Chapter 137: To Break This Curse, Cao Must Be Released

Two young novice nuns pleaded repeatedly, and Ye Chang scratched his head in mild embarrassment, finally deciding to go and take a look. As long as he could bring out the two female priests who had been caught up earlier without exposing the misunderstanding, he thought there would be no resentment.

Reluctantly, he said to Jia Maor, “I’m bound to get fat.”

“Why do you say that, Eleventh Lang?”

“Because I break my promises and get fat. Just now I told you not to steal the work of monks and Taoist priests, but now I’m running off myself...”

“That’s because Eleventh Lang is kind-hearted. It’s rare that he refuses others’ requests.”

“I feel I’m actually quite selfish...” Ye Chang muttered.

As they grumbled quietly, the two crossed the door that the noble sons of Luoyang had just rushed out from.

Inside, the atmosphere was strange. Several monks peeked in nervously, their expressions peculiar.

Beyond the door, the two female priests were there, unharmed, but their faces were pale. Supporting each other, they seemed weak in the limbs, barely able to walk.

Looking further in, it was just an ordinary Buddhist hall, nothing unusual.

Ye Chang frowned. “There’s no such thing as ghosts or demons. It’s broad daylight, inside a temple. If there were any spirits, they would have long been dispelled.”

At his words, the monks with strange expressions grew even stranger, and those who had been following Ye Chang turned around and left.

The two female priests, however, seemed to gather some strength, supporting each other as they passed by him. The one called Lady Li did not forget to turn back and say, “Be careful.”

Ye Chang followed behind them and withdrew. Since the two female priests were unharmed, there was no need for him to attract attention.

No sooner had he stepped out than a furious shout rang from inside.

The voice was familiar—it was Shan Zhi scolding someone. Ye Chang’s heart jumped: trouble had come knocking, and there was no way to avoid it.

Jia Maor, though a bit nervous inside, couldn’t help but laugh. “Eleventh Lang, it seems we can’t escape this.”

“Let’s go see...” Ye Chang said weakly, “Ah, everyone is just a troublemaker.”

Before he could step back in, Shan Zhi came out, supporting a monk who staggered along. Even this bold and reckless monk looked panic-stricken, eyes full of fear.

Ye Chang’s brow twitched again.

If even the monks were scared enough to retreat... could there really be ghosts or demons?

“Oh dear, Eleventh Lang, Ye Patron, you’re here! That’s wonderful, wonderful! With you here, surely we can suppress that evil spirit.”

Seeing Ye Chang, Shan Zhi pushed him forward without waiting for a response.

“Wait a minute! I have neither fists nor bravery. You expect me to fight a demon like this?” Ye Chang was both annoyed and amused. “Monk, aren’t you setting me up?”

Jia Maor looked worried as well. He had witnessed Shan Zhi’s strength firsthand; no fewer than seven or eight soldiers would find him hard to handle. Yet now, even the monk looked so miserable... the demon must be unfathomably powerful.

“Eleventh Lang, you are protected by the immortals. You can certainly suppress demons and evil spirits. The skills I learned, however, are useless against such beings...” the monk protested.

“You cowardly monk! Let go of me! Let me go!”

The monk pushed Ye Chang forward. Ye Chang, unwilling to get involved, struggled desperately but could not break free from the monk’s strength. He flailed his arms and legs, shouting.

The two female priests, now seeing more people around, stopped their trembling and weak steps. They turned back just in time to see this scene. Lady Li looked surprised at her companion. “What’s going on? Why is that wicked monk pushing someone to their death?”

“Do you remember the young man’s expression just now?” her companion, Lady Cai, whispered.

Lady Li suddenly recalled that when they passed each other earlier, she had warned him to be careful, yet he looked very calm, as if he did not believe there were any demons in the temple.

“That’s really strange. Could this young man be some kind of supernatural? But why does he show no sign of ability in front of that wicked monk?”

Lady Li was greatly surprised, and her fear momentarily lessened. Though they still kept their distance, they could finally stand firm instead of focusing only on escape.

Ye Chang was pushed into the Buddhist hall by the monk. Inside, the curtains fluttered, the candle flames flickered uncertainly. In the shadowy corners, statues of arhat, divine generals, and flying deities all bowed their heads toward him. An invisible pressure enveloped him, inspiring awe.

But this awe did not turn into fear. He looked around. The meditation cushions and divine cabinets were in disorder. Fruit that had been offered was scattered on the floor, and a porcelain item lay broken.

“There’s nothing here,” Ye Chang said, glancing at Shan Zhi. “What exactly are you afraid of?”

Shan Zhi shrank behind him, as if trying to hide his large frame. At a loss for words, he just pointed randomly with his finger. Ye Chang remembered when they first met, Shan Zhi had mistaken him for a mountain troll, almost falling off the mountain in fright. It was clear that though the monk was brave, he was terrified of demons and ghosts.

Probably he had grown up in the temple, often scared by his masters with tales of spirits.

“There’s nothing wrong here. Why get so scared? You even dared to ask the Buddha and Bodhisattvas on the spiritual altar to move their seats, but now you’re afraid of some stray spirits?”

“Where?” the monk peered from behind him.

“Where exactly? Tell me,” Ye Chang said, both amused and annoyed. “I haven’t seen any demon.”

“On the wall, on the wall.”

Following the monk’s gesture, Ye Chang looked at the wall.

There was nothing unusual—just some musical instruments. Monks always played music during ceremonies: cymbals, gongs, bells, and a large wooden fish.

“There’s nothing here,” Ye Chang remarked.

Shan Zhi cautiously looked again, seeing nothing moving. Relieved, he said, “As expected, Eleventh Lang, you are protected by the immortals and can naturally suppress the evil spirit...”

Before he finished, the distant temple bell rang again, drowning out his voice. The bronze bell hanging on the wall suddenly buzzed.

Ye Chang was indifferent, but Shan Zhi’s face changed drastically. “Ah, it’s coming again!”

Ye Chang’s eyes fell on the bronze bell and he suddenly wanted to laugh.

So that’s what it was—the so-called demon and evil spirit were nothing more than this.

“Eleventh Lang, catch it, get rid of it!” the monk urged anxiously.

In his panic, the monk even mispronounced “Lang” as “Langren.” Ye Chang gave him a sharp look, smiled, and pulled him out of the hall.

So that was the matter...

For a moment, Ye Chang was in a daze. He understood the cause and effect perfectly, but should he intervene?

It would be easy to deal with this so-called demon, but if he did, wouldn’t he be stealing someone else’s job?

“Eleventh Lang, you can handle that thing, right?” The monk’s courage returned once outside.

“Which master is in charge of this Buddhist hall?” Ye Chang asked without answering.

“My senior brother Shan Hui.” Shan Zhi looked toward a monk in the distance and called out, “Senior Brother Shan Hui! Senior Brother Shan Hui! This Ye Patron can deal with this evil!”

The monk, who looked to be over fifty, glanced at Ye Chang and folded his hands in a Buddhist greeting. “Amitabha. Shan Zhi, don’t talk nonsense. This young man can’t do it.”

“Why don’t you trust me?” Shan Zhi was angry.

“I once hired a Taoist for one hundred thousand coins to try everything to suppress it, but to no avail,” Shan Hui said apologetically to Ye Chang. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, young man, but this evil is too strong. The Taoist failed and even died suddenly.”

Ye Chang saw the monk’s haggard appearance. Clearly, the bell’s influence seriously affected his health. Yet the monk’s heart was kind; he did not want to push a dead horse to treat a living one by forcing Ye Chang to face the “evil spirit.”

Since that was the case, Ye Chang would give him a push.

“You underestimate me, Master.” Ye Chang bowed to Shan Hui. “I do have a way to suppress this evil...”

“Really?” Shan Hui’s face lit up. “Young man, forgive me. I really fear it...”

“The method is troublesome. I cannot perform it myself. Someone else must be invited—though I don’t know if the master can call him here.”

“Who?”

“He is surnamed Cao, named Shaokui... an expert in music theory. To banish this evil, all we need is to invite him.”

“Ah?” Shan Hui was stunned. “It’s him... but I haven’t heard that he has magical arts to banish evil spirits.”

“You know him?”

“I’m somewhat acquainted with him. He once served as the Chief of the Imperial Music Bureau, now resting in Luoyang. If it’s really him, we can invite him quickly.”

As their conversation unfolded, Lady Li and Lady Cai listened carefully. Hearing that one man could lift this curse, they exchanged a glance filled with excitement and curiosity.

They were young and full of curiosity. Not only them, but the noble sons of Luoyang who had come to observe began whispering among themselves.

Being scared away by that evil was their humiliation. Two of them had even fled in terror and gone to change clothes. If someone could banish this evil spirit, it would be a great relief.

Someone then interrupted: “Master Shan Hui, this is sacred Buddhist ground. How can evil spirits linger? Quickly invite that Cao Taiyue. We are all here, eagerly awaiting his skills.”

Shan Hui hesitated. Shan Zhi could no longer bear it. “Senior Brother, you know I never lie. Do you know who this is? This is Ye Chang from Xiuwu, Eleventh Lang. In his hometown, he once invited a Bodhisattva to judge a case.”

“Ah, so this is the Ye Eleventh Lang the abbot of Shifang Temple mentioned. My apologies.”

Since Shifang Temple’s revival, the abbot Chunxin and some old Buddhist friends resumed correspondence, greatly exaggerating the manifestation of Weituo’s divine power. The Bodhisattva’s judgment affair was made to sound miraculous. Though Shan Hui was well-placed in Dafuxian Temple and not close with Chunxin, he had heard of it.

Without further hesitation, he summoned a novice monk to quickly invite Cao Shaokui.

While waiting, Shan Hui did not want to be rude. He invited everyone to sit and have tea. Not only Ye Chang, but also the noble sons of Luoyang and the two female priests were brought meditation cushions.

Ye Chang did not like tea with oil, salt, and seasoning. Smiling, he said to Wuguli, “Bring the tea from my luggage.”

“My tea is from Shu, a famous kind. How dare I let Lord Ye use my tea?”

“You don’t understand, Master. I dislike outside teas. I made some myself. All I need is the temple’s spring water and tea utensils.”

“Indeed, Senior Brother, you need not be polite. I have an unusual relationship with Lord Ye and need not treat him formally,” Shan Zhi called out. “Lord Ye may lack in some things, but his taste is the best today.”

“Best today?” Among the noble sons of Luoyang, someone glanced at Ye Chang, then clapped suddenly. “Ye Eleventh... Ye Chang of Xiuwu, the one who wrote ‘Only Love the Beautiful Carp’ at Fengling Ferry and was rewarded with gold by the emperor to return home?”

They were descendants of Luoyang’s powerful families, well-informed of Chang’an’s news.

Ye Chang bowed slightly. “A humble name unworthy of your respect.”

The noble sons returned the greeting. Ye Chang’s reputation was already well-known; no one dared treat him as a commoner. Yet he noticed their gazes held some caution, and in some, a hint of relief.

Perhaps they were glad not to show off before Ladies Li and Cai and rushed to undermine Ye Chang instead. After all, besides his reputation for poetry and wisdom, he also had a notorious reputation for being vindictive and difficult to deal with.

Ye Chang did not come to Luoyang to insult or trample others. On the contrary, if he wanted to establish a comprehensive commercial and entertainment venue in the city, he needed these gentlemen.

When the tea arrived, he brewed it himself and shared his tea and method with everyone.

Compared to the cumbersome traditional way, Ye Chang’s method was simple—just a bit more refined than gulping it down. The tea, from the hot springs valley of Mount Fugu, was carefully made under his guidance with the Taoist of Yaowang Temple, far superior to old tea bricks or tea powder.

A sip refreshed the noble sons, who had been frightened, as if their scattered souls returned to their bodies. They were amazed and praised the tea.

The two female priests, initially reluctant to use the temple’s tea vessels, were now drawn in by the fragrance. They cleaned their cups and asked Ye Chang to brew some for them too.

As they sipped, a noble son could not help but ask, “Eleventh Lang, your tea—where does it come from? Such a marvelous thing. After drinking today, how can we ever drink the old tea again?”

Others murmured in agreement. Not everyone truly favored the tea, but young people gathering often feign refinement for fun.

Hearing this question pleased Ye Chang, and he smiled.