Chapter 42: Return to Toling Monastery

"Green wine, freshly brewed, a small red clay stove. As evening falls, the sky threatens snow; would you care for a cup?"

Ding Jun awoke from his stupor, and the first thing that surfaced in his mind was this poem by Bai Letian, "Asking Liu Nineteen."

Figures flickered before his eyes, hazy and indistinct, drifting between near and far. Finally, a fragrant hand pressed against his forehead, and someone whispered, "Mr. Ding, how are you feeling?"

Ding Jun grabbed the hand and blurted out, "Xue Wan... Snow Night!"

Xue Wan—it was a beautiful name. In the mood of "as evening falls, the sky threatens snow," a girl as ethereal as an immortal drifted in and out, like a timeless, elegant painting of a lady amidst distant mountains. No matter what Xue Wan had done, he wanted to preserve that image in his mind forever.

"Oh, I am Fang Qing," the person sighed.

Ding Jun’s temples began to throb again, as if they were about to explode, or as if two electric drills were repeatedly boring inside and out, threatening to dismantle his skull.

Finally, he regained full consciousness, meeting Fang Qing's concerned gaze.

"Where is this? Is this Toling Monastery..." He looked around; the wooden bed and old table were antique, and the air was thick with the scent of butter lamps that had lingered for centuries. This was indeed Toling Monastery, the place where all the strange events had begun. Only a few days had passed, yet the scene felt transformed. The faces of those who had died and those who lived swirled in his mind like a carousel, all details unfolding simultaneously.

"Toling Monastery, I have finally returned." He sighed, feeling both relieved and a lingering sense of regret. He had returned, but Xue Wan was far away. Like two meteors crossing paths in the night sky, they had vanished, never to meet again. The fierce battle of life and death, blood and fire in the underground labyrinth felt like an inextricable thread, binding his emotions. In Xue Wan’s presence, he found he lost all concept of good and evil, a stark contrast to his cultural and military training. Moreover, her way of handling problems was unconventional and entirely different from his own.

"To return alive is, after all, a stroke of good fortune amidst misfortune," he remarked, noticing Fang Qing watching him; he spoke in self-mockery to mask his internal turmoil.

"Right, you are safe now. You slept for seven hours—you’ve finally woken up—" Fang Qing covered her mouth, stifling a yawn. Seeing how exhausted she looked, she must have stayed up all night without a moment's rest.

"Thank you for taking care of me." Ding Jun remembered that in his delirium, someone had been feeding him water with a small spoon and applying cold towels to his forehead every so often. That must have been Fang Qing. They weren't close, and he felt guilty for troubling her so much.

"It’s nothing, just a small favor," Fang Qing replied.

She rose, placed some dark, ink-colored tea leaves into a thermos, and poured hot water. A complex aroma, a blend of herbs and tea, began to drift through the room.

Ding Jun watched her back, involuntarily comparing her to Xue Wan. Both were slender and beautiful; had they been placed in a city setting rather than the harsh, cold Tibetan plateau, they would surely have been stunning beauties capable of mesmerizing any man. The only difference was that Fang Qing was warm and gentle, while Xue Wan was cold and aloof—the former like a flower blooming in a breeze, the latter like an icicle hanging from the peak of a snowy mountain in mid-winter.

"What are you looking at?" Fang Qing asked, her back still to him, yet acutely aware of his gaze.

Ding Jun lowered his head, a bitter smile masking his thoughts: "Nothing. I was just thinking that you are truly the sister of the 'Mountain King' Fang Qianqi. You are composed, and in any crisis, you manage to organize everything perfectly. Compared to you, I have much to reflect upon."

Fang Qing tilted her head and smiled silently.

The "Mountain King," Fang Qianqi, was the pride of all Asians. Hearing Ding Jun speak this way, she made no effort to hide her admiration for her brother: "You are too modest. My brother once said that among the rising stars of the Asian diaspora, you are undoubtedly number one. In time, your achievements will surely be no less than his."

Ding Jun offered a bitter laugh: "I have never had such grand ambitions. The matters at hand are thorny enough to have already left me frantic."

He then recounted the events at Toling Town to Fang Qing in full detail, withholding nothing.

Upon hearing the end, Fang Qing could not help but sigh in frustration: "After all that effort, you returned empty-handed? If only you hadn't been burdened by such soft-heartedness. A man of stature should be decisive. The gap in strength between you and your enemy was vast, yet you repeatedly missed your chances and refused to deal a lethal blow to that girl, Xue Wan. If this were a military operation, you would have missed your window of opportunity time and again—how would you be punished for that?"

On the battlefield, a commander has no right to err, for even the slightest oversight leads to the needless deaths of his soldiers.

"I made many mistakes, so I suppose it is a blessing that I returned alive. I am ashamed; as you said, if this were a military operation, I would be facing immediate execution," Ding Jun replied quietly.

"Sigh, don't blame yourself. To err is human, and everyone makes mistakes. Actually, your self-control is quite impressive. Based on your description, that Xue Wan girl seems otherworldly, absolutely celestial. Most men would have fallen deep into the trap of her beauty. Since the affair at Toling Town has come to an end, let us turn our focus back to the problems within the monastery—can you hold up? Shall we go see Si Qin now?" Fang Qing said with a smile.

Ding Jun nodded and immediately stood up to put on his shoes.

"I am fine. Let’s go see Si Qin." His mind was clear now, and he couldn't help but blush at the thought of his repeated failures in battle.

The two walked through a moon gate and turned right at a crossroads.

Ding Jun stopped and looked back to the left. Two intersections down in that direction lay the mural of the Sixteen Vajra Dancers. The thought of potentially unraveling the secret of the three-moon pattern in the scripture library made his heart feel much lighter.

"What is it?" Fang Qing asked.

"Xue Wan took a child—to be precise, she took the descendant of Shi Man and Si Qin. I had a chance to turn the tide, but like building a mountain of nine fathoms, I failed for lack of a single basket of earth. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed a child could have such a strange birthmark on their forehead. Xue Wan said that such a birthmark is one in ten thousand, and the child must be taken back to Guge," Ding Jun said, lost in thought.

Fang Qing smiled: "You have told me that five times already while you were delirious."

Ding Jun was startled: "Really?"

Fang Qing nodded: "Of course. And you called the name 'Xue Wan' over two hundred times."

Ding Jun lowered his head in shame: "Is that so?"

Fang Qing recited softly: "'Green wine, freshly brewed, a small red clay stove. As evening falls, the sky threatens snow; would you care for a cup?' You recited this poem over and over. Were you inviting that girl, Xue Wan, to have a drink in your dreams?" Before she finished speaking, she was already bent over with laughter, covering her mouth in amusement.

Ding Jun awkwardly scratched the back of his head, shaking it continuously, not knowing how to deny it. In truth, any man who encountered a beauty like Xue Wan would find his thoughts wandering and be unable to let her go.