Chapter Eighty-Two: The Legacy of the Tang Princess

Guan Wen suddenly felt his feet firmly planted on the ground.

The scissors still rested in his hand, and before him knelt a young girl with a long braid trailing behind her.

Around them, incense smoke curled upward; monks knelt in worship, their chanting merging into a mighty torrent of sound that startled away the birds nesting in the red walls, green tiles, and shaded trees. In the distance, a large, round, orange sun hung low atop the western mountain peak, the dusky hues of twilight creeping in to envelop the scene.

In his other hand, he held the girl’s jet-black braid, nearly three feet long.

“With this one snip, your whole life will change. Will you regret it?” he asked.

“No regret,” the girl replied, lifting her face. Her eyes sparkled brightly, like two black grapes steeped in icy water. Within them, Guan Wen did not see the untouched innocence typical of a young girl, but rather a fearless calm forged through trials. He had met countless girls before, but never encountered such a gaze.

“A lifetime is but the blink of an eye; life and death, success and failure, are nothing to fear. As long as the soul endures, after many cycles of reincarnation, I will return here to fight for justice. As the Buddha teaches: if I do not descend into hell, then who will? I am prepared—there is no need to ask again.” She smiled, wise and serene like a freshly bloomed white lotus, proud and ethereal, standing apart from the rest.

Behind her, tens of thousands knelt—men and women, young and old, generals and monks—but none possessed the courage she did.

“Now, you still have a chance to turn back,” he said. Because this single snip could alter her entire life, he hesitated, weighing his decision carefully, unwilling to cut lightly.

All beings are equal; he could not, perched high above with control over the cycle of rebirth, recklessly disrupt another’s future. This girl should have had a better path—dressed in silks, residing in tall towers, growing up joyfully within the palace, then marrying into a noble family. She would bear healthy children, surrounded by laughter, while her husband held high rank and renown, his name etched into history.

That was the happiness a girl was meant to grasp. Humanity divides into male and female, each with their own roles. Since ancient times, men have hunted and foraged, while women nurtured their offspring—a clear and unchanging truth.

Was it that all the valiant men of the city had perished, leaving no one to bear the heavy burden of demon-slaying?

“Exorcising demons and defending the path—that is my reason for living. Nothing else matters,” the girl answered. “I know why I must go.”

“I still cannot bear to,” he said, gazing into her face.

Before he had escaped the cycle of six paths and attained Buddhahood, he seemed to have met her in some past life. This sense of déjà vu made him even more reluctant to snip.

Though now enlightened, he still harbored a small selfishness. If in past lives they could not unite—like driftwood in the wind, petals fallen in rain—then now, in this moment, he had the power to protect her, to save her from darkness and war. Thus, he wished to persuade her to turn back, to shield her under his wings rather than watch her stumble repeatedly down a wrong path.

“You must not let your personal desires disrupt the order of this world. We all know that true fate is meeting the right person at the right time. Otherwise, it is only mistake upon mistake, error upon error.”

At last, the girl spoke the words he had hoped for, confirming his feeling of familiarity was true, proving that beneath her body lay another soul.

“To act or not to act—that is how I will know if my choice is right or wrong. Or rather, I must change this world to alter the convergence of fate.” A profound sorrow flowed through him, for reality showed they were missing each other. He had ascended to the realm of gods and Buddhas, transcending life and death, breaking free from reincarnation to achieve immortality; she was only fifteen, bright-eyed and pure as a gentle spring deep underground.

“Do not try to change anything—let things happen as they will. That realm is beyond your reach,” she urged anxiously. “If fate is not yet ripe, a girl either meets a man she cannot rely on for life, or meets the right man but can never be fulfilled. Don’t try to do anything for me—you will destroy yourself. Think of those years the Buddha was trapped in the halo, suffering endlessly…”

He was stunned. “What?”

“Record: The Golden-Winged Great Peng stole the spirit pearl atop the Western Glazed Pot; a crime against heavenly law, punished to suffer a thousand days in the Western Undying Halo. Record: The General of the Curtain failed in his duties, guilty of dereliction, banished to the mortal realm, never to rise again... Do you remember? Do not err again, truly no more mistakes…” she cried out.

Guan Wen suddenly understood. The stories of reincarnation he knew were but a tiny fraction—countless others were unknown to him, to all mortals, and even to the three thousand gods and Buddhas in heaven and earth.

In that instant, he recalled what Tang Jue had said: acquiring the power of the Rakshasi witch could instantly replicate all things—Earth, planets, the solar system, even the primordial universe. Only such a vast world could encompass all cycles of reincarnation. To truly change their fates, one must possess everything. Otherwise, missing just a bit would doom all efforts.

“I see now: this is the ultimate meaning of demon-slaying—changing everything from the most primal, most fundamental place. Changing all—that is the truest path. As the Tao Te Ching says: The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the origin of Heaven and Earth; the named is the mother of all things. Therefore, constantly without desire, one may observe its mysteries; constantly with desire, one may observe its manifestations. These two come from the same source but differ in name; this is called the profound mystery, the mystery of mysteries, the gateway to all wonders…”

Guan Wen recited the ancient text aloud, especially those lines about “the origin of Heaven and Earth, the mother of all things,” which filled him with sudden clarity.

“Excellent! You truly understand!” the girl wept with joy.

Suddenly, dark clouds gathered, thunder rumbled, and a torrential storm threatened to break loose.

“To hear the Tao in the morning and die by night is acceptable,” she said. “I have awaited this day. Only true enlightenment can... can set things right, correct all errors, meet the right person at the right moment, live lifetimes without regret, and reverse every sorrowful tale to give every lost soul the warmest home...” She stood, clasping Guan Wen’s hand.

He looked down and clearly felt that warmth belonged to Gu Qingcheng.

Winds swept away the dark clouds, shaking the high platform beneath their feet. Sand and stones flew in the air; trees as wide as three men’s embrace were uprooted and tossed about. The kneeling crowd scattered in panic, incense sticks and prayer banners abandoned.

“Last night, I remembered the world I faced alone against the torment of time. It was a wrong moment—those hundred years when you did not appear, leaving me alone in the cold night—‘A thousand miles to war, the mountain passes fly by. The northern wind signals the watch, cold light shines on iron armor. Generals die in a hundred battles, warriors return after ten years.’” She spoke the famous verses from the North Dynasty’s long narrative folk song, “The Ballad of Mulan.” From her lips, beyond the steady cadence, came an indescribable melancholy and hidden bitterness.

“These lines I wrote while flipping through my reincarnation stories in the endless night—‘Returning to see the emperor, who sits in the bright hall. Awarded twelve times for merit, with riches and honors. The Khan asks my rank; Mulan does not need to be an official. I wish to ride a thousand miles, to send my son back home... Who among the world knows where my true home is? That remarkable woman who fought on the battlefield lives in another’s world, while I am simply myself—unchanged by the world, holding fast to my resolve to exorcise demons, because I understand that only by exorcising demons can all end...’”

Guan Wen knew her name was of little consequence. What mattered was that she was the most important woman in his life.

This “Ballad of Mulan” had been included in the Yuefu Poetry Collection under the “Liang Drum and Horn Tunes,” with Chen Shizhi’s Ancient and Modern Music Records citing: “Mulan, unknown name.”

The Literary Garden’s Glossary noted: “The Ballad of Mulan was originally likely a Xianbei song, transmitted to the south, translated into Chinese, once included in the Liang dynasty’s Yuefu, later scattered among the common people.”

In the vast cycle of reincarnation, to retain one’s original heart is difficult—but she had done so.

“Do not try to change this life of mine; it is useless. Exorcising demons is our only path,” she affirmed firmly once more.

The wind grew fiercer; lightning in branching patterns struck repeatedly through gaps in the clouds. Several times, lightning tips nearly touched the three-zhang-high platform.

“The Tao produces One. One produces Two. Two produces Three. Three produces all things. All things carry yin and embrace yang, blending their qi to achieve harmony. What people dislike are loneliness, widowhood, and lack of grain, yet rulers take these as titles. Thus, some things are diminished yet increased; others increased yet diminished. What people teach, I also teach. The violent will not meet a proper death; I will make this my teaching...” The classic lines of the Tao Te Ching poured over Guan Wen’s mind like nourishing rain.

“Some things must fail before they succeed; some people must be lost before they are gained. Only then can one return to the era of the universe’s singular ‘One.’ Since it is ‘One,’ there is no need to distinguish past from future, victory from defeat, right from wrong, possession from loss... As long as one returns to ‘One,’ as long as the world of ‘One’ is understood and ordered, one will stand undefeated forever. Then, through countless lives, whether as Buddha or sage, as long as the ultimate goal points to ‘One,’ it is absolute, pure truth.”

He finally understood everything—but the platform’s foundation loosened and collapsed with a resounding crash.

Amid the chaos and dust, a bolt of lightning exploded between him and her, blinding him. When the lightning’s root-like tip wrapped his entire body, his limbs went numb and the scissors slipped from his hand.

With a crisp sound, the scissors fell, cutting through her hair silently and precisely at the roots, the braid falling away without a sound.

At that moment, he felt his body lighten, transforming into the Golden-Winged Great Peng, soaring with mighty wings into the nine heavens above.

Beneath him, the ancient palaces, forests, cities, and landscapes shrank like tiny scenes on a scroll, growing smaller and smaller until they vanished from sight.

“Qingcheng, wait for me...” Despite a thousand regrets and unwillingness, their parting was severed in an instant, never to be resumed.