Living to Suffer Chapter 1
Living to Suffer - ch1
Translator: ayszhang
chapter 1
I
As he faded in and out of consciousness,
Shen Liangsheng caught the sound of rain hitting an umbrella. Showers in the summertime
were swift and heavy, and when the droplets. .h.i.t the canopy, they were like
booming war drums rousing him out of his dreamlike state.
The first thing
he saw after his eyes blinked open was the underside of an oil-paper umbrella
painted with yellow reeds. The art was realistic and conveyed the plant’s
submission to the elements.
He heard someone
saying, “This rain will not last long. It should be ceasing soon,” and
immediately tried to reach for his sword. Ch’in Ching, who was holding the
umbrella and watching him, noticed the man’s twitching fingers. He leaned in
closer.
There were no signs of human activity in
these deserted hills other than the two of them. The heavily wounded Shen
Liangsheng had come upon this abandoned shrine and attempted to enter in order
to escape the rain and tend to his injuries. Unfortunately, his body gave out before
he could do so, and he collapsed at the entrance.
The t’uti
shrine had long ago been abandoned and was so deteriorated the door had caved
in and was lying askew in the mud. Shen Liangsheng had tripped on it, fallen on
its wooden boards and lost consciousness for about half the time of a burned
incense stick.
The blood flow was
too profuse to be washed away by the rain. The scarlet seeped into the boards
and welled up again with the rainwater from the cracks in the wood. Rich and
fresh, it was not unlike a new coat of vermillion paint on the bottom of a
coffin.
Seeing this
pitiful man hovering between life and death, Ch’in Ching was hesitant but still
asked frankly, “What is your name? It’d be easier to erect a tombstone for you
if you die.”
While Ch’in
Ching was speaking, Shen Liangsheng was calling upon his core ch’i.
Every pathway in his body was in pain as though a thousand blades were grinding
against his insides, and he could not make a sound.
Receiving no
response, Ch’in Ching a.s.sumed that the man did not want to end his life here,
so he nodded and remarked, “Indeed, it is better to stay alive than not.”
Although he was in excruciating pain, Shen
Liangsheng did not want to pa.s.s out again, so he forced himself to stay
conscious and made eye contact with Ch’in Ching.
Ch’in Ching
looked back at the man and saw no signs that the man desired rescue, nor did he
find any pride or stubbornness. The man’s eyes were cold and still like icy
ponds reflecting his silhouette – half-bent, holding an umbrella with one hand
and scratching his head with the other, all while staring intently, almost
dumbly, back at the man.
Ch’in Ching
coughed and straightened his back wanting to recover his image as a dignified
and otherworldly figure, but even he himself wanted to laugh at the attempt,
which led him to cough once more before speaking in a serious tone. “I inspected
your pulse earlier. With the internal and external wounds, you are essentially
on your last breath, but worry not, I am not one to leave a patient in need.
Only if I were to move you…I’m afraid you might not survive the trip. What say you?”
As the hufa
of an esoteric sect, Shen Liangsheng had an extraordinary pulse and ch’i. He knew that his injuries were not
as severe as the man thought and that it actually would be difficult for him to
die even if he were to lie here and be rained on for another day and night, let
alone from being moved.
Shen Liangsheng
considered his choices. If he were to light his sect’s signal flare, there was
no telling whether it would attract friend or foe, so it would be best to save this
option for the direst of situations. At present, there was someone willing to
rescue him, so he was going to let the man do so. As for the man’s background
and the sincerity of his actions, he would have to wait and see.
Ch’in Ching
watched the man give the tiniest nod after some silence and took it as consent
to proceed. He then closed the umbrella and tucked it under his arm before
bending down in an attempt to lift the man. Unfortunately, Ch’in Ching was not
particularly skilled in martial arts, and the bit that he knew used techniques that
were highly dependent on agility and using the opponent’s force against him.
When it came to raw strength, he was not much different than someone with no
martial arts knowledge at all. He truly did not have it in him to carry a man close
to his own height while holding an umbrella under his arm at the same time, so
he heaved a sigh and abandoned the umbrella. Using the full strength of both
arms, he hoisted the man up. “Whew, that’s heavy.”
Eyes closed in a
resting state, Shen Liangsheng felt the man activate his ch’ingkung for the trip ahead
and thought to himself, what terrible technique. If this was a portrayal of the
man’s skills as a doctor, then he likely would have to cure himself. With that,
he stopped paying attention to the man and the b.u.mpy journey and began reciting
his own secret mantra to heal his wounded pathways.
The name of this
mantra was The Emptiness of the Five Skandhas.
Although the name had its origins in the Buddhist text,
the Heart Sūtra,
it was merely borrowed and the content had nothing to
do with the neikung
of the Buddhist sects.
The essence
of the mantra, however, was indeed emptiness. While activated, the ability
slowed the pract.i.tioner’s pulse to a near stop. It was written in the sect’s scriptures
that, at the highest level, one could sustain a state of feigned death for a
century with only the tiniest shred of ch’i
endlessly circulating within the body, and when revived, his power would be
multiplied a hundred times over, achieving invincibility.
The name Shen
Liangsheng may sound effeminate, but he was inexpressive and hard-hearted exactly
as its literal meaning suggested. He had remarkable inner strength that made
him exceptionally well-suited to practise this mantra. Although he had not
advanced since achieving the seventh stage, when he activated the ability his
pulse would become as slow and faint as that of a person seconds away from
death.
With no
knowledge of this, Ch’in Ching only noticed that the man in his arms was
breathing more and more softly. He accelerated his already rushed pace as despondency
began creeping in. Although they were total strangers, he had given his word to
save him, and because of that he could not simply watch the man die in his
arms.
Indeed, the summertime
shower did not last long. The rain gradually eased up, and the sun appeared in
the horizon. The forest, flecked with gold and reverberating with bird chirps
and frog croaks, contrasted starkly with the lack of life in Ch’in Ching’s
arms. He looked down at the man to find his face as pale as paper, lips drained
of colour. Yet, his expression was tranquil and devoid of pain.
Better that than
a painful one, Ch’in Ching thought. Man had to go through life suffering more
or less. That the man could die without awareness of death and be relieved of
any suffering was his fortune.
Ch’in Ching
looked up. His medicine hut was beyond another hill, and he doubted that the
man could last until then. His arms were sore, and he was having trouble carrying
the man’s weight. If he woke the man, he would only suffer, so Ch’in Ching made
a quick stop and shifted the man in his arms to get a better grip.
Shen Liangsheng
was meditating but still retained some awareness of his surroundings. Feeling
Ch’in Ching stop, he opened his eyes thinking they had arrived but only found
Ch’in Ching frowning at him. The next moment, however, Ch’in Ching pulled a
crooked smile after seeing Shen Liangsheng’s eyes.
“Only a little
bit more to go,” he soothed. “Are you sleepy? You can rest a while longer.”
In his
twenty-six years of life, the hufa
had never had anyone speak to him like a child. After only a moment, he noticed
the unpleasant emotions on his face and realized that the man most likely
thought he was on his last burst of energy before death. Under the shadowy
sunlight, he even spotted what looked like a tear streak stretching from the
corner of his eye down the cheek.
He decided to
reply, “My thanks.”
Shen-hufa was hardly a good man, yet amongst
the wicked he was a gentleman. Even when taking a life, he did not neglect
etiquette – leaving behind a polite “Pardon me” after cutting a hole through
someone – causing his fellow sect members to grind their teeth in frustration.
Hearing the
man’s grat.i.tude, Ch’in Ching cracked a wry smile, hoping that the man was not unintentionally
thanking him for preparing his funeral. He felt disheartened inside, but the
smile on his face only widened.
Shen Liangsheng
discontinued the healing process with the mantra because firstly, the pain had
subsided and secondly, haste makes waste. Since he was not in a rush, he calmly
began to study the man speeding along with him in his arms. He felt absolutely no
grat.i.tude. The world was filled with various types of goodness and beauty, and
also many kinds of evil and pain – ‘tis the natural way. Whether something was
good or evil was of no consequence to him, for he saw it all as he would the
sun and moon, or the gra.s.s and trees. He did not know what it meant to be moved.
“Hm?” After a
pot of tea’s time,
Ch’in Ching began to notice the man’s breathing had become steadier and deeper,
not typical of one who was breathing his last, and found it extraordinary. He
looked down with a smile, “It appears your time has not come.”
After extensive
observation, the only thing on Shen Liangsheng’s mind was that the man had not
cried. It was but a long scar, thread-thin and shallow, descending from the
corner of one eye like a tear streak. Only under careful examination did the
truth present itself.
A scar like this did not mar the face but rather
added a unique twist to the man’s otherwise unremarkable complexion.
Specifically when his lips curved upwards, the scar turned his face into a
smiling sob, or perhaps it was a sobbing smile.