Chapter 38: Songpan Guard

Chapter 38: Songpan Wei

Despite it being the dead of night, the pre-dawn hours, the main thoroughfare of Songpan Wei still teemed with a bustling crowd, ablaze with light.

A battered, ramshackle SUV crept along the avenue, finally shuddering to a halt before the only bar in Songpan Wei.

Under countless covetous gazes, a few dull thuds of impact suddenly echoed from the crater-pocked cabin.

The twisted, deformed door of the driver's cab jerked a few times but refused to open; finally, with a clang, it was kicked clean off its hinges.

Upon seeing a young man in black, his spine ramrod straight, step out, the surrounding onlookers let out a collective sigh of inexplicable meaning, hurriedly averting their eyes.

The occasional greedy glance was likewise extinguished upon catching sight of the terrifying scars marring the vehicle's body, the thought of stirring up trouble instantly abandoned.

Li Jun swept his gaze around. This Songpan Wei, one might say, was less a city than a large market town.

Judging from what he had seen driving in, its area probably didn't differ much from the Jie'e District.

But the technology was more backward, the public order more chaotic, and there were many "local specialties" previously unheard of, unseen.

Under shop eaves, groups of Fan people sat cross-legged in rows, fingers forming mudras, eyes shut tight, meditating right there on the street, their expressions joyous and serene.

In the streets and alleys, practitioners walked barefoot turning prayer wheels, the sound of looping Sanskrit chants emanating from their bodies.

In shadowed corners, young men knelt devoutly with palms joined, letting others scrape open their scalps on the street without any surgical conditions, implanting two rows of brain-computer interfaces like monastic burn scars, completing their tonsure.

And here on the most prosperous main drag of Songpan Wei, it was all outsiders dressed similarly to Li Jun, indulging in sensual pleasures, drinking and making merry.

This cleaved tableau where desire and faith coexisted yet remained worlds apart delivered an intensely violent visual impact.

Li Jun took a deep breath, emptied his mind of strange thoughts, and looked up at the most primitive neon sign hanging above.

Qu Deng — in the Fan language, it meant "Floatu," a transliteration of Buddha.

Li Jun brushed a fingertip across his brow and strode inside.

At that very moment, the body of the black SUV shuddered violently; its long-suffering suspension finally gave out completely, a plume of black smoke wafting from under the hood, and embedded bullets clattered to the ground inside the chassis.

The commotion startled the shadowy figures creeping closer, sending them scattering in panic.

The instant Li Jun pushed open the bar door, his just-calmed brain was shocked anew by the scene within.

A cramped, dim space had been brutally packed with hundreds of people; every patron was pressed shoulder-to-shoulder.

Even this near-immobility could not stop them from venting their desires with the most primal movements.

The stench of bodies mingled with alcohol, constantly assaulting Li Jun's nerves.

Curled in the bar's corners were many figures of indeterminate life or death; thick data cables of unidentifiable original color dangled from the ceiling, plugged into the brain-computer interfaces at the backs of their necks.

Beside every cable hung a metering device, the jumping figures on them making Li Jun's eyelids twitch uncontrollably.

Li Jun waved away the choking smoke so thick it made breathing impossible, forcing his way through the crowd to the bar with great difficulty.

"Qingke barley, Baijiu, or Xiyi wheat spirits?"

Behind the bar stood a tall young man, the Western-cut suit on him impeccably crisp.

Li Jun drummed his knuckles on the counter. "Baijiu. The stronger, the better."

Eyeing that hand crusted with blood scabs, the bartender shrugged, producing an earthen jar and pushing it before Li Jun.

Li Jun broke the mud seal, pouring the slightly turbid liquor over his hands to wash away the blood; the pungent fumes finally allowed him to release his held breath, exchanging the air in his lungs.

The man watched Li Jun's movements, thoughtfully handing over a white cloth, and asked with a smile: "Which company does the gentleman serve, if I may ask?"

Li Jun wiped the residual liquor from his hands unhurriedly, not lifting his head. "Is it that obvious?"

"People not from big corps wouldn't waste good liquor washing their hands." The man shrugged, eyes scanning him up and down. "And that getup of yours... tsk tsk, expensive."

Li Jun smiled faintly, flipped his wrist, and pressed a card printed with "Rishengchang Bank" onto the counter.

"My boss is surnamed Gu. He asked me to deliver this gratitude fee to Boss Jin, Jin Lisheng."

Hearing this, the man's smile grew warmer. With blinding speed, he clamped a hand over the card; a slit opened in his palm, swallowing the bank note, then he fished out another jar from under the bar and set it before Li Jun.

"So you're Boss Gu's man — that makes you a distinguished guest! Er... what should I call you, brother?"

"Li Jun."

"Brother Li, then. That first jar you used to wash up — perfect. This one, rest assured, is authentic Mingjiu. Consider it my treat to welcome you."

Li Jun pushed the jar aside, his tone flat. "The drink can wait. Boss Jin, why don't we talk business first?"

"Of course, of course."

Jin Lisheng wasn't offended. He glanced left and right, lowering his voice. "That treasure Boss Gu wants — it's currently in the hands of the Bodhi Corporation."

"Bodhi..." Li Jun mused for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "A Buddhist company?"

"Brother Li, you guessed right. The big boss of Bodhi, Mu Cuo, is a lay disciple of the Tibetan Buddhist transmission lineage, a Bhikkhu of the Eight Precepts."

Jin Lisheng looked relieved. "Fortunately you arrived tonight, Brother Li. If you'd come a few hours later, come dawn, that imperial edict would be gone from Songpan Wei."

Li Jun started. "What do you mean?"

"Word came yesterday. Mu Cuo's guru ordered him to deliver the edict back to the White Dragon Temple tomorrow. That place lies outside the Shu region; aside from Buddhist personnel, no one dares enter."

Li Jun seized the crux of Jin Lisheng's words. "So it seems this deal can't be negotiated?"

"Can't be negotiated." Jin Lisheng shook his head, tone certain. "Mu Cuo absolutely dares not offend his guru. Otherwise, he'll never enter the White Dragon Temple's Huangliang Buddha Realm for the rest of his life, and the Hui Gen in his body will wither before long."

The core of the Buddhist-Daoist sequence is the Hui Gen.

This Hui Gen is not the capacity to perceive truth described in Buddhist scriptures, but a real artificial implant existing within the body of a Buddhist practitioner.

The Hui Gen is usually implanted at the brow, manifesting externally as a vermilion cinnabar mark.

Its function can be understood as a chip with identity verification — the sole key to entering the Huangliang Buddha Realm of its respective sect.

To lose the Hui Gen is to lose the possibility of further advancement.

This information Li Jun had seen in the Security Department's database. That was the perk of a big corporation; in the Paoge Society, he'd never have access to such things.

Jin Lisheng opened the jar of real liquor, pouring a full cup for Li Jun, whose face had darkened slightly, and smiled: "No need to worry. Just a small local outfit. In front of you, Brother, isn't it just a piece of cake?"

"Then I'll borrow Boss Jin's auspicious words."

Li Jun downed the cup in one go, rose cleanly, and walked out of the bar.

Three double-hours remained until dawn.