Chapter Thirteen: The Grand Assembly of Lamas—Five Kingdoms and Twelve Monasteries

From the presence of influential figures and the eminent Master Tianjiu, Guan Wen deduced that all those seated on the meditation mats were people of considerable status. In truth, under such circumstances, he ought to have had no place to speak, but since Caidan Dajie had suddenly thrown him in, catching him completely off guard, he had no choice but to brace himself and carry on.

“Speak,” said Master Tianjiu, retreating a step to sit down on an empty mat.

The others maintained their postures and expressions, as though Guan Wen’s presence meant nothing, no more significant than a speck of dust drifting into the great hall.

“Young man, speak. I am quite curious to hear your thoughts on the matter,” said the prominent figure.

This remark gave Guan Wen great encouragement. He paused, carefully organizing his thoughts before speaking: “I must see the things Master Tianjiu just mentioned before I can comment; I dare not speak at random. In a renowned monastery of Tibetan Buddhism such as this, every word spoken must come from the heart, grounded in reverence and humility—one word means one word, ten words mean ten, and no one dares to speak recklessly.”

This was, in fact, how he truly felt. Since arriving at Tashilhunpo Monastery, each time he entered to sketch a Buddha image, he did so with this mindset. Whenever he saw uncivilized tourists from elsewhere littering or scribbling graffiti in secluded corners, he would clean up after them, erasing the senseless scrawls.

He believed that the divine watched three feet above his head. It was precisely due to this reverence that he willingly stayed here, dedicating himself day and night to honing his art.

Master Tianjiu snorted disdainfully, his face full of scorn. “Those thangka fragments were brought here by me for the sages of Tashilhunpo to ponder. Who do you think you are?”

Guan Wen smiled in response. “Master Tianjiu, you should know that heroes are not judged by their origins, nor is spiritual cultivation limited by status. In the Buddhist scriptures, there are countless stories of sages bested by humble commoners. Have you forgotten them all?”

The prominent figure smiled. “Indeed, very good. Notify them to bring back the sealed barrels and display them for this young man. Ah, and young man, I recall your name is Guan Wen, is it not?”

Guan Wen nodded. “Yes, that's me.”

The prominent figure beckoned. “Come here.”

Guan Wen obediently approached, standing by his side and bowing respectfully.

“Guan Wen, inside the sealed barrels are fragments of ancient thangkas. According to Tianjiu, these can be assembled into the legendary ‘Demon-Subduing Mandala,’ which would forever banish the witches beneath the mountains of Tibet, safeguarding the region and its neighboring countries. But each barrel contains more than two thousand fragments—almost ten thousand in total among the three barrels. Their ages differ, their colors are chaotic, and even with the most advanced scientific methods, restoration is impossible. Tianjiu uses this to coerce Tashilhunpo, claiming that if the secret of the great treasure cannot be unraveled, the monks here have no right to remain and should yield the monastery to those he brings, to meditate and study until the secret is revealed. The thangka is of immense importance to Tibetan Buddhism. Are you certain you've thought of a solution?” The prominent figure lowered his voice to a whisper.

“For now, I do not. I will adapt as the situation demands,” Guan Wen replied quietly.

The prominent figure sighed, his face instantly clouded with worry.

Though their ages and positions were vastly different, at that moment fate bound them together, making them comrades sharing honor and peril, united in resisting Master Tianjiu’s challenge.

Tashilhunpo, meaning ‘Auspicious Sumeru Monastery,’ holds a lofty status in Tibetan Buddhism. Its full name, Tashilhunpo Baijide Qinqu Tangjie Lenamba Jiewalin, signifies ‘Auspicious Sumeru gathering blessings, supreme among all realms.’ It is the largest monastery in the Xigaze area, the seat of successive Panchen Lamas from the Fourth onward, rivaling the Potala Palace and, together with Lhasa’s three great monasteries—Ganden, Sera, and Drepung—forms the four great Gelugpa monasteries of Tibetan Buddhism. These, along with Kumbum Monastery in Qinghai and Labrang Monastery in Gansu, are known as the six great Gelugpa monasteries. Today, Tashilhunpo is one of the six most famous Yellow Sect monasteries in China and is listed as a national key cultural relic protection site.

How could such a sacred place for the study and transmission of the Dharma possibly be handed over to a foreigner like Master Tianjiu?

“I have tried,” the prominent figure continued, “but it is utterly impossible to reassemble the fragments—not even a glimmer of hope. As you see, those seated beside me are famed sages from the six great monasteries, yet even they are at a loss, lacking the courage to attempt, let alone those outside.”

The prominent figure’s sorrow infected Guan Wen, whose forehead broke out in a fine sweat.

Soon, the door opened. Three tall monks entered, each carrying a silver barrel about a meter high and half a meter in diameter, placing them side by side before Guan Wen. They lifted the lids and silently withdrew.

Inside the silver barrels were thangka fragments of all shapes and sizes—some as small as postage stamps, others as large as playing cards.

Master Tianjiu claimed these were the authentic remnants of the legendary ‘Demon-Subduing Mandala’ of old—if reassembled, they would reveal the secret of subduing demons. But before they are put together, who can say whether these fragments are genuine or not? “Give it a try; perhaps you will gain something,” urged the prominent figure.

“Go on, take a look—look quickly!” Master Tianjiu called out gleefully from across the flickering fire.

With so many fragments, the task of matching and joining them correctly had become an impossible mission.

Guan Wen picked up a fragment, which bore only a segment of dark, curved lines—no discernible image, nothing but the dust of history and the musty odor of aged fabric. He was certain that even if the world’s foremost puzzle experts were gathered, they could not restore the three barrels’ worth of fragments into a complete thangka.

“What are you thinking? We’re all waiting for your grand pronouncements!” Master Tianjiu jeered maliciously, then explained the situation to the others in Hindi, Thai, Nepali, and Tibetan.

Straightening up, Guan Wen replied, word by word, “I have nothing to say. The purpose of painting is to transcend language and communicate directly through images and vision. I have seen the outcome, but I cannot use words to make you understand.”

Master Tianjiu laughed coldly, his voice raised. “Ha! Is this a joke? If you don’t speak, how can we understand?”

Guan Wen laughed just as loudly. “When the Buddha held up a flower and smiled, none of his disciples understood the meaning—only the venerable Kashyapa grasped its profound truth. Have you forgotten that story, Master?”

That anecdote comes from the “Great Brahma King’s Inquiry to the Buddha Sutra.” The original passage describes the Great Brahma King presenting golden lotuses to the Buddha, who silently held one aloft, glancing at the assembly without a word. Only Kashyapa broke into a smile, and the Buddha said, “I entrust you with the Dharma Eye Treasury, the wondrous mind of nirvana. You shall uphold it, unbroken.”

The smile at the flower and the transmission beyond words represent the highest realm of Buddhist inheritance. Here, Guan Wen likened himself to the Buddha, and Master Tianjiu to one less perceptive than even Kashyapa at the Buddha’s feet. Though the analogy was imperfect, it served well to quell his opponent’s arrogance.

Master Tianjiu, having been outmaneuvered, was furious. He struck the floor with his palm and shouted, “You are not a disciple of Tashilhunpo, nor a member of any Tibetan Buddhist monastery. What happens today has nothing to do with you. Get out now before you cause trouble and lose your life!”

The prominent figure took up the argument, his voice grave. “Since this is a debate on meditation and scripture, what is tested is each person’s innate wisdom, regardless of their status. I was just thinking of that passage from ‘The Compendium of Five Lamps—The Seven Buddhas—Sakyamuni’ Volume One: ‘At Vulture Peak, the Buddha held up a flower. The assembly was silent, only Kashyapa smiled.’ Master Tianjiu, have you considered that perhaps fate has brought Guan Wen to solve our problem, and that it is the wisdom of an outsider meant to enlighten us, who are mired in contemplation yet unable to see?”

Master Tianjiu shook his head vehemently. “Impossible. If the sages of the five countries and twelve monasteries can see nothing, what could this fellow possibly do?”

In truth, as he faced the thangka fragments, Guan Wen felt a vague insight stirring within him, but it was too nebulous to coalesce into a clear idea, especially amid such chaos when he could hardly focus.

“I can see that these are not complete thangkas. Fragments alone are not enough; the precious gems once inlaid on them are missing.” Guan Wen grabbed two handfuls of fragments, spread his fingers, and let them rustle back into the barrel.

Master Tianjiu’s complexion changed dramatically. “What? What did you say? What precious gems?”

Guan Wen ignored him, bending low to examine the fragments intently. On the backs of many large pieces, he could see traces of glue and needle holes from where jewels had once been set. In ancient times, glue technology was primitive; even if jewels were firmly attached, within a few years the glue would dry and the gems would fall off. Thus, artisans typically drilled holes in the gems and used fine silk thread to sew them onto the canvas with a floating needle technique.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Guan Wen answered coldly.

The thangka fragments had come from Master Tianjiu; naturally, only he would know the fate of the missing jewels.

“Draw close to him, listen to his heart, communicate with your spirit.” Caidan Dajie’s voice, clear and gentle, seemed to come from nowhere, echoing in Guan Wen’s ears.

“Come here, let me tell you with my mind,” Guan Wen said to Master Tianjiu.

“Fine, I’ll come!” Master Tianjiu strode forward, leaping over candlesticks and lamp stands, looming before Guan Wen with an aggressive air. To Guan Wen, he seemed like an old eagle soaring for ages, now diving at its prey, ready to kill or seize it in an instant.

“Look into my eyes, and I’ll tell you everything I know,” said Guan Wen.

Master Tianjiu fixed Guan Wen with a deathly stare, sneering as he enunciated each word: “You’d better think before you speak. This is a gathering of the greatest sages from five countries and twelve monasteries—not a place for a brat like you to spout nonsense. One wrong word and I could crush you with a finger. If you’re smart, get out now.”

They were only two feet apart, and Master Tianjiu’s overwhelming aura made it almost impossible for Guan Wen to meet his gaze.

“In truth, you are convinced the thangka cannot be restored. Why insist on others restoring it? What you cannot do, others cannot either. It’s like spilled water—irretrievable. Why pose such a challenge to others? What is your real motive?” Guan Wen asked quietly.

“Kid, I know you’re not of Tashilhunpo. If you’re smart, get out now and stop making trouble!” Master Tianjiu stepped closer, their noses nearly touching.

Suddenly, a strange scene flashed through Guan Wen’s mind—Master Tianjiu standing in a vast basketball court, all the fragments spread out flat across the floor. He was running among the fragments, comparing, assembling, sometimes howling at the sky, sometimes bowing in thought, sometimes beating his chest in frustration, sometimes slapping his head. On the wall opposite, a giant TV screen displayed his efforts to piece together the fragments, with a timer and a step counter in the upper right corner.