Chapter Fifteen: The Great Figure

The important man gestured, and someone brought over a white porcelain bottle containing medicine for knife wounds. He personally took a cotton swab and applied the medicine to the wounds of the two elderly monks.

"Stop pretending to be kind... Stop acting like a good person..." One of the old monks' companions began to shout, his voice rising and falling in protest.

The important man set down the cotton swab, took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice immediately silenced the protest: "The venerable Ice Wheel and Light Wheel spoke only of rumors they had heard, lacking any concrete proof. If any master can point out the exact location of the great treasure, the great wisdom, or the great hermit, we will immediately go to excavate and search, and make this secret public. Unfortunately, not only here at Tashilhunpo Monastery, but in all the monasteries of Tibet, the wise are heard of but never seen—how can we find them like this? As for Master Heavenly Vulture offering fragments of thangka, it was merely to gather the wisdom of all the wise. He was clever, knowing he could not piece together the thangka himself, so he paraded these fragments about. The purpose of Tashilhunpo Monastery is not to guard treasures but to spread the faith and power of Tibetan Buddhism. If the wise from the Five Nations and Twelve Monasteries have come here to debate Buddhist doctrine and wisdom, we welcome them with open arms. But if some come for personal gain or to seize treasures, we will not be weak or submissive, nor will we let things slide. That is all I have to say—once you have recovered from your wounds and rested, you may leave of your own accord."

These words did not make the others submit. In each person's eyes there was suspicion and disdain, but lacking real evidence, they could not refute the important man's words.

The important man turned to Guan Wen. "Come with me. I will take you somewhere."

Guan Wen shook his head. "I'm sorry, I have other things to attend to, could I—"

The important man shook his head as well. "No, this matter is urgent. I never force others, but this time I must make an exception."

Guan Wen tried to speak further, but Bai Mohe came over, took him by the wrist, and dragged him after the important man.

Once outside the main hall, the scent of blood faded. The fierce battle just now felt like a dream.

It was already afternoon. The sun was slanting westward, and the gray buildings of the Tantric Academy cast long, narrow shadows to the east. As they passed by Master Tree's courtyard, the gate was tightly closed, the yard within silent and empty.

The important man paused, gazing intently at the ancient tree visible above the courtyard wall. After a moment, he shook his head and sighed, then hurried on.

Guan Wen was puzzled by Caidan Dajie's actions. If he truly wished to serve Tashilhunpo Monastery, he should have rushed into the main hall to support the important man, not thrown Guan Wen into the fray while keeping himself apart. But now that the crisis was past, it was pointless to blame Caidan Dajie.

What weighed on his mind were the stirring thangka paintings in that courtyard room. Even if he could not die for art, nor use his own flesh and blood to paint a thangka, the creative techniques of those masters who left behind those works would be enough for him to study for eight or ten years.

He was a painter, and upon seeing a masterwork, he could not easily let it go.

The important man walked ahead. Gradually, several agile and light-footed young monks appeared from various directions, surrounding the important man from all sides. Together they headed east, leaving through another hidden gate. A silver-gray SUV was already waiting there, the surroundings quiet and deserted.

The important man, Guan Wen, and Bai Mohe got into the car, which then drove away from Tashilhunpo Monastery.

Gray curtains hung from the car windows, blocking the outside view. Guan Wen could only guess at their direction.

"I have a task for you: protect Guan Wen until the crisis is over," the important man said to Bai Mohe.

The light inside the car was dim, and the important man's face remained stern, never relaxing for a moment.

Bai Mohe nodded, saying not a word more.

"You heard just now—they mentioned Bing Qiuhan. You must be wondering what kind of person that is, and why they mistook you for him. Guan Wen, this involves a very old story. If Master Heavenly Vulture had not brought the masters of the Five Nations and Twelve Monasteries here to question us, perhaps we would have forgotten that name altogether. Bing Qiuhan... Bing Qiuhan... You have let down everyone’s expectations..." The important man closed his eyes, his brows and lashes trembling, the corners of his mouth twitching occasionally, as though immersed in a sorrowful memory.

The car made several turns, then bumped violently over rough roads, picking up speed. Guan Wen realized they were passing through the southern outskirts of Shigatse, speeding toward Lhasa.

"I have seen your paintings, and even sent someone to Tashilhunpo Monastery to commission a work from you, to see if you could truly depict what others hold in their hearts. To be honest, you have achieved what others cannot, but to reach Bing Qiuhan’s level, you still need much more practice. Besides, you work in pencil sketches—your lines are thin and lack strength, incapable of expressing deeper, more direct subjects. Bing Qiuhan painted thangkas. For a thousand years, that form has been the vessel of thought and emotion in Tibet. Comparing the two is like comparing a longsword to a mountain-splitting axe—the power is different, and so are the heights that can be reached. Do you agree with me?" the important man asked.

Guan Wen answered simply, "I agree."

In truth, he had long felt the same. Only tourists from elsewhere appreciated his paintings; the local monks and laypeople had no interest in them. It was like how Tibetans loved tsampa, butter tea, droma, shektu, thue, and other unique foods, always resisting imported steamed buns, fried dough, or soy milk, which would never become staples in their homes.

Tibetans loved thangka painting by nature; to change that was nearly impossible.

"If Bing Qiuhan were still here, perhaps those thangka fragments could be pieced together," the important man continued.

"And where is he now? Has he passed away?" Guan Wen asked.

"He is gone," the important man replied with a sigh. "Just as his painting skill was about to leap from masterful to divine, a woman who never should have appeared came to Tashilhunpo Monastery and easily destroyed Bing Qiuhan’s future. He abandoned everything and vanished. I had planned for him to cultivate more artists skilled in thangka, to pass down this ancient art of Tibet, rather than let it disappear suddenly and without warning, like the Kingdom of Zhangzhung or the Silver-eyed Guge Dynasty, lost to future generations forever. With his departure, all plans collapsed, and the search for the legendary 'Demon-Subduing Thangka of Xi Town' was abruptly abandoned. Seeing you, my old desire to cherish talent returned, so I decided to bring you back to see something. Don’t worry, I still won’t force you. After you’ve seen these things, Bai Mohe will bring you back. But I believe you’ll be drawn in by my story, and your whole way of thinking will be shaken to its foundation..."

Guan Wen was very interested in what the important man was saying. If he could improve his art and become a master equal to Bing Qiuhan, he would have no trouble painting Baoling’s inner world.

"Guan Wen, you’re distracted again. What are you thinking about?" the important man asked sharply.

Guan Wen shook his head. "Nothing, really."

In his heart, Baoling was distant and beautiful, someone to admire from afar but never to approach.

"I cannot see into your heart, but I can read it in your eyes," the important man said.

"What?" Guan Wen snapped back to attention.

The important man leaned forward, staring at Guan Wen’s face. "That look—I've seen it before, in Bing Qiuhan’s eyes. Young man, if you are lost in desire, your path to the highest realm of thangka art will be cut off. Any art form requires single-minded devotion; without it, you will accomplish nothing."

He was already old, but his gaze remained sharp, like a newly honed scalpel that easily laid Guan Wen’s heart bare.

Under such scrutiny, Guan Wen felt a suffocating embarrassment. "I’m sorry, I was distracted. Before coming to Tashilhunpo Monastery today, I was helping a friend paint her dreams. Honestly, I know I have significant shortcomings as an artist. If you could offer me some guidance and help me break through my creative bottleneck, I would be deeply grateful."

The important man's gray eyebrows rose; the corners of his mouth drooped into a meaningful, bitter smile. "Whether you break through or not depends entirely on you. I am only the lamp that lights the way. As for how you walk the path, that is entirely up to you, isn’t it?"

Guan Wen nodded deeply. "That’s true. But I will work very hard. A year ago, I came from Jinan, Shandong, to Tashilhunpo Monastery. My only wish was to improve my art, never daring to hope for anything else."

As they spoke, the car had already entered the ring road around Lhasa.

The important man instructed the driver in a low voice, "To No. 9 Courtyard."

The car turned left onto a street south of the Potala Palace, drove a short distance, and entered a compound guarded by four security officers and four monks standing solemnly at the gate.

"We’re here. Come with me," the important man said.

The driver opened the door. The important man got out and led Guan Wen toward a two-story building to the north.

"Tell everyone to return to their posts, maintain restraint, and do not get into any conflict with people from the Five Nations and Twelve Monasteries. Matters of the Dharma must be resolved through the Dharma, not through violence." At the entrance, he turned to quietly instruct Bai Mohe.

Inside the compound, the important man unconsciously exuded an air of lofty pride, like a monarch pacing his own palace.

Bai Mohe bowed and withdrew. Inside and outside the building, all was silent except for the rustling of leaves in the breeze overhead.

"What I’m about to show you is..." The important man suddenly stopped, swayed, and leaned against the door frame. Only a few seconds passed before he suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood, staining the grass at the foot of the steps red.

Guan Wen hurriedly took out tissues and handed them to him.

"I’m fine, really... Master Heavenly Vulture brought the most brilliant minds from the Five Nations and Twelve Monasteries—India, Nepal, Bhutan, Sikkim, and Burma. I used the Six-Syllable Mantra to counter Nepal’s Master Shensha’s Lion’s Roar. I overexerted myself and have suffered internal injuries. I wanted to impress them as much as possible, but... I could not fully succeed..." The important man wiped the blood from his lips, his face ashen, as if covered in a layer of dust.

Recalling the fierce battle in the darkness of the main hall, Guan Wen could not help but feel a lingering fear. Without Bai Mohe’s protection, he would likely have fallen to flying knives or hidden arrows. He had been swept into this conflict without understanding, and escaping now seemed all but impossible.

"Does the great treasure they spoke of really exist?" Guan Wen asked.

"In Tibet, there are many rumors. Even the poorest monastery, with only three rooms, three monks, and three square yards of land, may have treasure buried beneath it. According to ancient Tibetan custom, before dying, people would donate their most precious possessions to the monastery, as a sign of reverence for the gods and a hope that such ultimate devotion would move them, granting a better reincarnation. The monasteries would often build cellarlike treasure vaults—narrow-mouthed and wide-bellied, like a piggy bank. The entrance would be barely half a foot wide, so treasures could be dropped in but never retrieved. Over the years, no one knows how much gold or jewelry has accumulated inside."

Though he asked, Guan Wen harbored no desire for treasure. He only lamented that Master Heavenly Vulture and the others had been seduced by greed, behaving unwisely despite being sages.

"Is there, or isn’t there?" The important man shook his head and sighed. "It’s all rumor, not to be believed. What matters most to me is: where is the great sage? But I brought you here to show you the relics of the 'Three Thousand Demon-Subduing Masters of Wagang Fortress.' The world only knows the story of Princess Wencheng of Tang, King Songtsen Gampo of Tibet, and Princess Bhrikuti of Nepal joining forces to subdue the demoness. In the official and unofficial histories of Xi, there is scant mention of the demon-subduing masters..." The important man forced himself to continue walking and speaking.