Chapter Eighty: The General Dies in a Hundred Battles, the Warriors Return After Ten Years

Twenty steps away from Baoling, Guan Wen already heard her stifled, uncontrollable weeping.

Across the high slope lay the territory of Nepal, on the other side of the border line—the homeland of the Princess of Chaoge. Fallen leaves returning to their roots, souls returning after death; after this parting, the Princess of Chaoge in Baoling’s mind would cease to exist. She would return to her true self, body and soul, becoming truly Baoling, the Hong Kong citizen.

As Guan Wen drew near, Baoling stopped sobbing, pressed her palms together, and bowed deeply toward the distance.

“It ends here, and after the end comes a new beginning. Do not grieve too deeply; that is not what the soul of the Princess of Chaoge would wish to see,” Guan Wen murmured in consolation.

“For so many years, those nightmares have been the driving force behind my existence. I have always strived to find their source, to decipher them… Now, the dream is shattered, and I always feel that it was I who killed the Princess of Chaoge—”

Guan Wen asked with a bitter smile, “Why would you think that?”

The death of the Princess of Chaoge was precisely Baoling’s birth. Death and life were the two ends of the realm of yin and yang, touching at the boundary yet having no intersection. Therefore, the former’s death and the latter’s birth had no mutually exclusive relationship whatsoever.

“Originally, her soul could live within my nightmares—boundless, limitless, drifting like an unmoored boat. Though she was unhappy, she could at least live on with her lingering obsession. Her physical form had already perished, but the existence of her soul at least proved that she had once lived. Even if history never recorded her, I knew of her existence, knew her history. I was her sole audience and listener. This time, the dream is shattered, and her soul is shattered along with it. From this moment on, the person known as the Princess of Chaoge vanishes forever, leaving no trace behind—like a torrential rain washing over a long street, sweeping everything away and leaving only a clean row of bluestone slabs…”

Words like these struck Guan Wen’s chest like a giant hammer, causing such sharp pain that his internal organs seemed to shift, and his expression changed drastically.

He recalled how, in the teachings of *The Eightfold Lives and Eightfold Deaths of Heavenly Dragons*, Tang Jue had clearly stated that the “death” a person experiences after going through one cycle of reincarnation is not true death; only after the cycle of eight lives and eight deaths is completed does one vanish entirely.

If so, now that even the soul of the Princess of Chaoge had perished, was this not precisely the final “death” in the process of the “eight lives and eight deaths”? That was true death—body, spirit, soul, and the memories others held of her, all vanishing with the wind, leaving no trace behind.

“Let’s go back. It is over.” He supported Baoling by the arm, urging her to return with him. The past was past; they had to face the future with firmness, bearing their responsibilities and achieving something meaningful—that was what mattered most.

Suddenly, a bizarre wind rose from beneath the high slope, swirling all the way up and sending dust and gravel dancing endlessly across the ground.

Guan Wen pulled Baoling into his arms, shielding her face beneath his lapels.

The strange wind spiraled and danced wildly around the two of them, and out of the wind suddenly came an ethereal, illusory song. The singer was a young woman, and the lyrics were entirely in Nepali.

“It’s her, it’s her!” Baoling cried out.

“Princess of Chaoge, can you manifest yourself so we may see you? Baoling and I are endlessly grateful,” Guan Wen shouted aloud.

The singing rang out for a moment, and the wind swirling around them retreated toward the other side of the border, blowing the withered grass on the ground into violent swaying. Having crossed the border line, the wind wavered uncertainly in the air, gradually transforming into a blurred, indistinct human figure with flowing garments dancing in the wind.

“It’s her! It’s her!” Baoling cried out in a low voice, suddenly spreading her arms and lunging forward. Had Guan Wen not caught her in time, she would have tumbled down the high slope.

“Guan Wen, it’s her! I can feel her breath and her thoughts. That is the Princess of Chaoge, that is my… my…” She choked back her sobs several times, never quite managing to complete the phrase, “my past life.”

Just imagine: for a person to bid a poignant farewell on this side of the national border to the soul of her past life on the other side was equivalent to losing the most profound and unforgettable thing in her mind, losing all of history, losing the other half of her soul. Even though the Princess of Chaoge had brought her endless nightmares, once she understood the Princess of Chaoge’s tragic experiences, those nightmares had also become a part of her consciousness. She no longer felt resentment, only pity—pity for the fact that her past life had endured such bitter and painful trials.

“Come back, I will take you away, I will take you away from Nepal… The Summer Palace has been reduced to rubble and ruins. Come back with me; we can surely live together in peace, or I will ask eminent monks to chant scriptures for your deliverance, that you may enter the six paths of reincarnation early and forge the affinity for a future life sooner. No matter what, come with me, do not return there anymore… That place can no longer be lived in…” Lacking all strength, Baoling half-sat and half-knelt on the ground, waving continuously toward the phantom.

Guan Wen did not know how to comfort her. His chest remained burning hot, and the hot tears he refused to shed flowed backward into his heart.

He had seen plenty of partings between men and women, men and men, women and women, and had witnessed lovers crying out “farewell,” but he had never before witnessed a parting between a living person of the present and the soul of a past life. This was a true and eternal farewell, beyond the control of human effort, transcending human imagination, and entering entirely into the realm of metaphysics and arcane arts.

Finally, the sudden whirlwind instantly scattered, disappearing without a sound.
Baoling let out a soft cry, collapsing limply forward. She could not force out a sound; only hot tears streamed down continuously.

For the second time, Guan Wen pulled her into his arms, gently patting her back and soothing her in a soft voice, “Cry, let it out and you will feel better. Those things are not for us to decide.”

“What she sang was: *Time flows like a running river, flowing eastward and waiting for no one. Seize the moment and hesitate not, youth is the most fleeting of all.* That voice was truly, truly beautiful,” Baoling said.

Before he knew it, Baoling’s tears had soaked through the front of Guan Wen’s shirt.

“Though you escort someone for a thousand miles, a parting is ultimately inevitable. Farewell, farewell…” Gazing into the direction where the wind had gone, Baoling gently prostrated herself on the ground, performing the supreme Buddhist full-body prostration with utmost piety.

Guan Wen felt a slight aching in his nose. Such legendary tales of karmic cause and effect and cyclical reincarnation were plots frequently cited by editors and writers, yet this time it had unfolded vividly before his very eyes. He was not Baoling and could not fully comprehend her sorrow, but seeing her heartbroken and weeping prostrate on the ground, his own heart was kneaded violently, leaving him not a moment of peace.

When the car returned to the Tashilhunpo Monastery, Gu Qingcheng had booked an entire guesthouse adjacent to the family-run inn to accommodate Xiao Huo’s friends. Afterward, she summoned the most skilled doctors specializing in detoxification and trauma healing from both Shigatse and Lhasa to diagnose Xiao Huo and prescribe remedies. Everything she did for Xiao Huo was to repay him for risking his life to save her at the Summer Palace; it had nothing to do with romantic feelings.

Xiao Huo’s condition was improving, which brought Guan Wen a great sense of relief.

As for their return, Gao Xiang was overjoyed, bustling in and out to help take care of Xiao Huo.

“Guan Wen, accompany me to see the Chiyan尊者.” Once everything had settled, Gu Qingcheng said to Guan Wen.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Guan Wen bid farewell to Baoling, got into Gu Qingcheng’s off-road vehicle, and rushed together with her toward Lhasa.

Earlier, Gu Qingcheng had already contacted the newly recovered Chiyan尊者 by phone, and the revered master had agreed to meet them. In the aftermath of the calamity surrounding the death of Feng He, Chiyan尊者, along with the VIPs and others, had been brutally attacked by the Golden Cicada of the Azure Dragon Society. All of them had been hospitalized for treatment, and having just recovered, they had now returned to their residence to recuperate in peace.

“Guan Wen, I have harbored a lingering worry ever since I listened to the rap-chanting teachings of Cedan Dajie and Master Sangche. Since everyone has a past life, I fear that once a person finds their past life, they might forget their present life and become someone else who is merely an empty shell. If that happens, the memories of you in my mind will vanish completely. I know Baoling said the exact same thing to you, so I believe she shares the same worry.” Inside the speeding vehicle, a faint bitterness appeared on Gu Qingcheng’s face.

The battle to subdue demons was like a dam facing a breach; once it began, no one could stop the floodwaters. Everyone would be submerged within it, completely out of control. No one could guarantee they would survive safely, nor could they guarantee that after crossing the tribulation, their minds would remain as pure as they were today.

“Yes, she did say that,” Guan Wen admitted frankly.

The wound on his shoulder had yet to heal, and the bone-deep pain from when Baoling had bitten him directly remained as fresh as ever.

“If biting a wound into someone could make them remember forever and not forget across lives and aeons, I would be willing to try it myself,” Gu Qingcheng smiled bitterly.

She rolled down the car window, turned the car stereo up to its maximum volume, and drove eastward, playing music all the way along.

Chiyan尊者 received them while lying on the meditation bed in his quiet chamber. His complexion was ashen and sallow, his spirit was extremely poor, and oxygen tubes were plugged into his nostrils. Compared to when they had last parted, he looked as though he had suddenly aged thirty years.

“I have been waiting for your arrival… for a long time. The thing you seek is right there, in that jar… I am certain it is yours, I can feel that it belongs to you, and you are its master…” Chiyan尊者 pointed to a Tibetan silver jar at the head of his bed, telling Gu Qingcheng between gasps for breath.

The jar was flat in shape, half a foot high and a foot in diameter, its entire surface engraved with countless ancient Tibetan characters.

The jar must have been of unimaginably great age; the originally bright silver body was covered layer upon layer by dark brown silver rust, transforming it into an authentic iron-black hue.

“Open it,” said Chiyan尊者.

Gu Qingcheng walked slowly forward, grasped the lotus-shaped finial on the jar lid with her right hand, and took a deep breath. The lid was not heavy, nor was its fit with the jar body tight; it should have been easy to lift off, but beneath her fingers, it felt as though it weighed thousands of pounds. She had to sink her vital energy into her *dan tian* and gather strength in all five fingers just to lift it.

“Do you want me to help?” Guan Wen stepped closer.

Gu Qingcheng closed her eyes and took another deep breath, her chest rising and falling continuously while cold sweat seeped across her forehead.

“You can rest easy,” Guan Wen said.

“Rest easy about what?” Gu Qingcheng asked with her eyes closed.

“Some people and things do not change with the shifting of time and space. The moment they meet, they are already eternally immortal. Qingcheng, even if you become someone else entirely, my feelings for you will not change. At worst, we will get to know each other all over again and start anew, just as we did when we first met in this lifetime,” Guan Wen replied gently.

He never spoke sweet words to anyone; every single word he uttered flowed from the depths of his heart, spoken with absolute sincerity and completely devoid of falsehood.

“Ever since I joined the ranks of bounty hunters, I have been through hundreds of battles, brushing past the Grim Reaper more than a dozen times. The Middle Eastern battlefield, the Egyptian coup, Russian criminal dens, Icelandic terrorist bases… No matter how dangerous the place, I fought my way in and out and always emerged unscathed. The word ‘fear’ has never existed in my life’s dictionary. But this time, my heart is pounding like a drum, as if the moment I lift this lid, my life will undergo a world-shattering transformation. Guan Wen, I regret it now—I regret asking you to accompany me to Lhasa. Because of you, I have become full of attachment to this world, and I am no longer the peerless female bounty hunter I once was…” Tears suddenly flooded Gu Qingcheng’s eyes.

Every girl has her most helpless moments, and she was no exception. No matter how tough or stubborn she appeared on the outside, she could not escape the innate psychological shackles of human nature.

“Cough, cough, cough, cough… Child, come here, let me tell you—” After suffering a violent fit of coughing, Chiyan尊者 beckoned to Gu Qingcheng in a low voice.

Gu Qingcheng walked to the bedside, lowering her head to listen quietly to his teachings.

“I believe that since you have the courage to come here, you are here to shoulder that responsibility. Do not be ashamed of your timidity; even the most fearless sages in Tibetan Buddhism harbor some negative thoughts within the gaps of their souls and the dimness of their spiritual cultivation. It is just like when we light a lamp and hold it high: wherever the light shines brightly, there will inevitably be dark corners that the light cannot reach. Yet we must certainly never stop lighting lamps simply because ‘darkness’ exists; that is the most fundamental of truths. In truth, I cannot give you power, just as a lamp cannot help someone subdue demons or slay enemies, nor can it help someone climb mountains, wade rivers, chisel rocks, or build bridges—because it is merely a lamp…” Chiyan尊者 stopped coughing, his voice as calm as a quietly flowing river.

Guan Wen listened with equal reverence. In his heart, Chiyan尊者 was a Tibetan elder possessing infinite wisdom, and every audience with him elevated his own spirit.