61: Chapter 61 The Heart of Hidden Weapons
Early the next morning, Lu Mingyuan went to find Tang Ji.
In the courtyard of the Hall of Ingenuity, Tang Ji was tinkering with a pile of parts. Those components were extremely small—some as thin as a hair, others as thin as a cicada's wing. He used no tools, relying only on a pair of calloused hands to assemble them one by one.
Lu Mingyuan stood to the side, watching quietly.
Tang Ji didn't look up, only saying, "Want to learn how to make hidden weapons?"
Lu Mingyuan said, "I do."
Tang Ji put down the work in his hands and looked at him.
"Do you know that the hidden weapons of the Tang Clan are never passed to outsiders?"
Lu Mingyuan nodded.
"And yet you still want to learn?"
Lu Mingyuan thought for a moment.
"This Junior does not want to learn the hidden weapons of the Tang Clan. This Junior wants to learn the act of 'making' hidden weapons."
A glint of light flashed in Tang Ji's eyes.
"What's the difference?"
Lu Mingyuan said, "Learning the hidden weapons of the Tang Clan is learning someone else's things. Learning to 'make' hidden weapons is learning a skill. With this skill, whether one can make the hidden weapons of the Tang Clan is uncertain. But whether one can make something of their own is a possibility."
Tang Ji was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed.
"Young man, those words are quite interesting."
He stood up and walked toward the courtyard exit.
"Follow me."
Tang Ji led him to a secluded workshop.
This workshop was smaller than those seen yesterday, consisting of only one room and one window. The light inside was dim, with only a few oil lamps. Various Materials were piled against the walls—iron blocks, copper wires, wood, animal tendons, and feathers. In the center of the room stood a long wooden table covered with various tools—hammers, pliers, files, drills, and carving knives.
An old man sat behind the table.
This old man was even older than Tang Ji, so old he looked as if he might stop breathing at any moment. He was so thin he was nothing but a bag of bones, his skin wrinkled like dried orange peel, and his eyes so cloudy the pupils were barely visible. He wore a grease-stained jacket, but his hands were extremely clean, with neatly trimmed fingernails.
Tang Ji walked up to the old man and bowed respectfully.
"Third Uncle, this young man wants to learn how to make hidden weapons."
The old man raised his head and glanced at Lu Mingyuan.
That glance was very slow, as if he were sizing up an object. He looked from the top of his head to his toes, and then back up again. After finishing, he lowered his head and continued tinkering with the object in his hands.
"Sit."
Lu Mingyuan sat down opposite him.
The old man ignored him, focusing solely on the work in his hands.
It was an extremely fine copper wire, thinner than a hair. The old man threaded it into an even smaller hole, pulling it through, drawing it out, and threading it in again. He repeated this over and over, his purpose unclear.
Lu Mingyuan watched without speaking.
Time passed bit by bit. One cup of tea, two cups of tea, an hour.
The old man's hands never stopped. The copper wire gradually took shape in his hands—first curving into a circle, then winding into a spiral, then weaving into a mesh. Finally, he placed the small object on the table and blew a breath of air onto it.
The object suddenly came to life.
It was a dragonfly.
An tiny dragonfly with wings as thin as a cicada's, a body as slender as a wheat stalk, and six legs visible in every minute detail. It stood on the table, gently fluttering its wings as if it might fly away at any moment.
Lu Mingyuan watched, mesmerized.
The old man raised his head and looked at him.
"You want to learn how to make hidden weapons?"
Lu Mingyuan nodded.
The old man asked, "Why?"
Lu Mingyuan thought for a moment.
"This Junior has traveled many places and seen many Daos. The Daoist sects speak of tranquility, the Buddhist sects speak of letting go, the Confucians speak of investigating things, and the Beggars Gang speaks of saving people. But these Daos are all in the heart; they cannot be seen or touched."
He paused.
"This Junior wants to learn a Dao that can be seen. A Dao that can be made. A Dao that can be held in one's hand."
The old man looked at him, and a glint of light suddenly appeared in his cloudy eyes.
"I have waited sixty years for those words."
The old man stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window was a small courtyard where various Materials were drying—animal hides, bones, tendons, and feathers. The sunlight shone upon them, reflecting a warm, gentle light.
"My surname is Tang, and my given name is 'Zhuo'," the old man said. "For sixty years, no one has asked me why I make hidden weapons. You are the first."
He turned back and looked at Lu Mingyuan.
"You said just now that you want to learn a Dao that can be seen. I tell you, hidden weapons are a Dao that can be seen."
He walked back to the table and picked up the dragonfly.
"This dragonfly took three months to make. But the principles within it are the result of sixty years of my work."
He placed the dragonfly in Lu Mingyuan's hand.
Lu Mingyuan held it gently, feeling no weight at all. Yet he knew that within this tiny dragonfly was hidden sixty years of a man's life.
"I will ask you a question," Tang Zhuo said.
Lu Mingyuan listened quietly.
"You have seen many hidden weapons on your journey. Tell me, what is the most important thing about a hidden weapon?"
Lu Mingyuan thought for a long time.
"Is it... ingenuity?"
Tang Zhuo shook his head.
"It is the heart."
He looked at Lu Mingyuan.
"You think hidden weapons are things for killing. But to the people of the Tang Clan, hidden weapons are their very lives."
He pointed at the dragonfly.
"This dragonfly is not meant for killing. It simply flies. But when it flies, it carries my heart out with it."
Lu Mingyuan was stunned.
"When you watch it fly, you know what I am thinking. When you watch it fly, you know what my sixty years of work represent. When you watch it fly, you know what is meant by 'Dao'."
He paused.
"This is the 'heart' of a hidden weapon."
Lu Mingyuan remained silent for a long time.
He remembered that day on Junshan Mountain when the Sect Leader performed those three styles of the Dragon Subduing Palm. They were slow to the extreme, yet when a palm was pushed out, a ten-thousand-jin boulder shattered at the sound.
That was not force; it was momentum.
Where did momentum come from? It came from the heart.
The more people one holds in one's heart, the greater the momentum.
What Tang Zhuo was saying now followed the same principle.
A hidden weapon is not a tool; it is an extension of the heart.
When the heart arrives, the hidden weapon arrives.
He suddenly asked, "Elder Tang, what about change and constancy? Hidden weapons have ten thousand variations, yet the Dao is unchanging. How should one understand this change and constancy?"
Tang Zhuo looked at him, a flash of gratification in his eyes.
"That you can ask this question makes this trip worthwhile."
He walked back to the table and sat down.
"What changes? The Materials, the shapes, the mechanisms, the usage. What is constant? The heart, the principles, the Dao."
He picked up a piece of iron.
"This piece of iron can be made into a flying dagger, a flying needle, or a flying spike. This is change. But no matter what it is made into, it is still iron and must follow the principles of iron. This is constancy."
He then picked up a copper wire.
"This copper wire can be curved into a circle, wound into a spring, or woven into a mesh. This is change. But no matter how it is bent, it is still copper and must follow the principles of copper. This is constancy."
He looked at Lu Mingyuan.
"A maker of hidden weapons must learn to change. But more importantly, they must learn constancy."
"How does one learn that?"
Tang Zhuo pointed to his own chest.
"What changes is the hand; what is constant is the heart. The hand can learn a thousand techniques, but the heart can only guard a single principle. The more the hand changes, the more the heart must be settled. If the heart is not settled, no matter how clever the hand is, it is empty."
Lu Mingyuan sat there, speechless for a long time.
He suddenly thought of Zen Master Huijue saying, "The snow just falls."
The falling snow is change; year after year, the snow is different. But the 'falling' is constant; it is so every year, every age.
He thought of Hui Ke saying, "The fist just strikes."
Fist techniques are change; set after set, the fists are different. But the 'striking' is constant; it is so every day, every month.
He thought of the old man repairing the road saying, "One hammer blow after another."
The hammer is change; blow after blow, the point of impact is different. But the 'repairing' is constant; generation after generation, it is so for every descendant.
It turned out that change and constancy were always one entity.
What changes is the appearance; what is constant is the nature.
What changes is the function; what is constant is the essence.
What changes is the tool; what is constant is the Dao.
Tools can change, but the Dao does not.
Yet within the tool, the unchanging Dao is also hidden.
Just like the dragonfly in Tang Zhuo's hand.
It can fly, dance, and change. But the sixty years of work within it remain constant.
That was Tang Zhuo's heart.
Tang Zhuo looked at his expression and knew he was gaining enlightenment.
He did not disturb him, simply picking up another piece of iron to continue his work.
The sound of the hammer rang out, strike after strike, neither rushed nor slow.
Listening to the sound of the hammer, Lu Mingyuan suddenly remembered a phrase.
It was something Xuanweizi had said: "The Dao is in the ordinary."
At this moment, he understood.
What is the ordinary?
It is this one hammer blow after another.
It is this one stitch and one thread.
It is this one day after another.
It is this one life and one world.
What changes are the hammer, the needle, the day, and the life.
What is constant is the striking, the sewing, the passing, and the living.
It is that simple.
But something so simple takes a lifetime to realize.
He raised his head and looked at Tang Zhuo.
"Elder Tang, this Junior wish to learn. To learn how to put one's heart into a hidden weapon."
Tang Zhuo put down the work in his hands and looked at him.
"You may learn. But there is one condition."
"Please speak."
Tang Zhuo pointed outside the door.
"From today on, come every day at the hour of chen and leave at the hour of you. When you come, you are not allowed to ask; when you leave, you are not allowed to think. While working, you are not allowed to speak, not allowed to stop, and not allowed to look at others. Just do your own work."
He paused.
"Can you do it?"
Lu Mingyuan stood up and gave a deep bow that reached the ground.
"I can do it."
Tang Zhuo nodded.
"Then start tomorrow. Today, go back and think carefully about change and constancy."
When Lu Mingyuan left the workshop, it was already dusk.
The setting sun shone on the bluestone streets of the Tang Clan, gilding everything in gold. People came and went on the street—some were closing their stalls, some were cooking, and some were calling their children home.
He walked through the crowd, yet his heart was extremely quiet.
Within his Dantian, that tiny Nascent Soul was also still, as if it were savoring something.
He suddenly remembered the words the old man had said that day on Xiangshan Mountain:
"Matters within the Universe are matters within my own duty; matters within my own duty are matters within the Universe."
At this moment, he understood.
Change and constancy were the same.
What changes is the Universe; what is constant is one's own duty.
What changes are the matters; what is constant is the heart.
When the heart is settled, ten thousand changes do not stray from the source.
When the heart is not settled, a single change becomes ten thousand tribulations.
He looked up at the sky as it gradually darkened.
Tomorrow, he would begin to learn.
Learn how to put the heart into a hidden weapon.
Learn how to hold onto that one point of constancy amidst ten thousand variations.