Chapter Twenty-Five: Jian Keng

Time flew by like a shuttle, swift as the wind, and in the blink of an eye, three months had passed.

A mass of clouds floated above the southern sea, heavy and imposing, dark clouds pressing down upon the heavens. Along their edges, countless silver serpents flickered and flashed, thunder rolling in waves.

Deep within this cloud cluster lay a solitary floating island, vast and desolate, suspended at the eternal heart of the cloud miasma. No light from sun, moon, or stars had ever penetrated its darkness; the island resembled a grain of sand sunk into the depths of a thousand fathoms, immersed in shadow, doomed never to see daylight.

Only the occasional glimmer of silver within the clouds brought fleeting moments of light, but they lasted no more than an instant before returning to perpetual night.

The floating island was large, shaped like an egg. At its center was a ring of mountains, massive as a yolk, their steep walls piercing the clouds—sheer cliffs sharp as blades, unscalable by apes, unreachable by birds. The ring sank deep within, offering no trace of light, only endless gloom. Around its edge wound a narrow path, spiraling up and down the steep walls, stretching to the very bottom.

Even the most ferocious beasts of the floating island dared not approach this place, only howling from afar, their mournful cries echoing endlessly.

Out of the boundless darkness, a small black dot appeared, gradually drawing near. It was, in fact, a massive cloud barque, its sails scarred and blackened by lightning, smoke billowing from its hull as it crept toward the ringed mountain.

Unlike other cloud vessels, this one was spindle-shaped, encased in thick armor. Its sails were much smaller, but far more numerous, densely arrayed along its wings like the spikes of a wolf’s mace.

As the barque passed, creatures emerged from the forest below, from cracks in the stone, from burial pits, even crawling up from the mud—wet, sticky beings raising their hands skyward, clawing desperately and howling like beasts.

These creatures, it was said, were called “Corpses,” descendants of the ancient drought demon, thriving upon this floating island.

The cloud barque struggled toward the mountains, circling widely before suspending itself at a shallow breach. Slowly, it descended, its wooden legs settling firmly onto a platform a hundred yards across.

Behind the platform began the spiral path, now visible as a road several yards wide, though from the sky it appeared no more than a faint streak.

White smoke billowed from gaps in the sails, the sides of the vessel parted, and a long ladder extended outward. Then a large, bald head poked out, and, with remarkable speed, squeezed through the hatch, landing upon the platform and joining his palms in greeting: “Daoist Jian Keng, humble monk pays his respects.”

(Jian Keng, pronounced “Jian Keng,” birth name Silent, alias Illustrious, also known as “Peng Zu.”)

The fat monk was extraordinarily corpulent, his face white and gleaming, his bald head crowded with folds, yet he moved with surprising agility—albeit somewhat noisily and comically.

His greeting was directed toward a lone figure already waiting atop the platform.

That man stood solitary, gaunt yet long-limbed, standing eight feet tall. Two thick brows, dark as ink, and a chiseled jaw made his blue-tinged stubble especially conspicuous.

Several yards behind him loomed a mechanical beast—dragon-headed, tiger-bodied, immense in size. Its belly was fitted with copper and iron bars, sturdy and secure, standing at the edge like a mountain.

The man stood there casually, clad in simple linen, bearing an ordinary sword at his side, even his straw sandals were worn through, his collar frayed. Yet his mere presence halted the howling mountain winds before the platform, barring their advance.

Jian Keng did not look at him, only squinting slightly, saying, “I have waited half a stick of incense for you.”

The fat monk recited a Buddhist chant, bowing with a sheepish smile: “I encountered a blood cloud on the way, was delayed a little, truly ashamed.”

Jian Keng replied coldly, “No need for shame, so long as you are worth my wait. How many today?”

“This time I bring twenty-six monsters, all of exceptional wit, ready to be led down at once.” The monk paused, then smiled apologetically. “But since you are alone, perhaps you should bring the Bi’an mechanical beast over first, so my men can lock them inside and spare you the trouble.”

(Bi’an, pronounced “Bi’an,” is one of the nine sons of the dragon, guardian of prisons, also a symbol of incarceration.)

Jian Keng sneered, “Do you presume to instruct me in my methods?”

“Never, never! If you think it unnecessary, I’ll have them led down at once.”

The monk shouted, and a clatter arose from the barque. One by one, monks emerged from the hold, each leading several chains. The chains dragged forth small monsters, each with an iron collar tight around its neck, spikes biting into flesh. As the chains pulled, the monsters' faces twisted in pain, but none dared struggle—they followed obediently.

Among them were wolves, tigers, leopards, fish, birds, insects, and snakes, all fierce in their own right. Jian Keng’s expression softened, but at last, when a particularly scrawny creature was brought forward, his face darkened: “Such a skinny monster, what use is it? Ma Shou, you’re being perfunctory.”

“Please don’t be angry, Daoist. I myself objected, but my nephew insisted, claiming this little monster, though unimpressive, is clever and cunning, fitting your requirements.” As he spoke, the fat monk Ma Shou called out, “Gui Qu, come quickly and explain yourself to the Daoist.”

Gui Qu immediately led the monkey down, bowing: “Greetings, Daoist Jian Keng. As my uncle said, I vouch for this monster—there is a reason…”

Gui Qu explained the matter in detail. Jian Keng’s gaze swept over the monkey, cold and appraising, then said, “Very well, I’ll accept it.”

Ma Shou’s face rippled with fat as he thanked him profusely, while Gui Qu crouched before the monkey and spoke softly, “Six Ugly, just as I told you—this is your chance to ascend to immortality, I did not deceive you.”

Six Ugly, the monkey, looked at him, his expression no longer stubborn as when first captured, yet he remained silent.

Gui Qu paused, then continued, “Remember, survival here depends on two things: first, obedience—Daoist Jian Keng is merciless, disobedience means death; second, the strong live, the weak die—this is the unchanging truth here. To live, you must be stronger and fiercer than others. Never forget.”

Six Ugly kept silent, but his eyes flickered, as if understanding.

Gui Qu, having escorted Six Ugly all the way, knew well the creature’s nature—stubborn yet shrewd, though only a first-rank monster, harder to fathom than most. Had he not personally guarded him, the monkey would have escaped a hundred times over.

Jian Keng finished counting the monsters, nodded, and said, “The numbers are correct. I’ll report to the Emperor—within three months, your new monastery may begin construction.”

Ma Shou bowed deeply, saying, “Many thanks, Daoist, deeply grateful.”

The monks thanked him again, boarded the barque with Gui Qu, and, waving incessantly, the vessel rose into the air, turned, and sailed into the depths of the clouds.

Upon the huge platform, only the twenty-six monsters remained, along with the solitary man.

With no one holding the chains, the monsters seemed bewildered. The man did not seize them, but pointed around the platform and said, “If you wish to escape, you have one moment.”

His words were sudden; the monsters hesitated, Six Ugly too was startled, but remembering Gui Qu’s advice, dared not move. After a pause, a bold monster dashed for the platform’s edge.

The man sneered, unmoved as a mountain.

The remaining monsters, emboldened, followed—five or six more broke from the group and rushed to the edge, while the first searched along the rim for a way down.

Six Ugly stayed put. Though he had not seen this place before, he could tell by the wind’s roar that the cliff was thousands of blades high, the wind sharp as knives—without guidance, survival past the mountain winds would be impossible. Moreover, the man was no ordinary figure; if he permitted escape, how could any truly succeed?

The man waited in silence, while the rest of the monsters, like Six Ugly, stood still, not daring to move.

Two monsters found the path by the mechanical beast and ran toward the mountain’s interior. The others continued searching; entering the ringed mountain might not be better than staying here, for they wanted to escape out, not in.

After a while, the man drew his sword. Though merely a common blade, in his hand it gleamed with strange light. Six Ugly knew their time was up.

The monsters on the platform began to crowd together, uneasy.

The man’s gaze swept over them, a cold smile on his lips. “Remember the first rule of this valley: those who flee, die!”

He raised the sword, curled his fingers, and flicked the blade—a crisp, humming sound rang out.

From the sound, a ripple of invisible force swept forth, touching the first monster who had left the platform. At the slightest contact, the creature exploded, scattering flesh and blood across the sky, leaving not a single bone behind.

The man flicked his sword again, the sound sharp and continuous. One by one, the fleeing monsters burst apart—five pools of blood remained, nothing else. The howling on the floating island, stirred by the carnage, grew louder.

“You are wiser than yesterday’s lot,” the man said, sheathing his sword, laughing as he strode toward the mechanical beast. “Get inside the cage, shut the door behind you.”

He leapt onto the beast’s head, sitting in the hollow, busying himself with its controls, never glancing at the monsters.

Terrified by the display, the monsters dared not disobey. They pushed and shoved, crawling into the cage and crouching low. The last even closed the door, not daring to defy him.

The Bi’an mechanical beast snorted a dense black smoke, shuddered, then lifted its feet and turned, following the spiraling road into the mountain’s interior. The monsters, unable to see the man, finally dared stand and peered out through the bars.

After several hundred yards, they heard the sharp humming sound again. Soon, two more pools of blood appeared by the roadside. Of the monsters delivered, only nineteen remained, seven gone.