His daily routine was to go to the tomb to offer incense.
The tomb is in the backyard of the monastery, and a wooden sign was erected in a less conspicuous corner. On the wooden sign, the word "Waste Sword" was carefully written.
He burned a few sticks of incense and wished, "Don't ask about the past. Where there are grievances, there are grievances. When there are grievances, there are grievances. Let them be dispersed, Amitabha."
I don't know how many swords were buried in this abandoned sword tomb. He picked them up from outside and buried them in the backyard.
Some swords were hidden in the grass on the roadside, stained with blood. I don’t know how much blood they have been fed, and I don’t know if their owners have wandered into the underworld.
Most of the swords were picked up on nearby battlefields.
There have been frequent wars in these years. The Jin people and the Liao people fought fiercely for several times. The Liao people were defeated and their country was subjugated. The corpses left on the battlefield were either eaten by wild birds and beasts or decayed. Only the weapons remained. Standing, quietly waiting to rust.
Of course, the good weapons were taken away.
The inferior ones are collected as scrap metal, rebuilt, and reincarnated into the human world.
The loneliest thing that no one wanted was buried in the Tomb of Wasted Swords.
He chants Buddha's name in front of the tomb every day, intending to dissolve the resentment on the weapons, so that the weapons will forget the fighting and bloodshed in the past, and gradually rust in the soil...
He does this because he knows them so well.
After he finished chanting sutras in front of the tomb every day, he returned to the hall to meditate and recite sutras.
He hopes to live the rest of his life like this.
Sitting in the dimly lit lobby, the light from the door dragged the shadow onto the Buddhist altar. As the shadow moved slowly, he knew that it was almost noon.
At this moment, he found that his shadow was drowned by another shadow.
somebody is coming.
And the person who came was not a monk, because he smelled a faint murderous aura.
"Is this the mirror-washing monk?" The visitor's voice was elegant and seemed to be very well-educated, and he asked casually.
"Amitabha," since the visitor asked, Xi Jing could not help but answer, "I am a poor monk. What is the matter with the donor?"
"Haha," the visitor chuckled, "I came here to find someone."
"There are only a poor monk and two old monks here. Who are you looking for?"
"No, I'm not looking for a monk."
"There are only monks in this stone nunnery."
"No, no," the visitor squinted one eye and smiled, then sat down in front of the mirror, "I brought two things."
"Donor..." Xi Jing asked, "I don't know your surname?"
"Xia Zisu."
"Purple Donor."
"No, no, my surname is not Zi, my name is Zi Su. Zi Su is neither a surname nor a given name, it is me, so call me Zi Su."
"Perilla Donor."
Zi Su took off the baggage on his back and said, "I brought two things, especially for you."
"The donor and the poor monk met by chance..." Xi Jing was a little confused.
"You'll understand when you see it." Zi Su untied the baggage and showed two weapons, one was a sword, and the other was curved like a sword and a knife. I don't know what it was.
Whatever it is, they're quiet.
Now Xi Jing was confused. Since these two weapons were very quiet, where did the murderous aura come from?
Zi Su picked up the sword, turned the sword around, and said, "Please comment on this sword. This sword doesn't look like a sword."
When Xijing saw the sword, his heart was still very calm, without any ups and downs: "A sword is a sword. I don't understand what the donor said."
"This sword deceives."
Wash the mirror without talking, try your best to keep your mind as still as water and as level as a mirror.
He didn't want his years of cultivation to be shattered by a sword.
But he could naturally feel that this sword was peaceful and without any smell of blood, so he asked: "Has this sword been fed with blood?" This meant that it had been used to kill enemies.
Zi Su said: "This sword has never been stained with blood."
This sword is so peaceful.
Xi Jing has never seen such a peaceful sword. It exudes the aura of the presence of an old god, as calm and calm as a senior monk, and looks indifferent to the world.
Xi Jing finally couldn't hold back anymore and stretched out his right hand to caress the sword.
The sword suddenly became like a wary dog.
The sword suddenly trembled, flew up suddenly, and scratched Xi Jing's palm.
Xi Jing was surprised when he realized that he actually wanted to touch the sword. Feeling ashamed, he hurriedly said: "Amitabha."
Washing the mirror's palms didn't bleed much because they were covered with thick calluses.
Zi Su smiled and said: "Look, I said it would be deceiving."
Washing the mirror and pressing the wound, he closed his eyes slightly and said, "The donor is not bad either."
"No, it's different, it's different," Zisu said with a smile, "I'm cheating openly, he's cheating secretly."
Several rolls of incense were hung in the lobby. After the incense burned, a section of incense ashes fell down. The mirror-washer reached out to pick up a section of incense ashes, and then applied a handful of it on the wound.
Xi Jing tried his best to maintain calm, but a great uneasiness surged in his heart: "Could it be that this person brought the sword because..."
"The enlightened will not deceive the dark room," Zi Su raised his hand and said, "I, Zi Su, am a disciple of the Wu Sheng sect."
"No life?"
"Yes."
"But one of the Four Wonderful People?"
"Yes."
Among the four great wonders, "Dong Wusheng" is the so-called "omniscient Wusheng".
Since Wu Sheng knows everything, he must know who he is.
Xi Jing shook his head and sighed: "If you don't go to the Three Treasures Hall for anything, I think the master will know about me..."
"Junior, I would like to apologize here," Zi Su lowered his head, "Monk Xi Jing is the Duke Tie Lang who disappeared from the world eighteen years ago. He is also the son of the famous swordsmith Hua Laizi decades ago. ."
Sure enough, he knew it, so he squinted his eyes and said, "These are all names from the past."
"What this junior is looking for is Mr. Iron Lang."
"Tie Langgong died long ago."
Zisu ignored his Zen words and said: "Master said that this sword is too stubborn and no one can tame it. Only people like Tie Langgong who know swords can tame it."
"Tie Langgong..." Xi Jing seemed to be talking about a completely unrelated name, "It was the nickname Tie Langgong imposed on him by the world, and it didn't exist in the first place."
"No need to say more, this is the master's order. As long as the junior gives the sword to the senior, he can go back and explain."
"But……"
"This junior has another sword, which I will give to senior Tie Langgong."
It turned out that the curved weapon was a knife.
Zi Su put the knife in front of the washing mirror: "This knife comes from Dongyi, and it is the Japanese sword of the Japanese."
Xi Jing glanced at the Japanese sword silently. He had heard of such a sword for a long time, but this was the first time he saw it.
Merchant ships often traveled to Japan between the Tang and Song dynasties, and Japanese swords were among the commodities. Ouyang Xiu, one of the Eight Great Masters of the Tang and Song dynasties, even wrote a song called "Japanese Sword Song."
Japanese swords are made by repeated folding. After the blade is folded, it is folded, and then folded again. Each time it is folded, the level increases by a geometric progression of two (2n, n = number of folds), so The more times it is repeated, the harder the blade becomes, less likely to break, and extremely sharp.
From this calculation, it only needs to be folded and beaten ten times to create "thousand-layer steel".
Once this kind of knife sees blood, it will burst out with a murderous aura.
Xi Jing really didn't understand why Wu Sheng gave him such a sword. He was already a monk, and swords were no longer his business.
What's more, even if he was Iron Lang Gong back then, he was just a swordsmith, not a swordsman or a swordsman, and he didn't play with weapons.
However, he has always known swordsmanship.
When each sword came into his hands, he knew its character, so he knew that the swords on the battlefield were very sad, so he buried them in one place, hoping to save them through the power of Buddha.
Wu Sheng asked him to "tame" the sword and gave him another sword. I don't know why?
But there was one thing he was sure of.
He had always been certain.
So he told Zisu: "The sword can't lie, never."
He believed in the sword.
After Zi Su left, Xi Jing placed a sword in front of him and chanted sutras towards the Buddha statue.
He hoped that the weapon could understand his intentions, wash away his anger, and seek peace in the sound of chanting sutras.
Because he has been there, he understands how painful and unsettling it is to leave the violent energy in the body. As long as he thinks back to those years, every inch of his body will feel ashamed, and he wants to stay away from the crowd. .
The past events came up involuntarily, like ink dripping into clear water, quickly coloring his thoughts.
It's the father...the father known as Wallaizi.
Hua Laizi is an expert in making swords. He gives each sword an amazing life, and each sword is a priceless and extraordinary artifact.
When he found that his sword could no longer be used as a new sword, he killed his own son and had his son forged into a sword.
