Chapter 149: The Snake Spirit Woman

As the woman walked, her figure was accentuated under her black clothing, stirring the imagination. Her long, slender legs were far more striking than the middle-aged women Uncle Jianguo preferred.

Of course, everyone has their taste—maybe Uncle Jianguo liked older women.

For a moment, I felt an impulse to approach, offer some money, and ask her price. But my courage faltered, and I just stood at the doorway, watching her pass.

The dim yellow corridor light only added to her allure.

Her eyes were clearly meant to ensnare men.

Her face seemed familiar—a sharp, pointed chin. Then it hit me: she looked like the snake spirit from The Calabash Brothers! But fuller, more voluptuous, and somewhat resembling a certain Japanese actress.

I thought she’d pass by me, but she opened a room a few meters away. A bony hand reached out, yanking her inside. I caught a glimpse of her rounded hips and quickly averted my eyes.

In that final moment, she seemed to glance at me, intentionally or not, unsettling my nerves.

Thankfully, when I returned, Uncle Jianguo had finished his “battle,” and the woman had moved on to her next client.

The sounds of footsteps in the corridor took a while to quiet down.

…

By noon the next day, we arrived at Famen Temple.

Famen Temple is a renowned temple, a true ancient marvel.

After Shakyamuni Buddha’s passing, his cremated remains formed relics. In the 3rd century BCE, Emperor Ashoka unified India and, to spread Buddhism, divided the Buddha’s relics into 84,000 portions, distributing them worldwide for enshrinement in stupas. China received nineteen, with Famen Temple as the fifth site. During the Hengling period, a stupa was built for the relics, and the temple—originally named Ashoka Temple—was established around it.

It has endured for over a millennium.

The story of the Buddha’s finger bone relic involves the great writer Han Yu.

Han Yu once opposed Emperor Xianzong of Tang’s lavish efforts to transport the Buddha’s bone to Chang’an, writing the Memorial on the Buddha’s Bone. This angered the emperor, leading to Han Yu’s demotion. On his way to exile, he wrote a poignant poem, Demoted to Lan Pass, Shown to My Nephew Xiang: “One morning’s memorial to the emperor, by evening I’m banished to Chaozhou, eight thousand miles away. I wished to rid the dynasty of harm, not cling to my waning years! Clouds block the Qin Mountains—where is my home? Snow seals Lan Pass—my horse cannot move. You’ve come from afar with purpose, so gather my bones by the miasmic river.”

Han Yu’s opposition to the emperor’s obsession with the relic was a minister’s loyalty. Yet, Buddhism’s secular significance cannot be ignored.

But Famen Temple’s modern setup nearly floored me.

It comprises five parts: the True Body Pagoda, the Pagoda’s Underground Palace, the Famen Temple Museum, the He Shi Relic Pagoda, and the Buddha Light Avenue. According to Jie Se, the temple was set to establish a Buddhist academy, and the National Religious Affairs Bureau might soon allow undergraduate admissions, possibly even three-year graduate programs.

I’d imagined Famen Temple as a rundown shrine in a mountain nook, with three monks bickering over trivialities and an old abbot. Instead, Buddha Light Avenue stretched 1,230 meters, and the He Shi Relic Pagoda, costing billions of RMB, covered an astonishing area.

It was practically a tourist hotspot. The tickets weren’t cheap either.

They say monks are rich—I believe it now.

Jie Se’s first task upon returning to Famen Temple was to report to the managing monk. The senior monks were also set to evaluate his months of study.

“Tonight, I’ll come see how you do,” I said, noticing Jie Se’s face pale. He’d been reading the Diamond Sutra the whole way, clearly nervous about the evaluation.

Jie Se flushed. “Forget it. I’d rather not embarrass myself.”

He left with a monk handling temple affairs.

Hua Chongyang still wore his Qing dynasty robe, complete with a braid.

Hammer Master devised a plan: drape Hua Chongyang in a large cloak and have two people carry a camera, claiming we were the crew for My Date with a Zombie Lord scouting locations.

Despite the chilly wind, many devotees came to worship.

I spotted the snake spirit woman in the temple.

She was more reserved, dressed modestly, but her seductive eyes roamed freely. Even the stoic monks showed signs of restlessness.

With rising monk incomes, many worked at the temple by day and returned to their wives at night, well-versed in worldly pleasures. Several monks stole glances at her, as if nailed in place.

She came alone, and two monks approached to explain the temple’s history. “Is this your first time at Famen Temple, benefactress? Allow this humble monk to share its origins.”

“Yes, isn’t the Buddha here very powerful? I came to pray for a good husband,” she replied, leading them to a quieter area.

After a few rounds through the temple, it felt less sacred. The museum, Buddha Light Avenue, and food stalls made it feel like a theme park. Besides sightseeing, I discreetly searched for Xie Lingyu.

Had she already come here? Had the other-shore flower bloomed?

Or had it bloomed, and she’d taken it to the River Styx?

Perhaps fate decreed we’d miss each other, yet also meet. When Jie Se returned, I’d ask him to help me find the Buddha’s bone, the white other-shore flower, and Xie Lingyu.

Uncle Jianguo walked oddly today, pausing often to rest. “If you don’t do good deeds or accumulate merit, what’s the point of coming to worship? Even if the Buddha’s finger bone or Shakyamuni himself were here, it’d be useless. Master Xiao, I’m tired. Let’s head back.”

As he spoke, two older women glared and scolded him, pointing at his nose. “If your heart’s not sincere, why come? Buddha, forgive him! Repent now!”

Uncle Jianguo had no choice but to comply meticulously, satisfying the women.

I shook my head. “Those aunties are fierce.”

Hua Chongyang surveyed the sprawling complex. “This place was in ruins before, with a dozen monks growing their own food. Now they’re all about business and recruiting students. Each generation’s worse than the last. This lord is heartbroken. The world’s morals have decayed.”

“Your outfit’s so cool! Can we take a picture?” two tourists asked, intrigued by Hua Chongyang.

He eyed their charm. “Fine, this lord will make an exception. Come closer.” He flashed a toothy grin and made a peace sign.

By day’s end, tourists were thrilled to learn a zombie movie crew was filming. I jokingly said, “This is Hong Kong star Zhu Dehua. You can take photos, but don’t post on Weibo.”

The tourists nodded.

Hua Chongyang relished the attention. “No Weibo. Right, no Weibo.”

The snake spirit woman, after speaking with a monk, approached. “Can I… take a picture with you?” Hua Chongyang glanced at her. Though she was dressed conservatively, his Adam’s apple bobbed. Two older women pushed her aside, one tumbling meters away. “Come, miss, closer,” they said.

She leaned into Hua Chongyang, who rested his hand on her waist, nearly sliding lower to her rounded hips.

After the photo, she thanked him repeatedly, giving him three lingering, flirtatious glances. Hua Chongyang grinned smugly.

Later, he exclaimed, “Oh no, women are tigers! Getting too close might leave this lord’s bones picked clean.”

Soon, guest-receiving monks sought Hua Chongyang. Jie Se had mentioned his great-grandfather’s arrival, and the Hua family, major donors to the temple’s reconstruction, sent new robes and computers (even with Kuaibo installed) yearly. The monks praised the Hua family, chanting that the Buddha would bless them.

The guest monks, essentially the temple’s PR, welcomed us as VIPs. Uncle Jianguo and I benefited, ushered into a private guest lounge. Soon, young monks brought tea and delicate pastries.

That evening, Jie Se joined Hua Chongyang for a vegetarian meal. Without dog meat, Hua Chongyang eyed Xiao Jian after each bite of steamed bun.

Jie Se, anxious, said, “Tonight’s evaluation includes several senior monks, even one from Shaolin Temple, listening to my lecture.”

Jie Se had spent months at Guiyuan Temple’s training program, entangled with Zhongli in who-knows-what. His fear was natural—lacking substance, he was understandably worried.

I’d thought being a monk just meant chanting sutras, not this kind of scrutiny.

Being a monk isn’t easy, it seems.

“Xiao Qi, don’t come. I don’t want to worry about embarrassing myself,” Jie Se said tentatively. As a kid, I’d dreaded reciting poems in front of familiar faces, fearing years of ridicule. Jie Se likely felt the same.

I whispered, “I have a way to get you through tonight’s ordeal. But you need to help me find where the white other-shore flower grows.”

Jie Se’s face lit up. “I’ll definitely help. I’ll ask my master what the white other-shore flower tied to the Buddha’s bone means. Tell me, what’s the plan for tonight?”

I explained my idea.

Jie Se looked skeptical. “Will that work?”

“It will.”

He gritted his teeth. “Alright.”

When it was time for his report, Uncle Jianguo was too tired to care, needing rest. Hua Chongyang wanted to wander, maybe catch a wild dog to eat. Xie Xiaoyu, being female, and Xiao Jian, a dog, couldn’t come along.

I asked Uncle Jianguo to watch Xie Xiaoyu and take her out if the moon rose. Jie Se and I left. A cold wind made Jie Se shiver.

“Xiao Qi, is your plan really going to work?”