses of monks still lingered, but were firmly suppressed by this cold order, like weak groans in the eye of a storm, sounding so powerless and pathetic.

"Amitabha! Stop! What are you doing! This is a sacred Buddhist site; how dare you act so presumptuously!"

Liao Fan stood on the steps of the main hall, looking at the orderly yet terrifying scene before him, his eyes wide with rage.

His roar, carrying the authority of a thirty-year abbot of an ancient temple, suddenly resounded in the chaotic courtyard, actually causing the ferocious soldiers to pause for a moment.

Several Jinyiwei captains who were nearby slowly turned their heads, their cold gazes across the crowd like poisoned blades, piercing straight into Abbot Liaofan.

There was no reverence in his eyes, only indifference as if he were looking at a dead object.

Stung by that gaze, Liao Fan's heart skipped a beat, and his surging anger seemed to be doused with a bucket of ice water, instantly cooling down.

He suppressed the turmoil in his heart and was about to step forward to question them sharply, but the moment he lifted his foot, his gaze finally pierced through the figures and flashing blades in front of him, and he saw clearly the difference between these soldiers.

Liao Fan didn't understand military affairs, but he was good at judging people and, more importantly, at assessing the situation.

The soldiers were as silent as mountains, exuding a murderous aura as if they had crawled out of a pile of corpses.

These were definitely not the lax and negligent garrison soldiers that one usually saw in Jinling City!
Those men dressed in dark, close-fitting clothes, moving with ghostly speed, terrified Liao Fan even more. They wore no armor, but the long, narrow blades in their hands were more chilling than any armor.

These two forces are the elite of the elite, enough to make any wealthy family in Jinling City tremble.

But what truly made Abbot Liaofan's blood almost freeze was the sight he saw beyond the crowd, in the distance—

It was an extremely dazzling gold!

Under the afternoon sun, the plumes on the helmets and the edges of the armor of those soldiers shimmered with a dazzling golden light!
Although Abbot Liaofan lived in the temple and did not concern himself with politics, as the abbot of the first temple in the Southern Dynasty, he welcomed and saw off countless princes, nobles, and high-ranking officials.

He knew very well that the laws of this dynasty were strict, and the regulations on clothing, ceremonial guards and armor were extremely stringent!
The crime of usurpation will result in the extermination of nine generations of one's family!
What kind of person is worthy of using such dazzling gilding on armor?

What kind of army would dare to so blatantly display the symbols of supreme imperial power on its own bodies?

The answer was almost obvious, yet Liao Fan dared not think about it too deeply!
As if to confirm his most terrifying suspicion, a suppressed gasp came from beside him.

The retired Vice Minister of Revenue, who had just been discussing Zen and philosophy with him, was now staring intently at the dazzling gold in the distance. He was trembling uncontrollably, his face drained of color, his lips quivering, muttering to himself:
"Gilded armor... This is no ordinary army... This is no army that should exist in Nanjing. It is a ceremonial guard that only exists in the capital! It is the emperor's personal army! It is the emperor's personal army!"

This high-ranking official from Nanjing, who had spent his life navigating the treacherous waters of officialdom and had personally witnessed the emperor's arrival, used his knowledge to make the most authoritative judgment on the identity of this army.

The moment the retired official's tearful murmur ended, Liaofan's world suddenly lost all sound.

All the sounds that had just filled my ears seemed to be wiped away instantly by an invisible hand.

In an instant, the two sides of the passage revealed a scene even more suffocating than the slaughter that had just taken place.

All the soldiers, whether they were from the elite troops of the capital garrison, the ruthless Jinyiwei (Imperial Guards), or the personal guards representing the emperor's majesty, all lowered their weapons and their proud heads, standing solemnly on both sides of the passage.

Those eyes, which were just moments before filled with murderous intent and indifference, now held only absolute awe and fervor.

Time seemed to freeze at that moment; the wind stopped, the cries ceased, and even the monks' suppressed breathing seemed to disappear.

Only the sound of the first brother's footsteps remained.

The sound of a person's footsteps.

"Ta...ta...ta..."

Unhurried and steady, yet powerful.

The voice was soft, yet it clearly outpaced the heartbeats of everyone present.

Each step on the bluestone slabs felt like a drop of mercury slowly seeping into the deathly quiet courtyard, stirring up ripples of fear.

A figure appeared at the end of the passage.

The man was young and tall, dressed in an ordinary black casual outfit. His face was so handsome that it seemed otherworldly, but his eyes were so deep that they looked like they held the entire vast starry sky, or perhaps... an endless abyss capable of swallowing everything.

When he stepped into this ancient temple, steeped in the aura of iron and blood, his presence seemed heavier and more imposing than the combined presence of the nearly two thousand elite warriors around him!
Liao Fan's gaze was fixed on that young face.

He didn't need anyone to announce his arrival, nor did he need to see any dragon token. The moment that person appeared, all the power and majesty in the world seemed to find their source.

Zhu Youjian walked slowly, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

He seemed to be strolling leisurely in his own backyard, oblivious to everything around him.

Finally, he walked to the center of the open space in front of the main hall and stopped ten steps away from the steps.

Zhu Youjian did not immediately look at Abbot Liaofan on the steps.

His indifferent gaze slowly swept over the monks, who were being herded together by the soldiers like lambs to the slaughter, and the officials, gentry, and landlords, who were dressed in fine clothes but looked pale and slumped on the ground.

His eyes held no anger, no pity, no disgust—no emotion whatsoever.

Finally, Zhu Youjian's gaze shifted from the group of soulless bodies, slowly rising and crossing ten steps to land on Abbot Liaofan, who stood on the steps, his face deathly pale and his body swaying precariously.

Zhu Youjian just watched him quietly.

The entire Jiming Temple was deathly silent.

The armored vehicles and murderous aura below the mountain, and the Buddha and king on the mountain, together at this moment, formed a terrifying scene destined to be recorded in history!
(End of this chapter)