Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Dancer of Souls

She is dancing with her life, the distinguished figure murmured.

Guan Wen’s gaze followed Feng He’s silhouette. Though he was fully aware that she was like a candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished by the slightest misstep, he was utterly powerless to save her.

Life belongs to the heavens; what is given is taken away, and humanity is helpless before it. The distinguished figure sighed.

Suddenly, Guan Wen sensed something from the desperate dance that emanated from Feng He. As she spun rapidly, her sleeves swelled with wind, ballooning abruptly like a great sail battered by the sea breeze—unable to ride the wind forward, nor free itself from entanglement. When she bent forward, her forehead touching her toes, or arched backward with her hair brushing the ground, she resembled a bamboo grove battered by a fierce gale—broken, scattered, and left in disarray.

What is she doing? What is she doing…? Guan Wen muttered to himself.

To the ordinary onlooker, it was merely Feng He’s dance. But Guan Wen distinctly felt from her every gesture a force as primordial as the birth of chaos, the shattering of heaven and earth.

A flash of insight struck him, sudden and electric: She is expressing her thoughts through dance—things that cannot be spoken, only conveyed through movement and gesture.

Gongsun the Lady—“Watching the Dance with Swords by Lady Gongsun’s Disciple!” he exclaimed.

The great poet Du Fu once wrote a long poem titled “Watching the Dance with Swords by Lady Gongsun’s Disciple,” and Guan Wen especially cherished eight lines from it.

He continued to watch Feng He, reciting softly: “Once there was a beauty, Lady Gongsun by name, whose sword dance moved all lands. Onlookers stood like mountains, sighing in awe, heaven and earth bowing before her. Swift as Hou Yi shooting down the nine suns; bold as dragons soaring with the gods. She came like thunder, gathering fury; she paused like rivers and seas, holding pure light…”

Though Feng He held no blade, her thumbs, ring fingers, and little fingers curled inward, while her index and middle fingers were pressed tightly together and thrust straight ahead, the classic gesture of swordplay by hand.

To Guan Wen’s eyes, it was as if a restless, raging soul within Feng He was struggling to break free of its shell. In that moment, there was no Feng He, no Saranjesang, no nomad girl disciple sheltered and taught by the Flame Master. Only a soul borrowing Feng He’s body, telling its tale through a frantic dance.

That is… that is… Guan Wen whispered urgently, feeling a revelation he needed to capture with his brush.

Guan Wen, what have you realized? the distinguished figure asked.

There was no time to return to his room for pen and paper. Looking around, Guan Wen spotted a monk with a dagger at his waist, strode over, and seized the dagger’s hilt.

Startled, the monk instantly twisted around and grabbed Guan Wen’s wrist.

Let him have it! Don’t interfere—let him! the distinguished figure commanded sharply.

The monk released his grip at once, raising his hands above his head, motionless.

Drawing the dagger, Guan Wen crouched and, using the blade as a pen, began sketching swiftly on the ground.

He drew what the dance had inspired—wild and unstructured, like splashed-ink landscapes or frenzied cursive calligraphy.

On the square, Feng He’s dance reached its most frenzied crescendo—spinning wildly, tumbling backward, every gesture now entirely divorced from Tibetan dance.

Suddenly, Feng He halted, standing rigidly for several minutes before slowly collapsing backward.

All present were stunned by her transformation. After a moment's pause, someone finally rushed to the center of the square.

What did you understand? What did you draw? the distinguished figure asked.

Guan Wen emerged from his reverie, dropped the dagger, and looked down at the image at his feet—five meters long, three meters wide. He had drawn a vertical, winding tunnel, its walls infested with countless double-headed serpents, their tongues flicking like thick water plants swaying in a lake.

At the tunnel’s deepest point crouched a gaunt old man, thin as dried grass. His right hand stretched upward, as if calling out. Below his waist, the old man was submerged in water. The water, rendered in a chaos of lines, seemed full of whirling eddies, forever dragging him downward. Anyone could see the old man was on the brink of doom, about to be swallowed by the depths.

There is someone, waiting for us to come. He does not wish to be rescued, but to pass on a great mission. For this, he has set aside his own life and death, living only through sheer will, and will soon burn out his last flame. Once he dies, the mission can no longer continue; humanity’s great calamity will soon follow. Yet, I do not know where he is—Feng He’s dance did not reveal it. I can only guess, based on her movements… Guan Wen murmured to his painting, not looking at the distinguished figure.

No location—then where can we search for him? the distinguished figure said with a wry smile.

A monk came running to report: Feng He has fallen into a coma.

Take her back to her room and watch over her carefully, the distinguished figure ordered with a wave.

Guan Wen frowned, lost in thought. Yes, she showed me that man, but not his hiding place—why is that?

He wandered forward, pushing aside the monks to reach Feng He.

She lay supine, her face ghostly pale, eyes tightly shut. Were it not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, she would be indistinguishable from the dead.

Tell me more, please. I know you are exhausted, but you haven’t told me where that man is hiding—how will I find him? Guan Wen repeated his plea three times, but Feng He gave no response.

To build a mountain nine fathoms high, only to fail for lack of one basket of earth. Guan Wen lamented.

He did not know what finding that man would accomplish, but the knowledge Feng He conveyed with her dance surely held profound meaning. As long as a sliver of hope remained, he would strive to unravel the mystery, to uncover the truth behind the hidden knowledge.

Guan Wen, she’s too tired now, the distinguished figure said, approaching him.

Guan Wen knelt down and took Feng He’s hand.

Her hand was icy, devoid of living warmth. He took comfort only in the fact that she still clung to life, the final thread of hope not yet severed.

Whoever you are—please, steel yourself, finish what you have to say, let me understand the ‘hidden knowledge’ in your mind. You give me only these broken fragments—I cannot piece them together. If you do not speak, this knowledge will be lost forever. Guan Wen whispered heavily.

He was painfully aware that Feng He’s life was ebbing away.

If only he had eyes that could see into the human soul, perhaps he would witness Feng He’s spirit slipping from her body, ready to drift away at any moment. But he could do nothing to stop it. Life and death, reunion and parting, are held in the vast, unfathomable hands of fate. As for humanity itself—if we do not understand life, how can we know death?

Cough, cough… Feng He struggled to cough twice, her mouth opening to exhale, but no sound emerged.

She truly… can’t go on. Take her back. The distinguished figure patted Guan Wen’s shoulder and instructed the monks to carry her away.

Suddenly, someone vaulted over the wall from the right, gliding down like a night bird startled by the commotion, arms outstretched.

A few monks moved to block him, but he dispatched four of them in an instant, landing lightly beside Feng He.

Don’t touch her—the man barked in a sharp whisper. It was the missing Nepalese master, the Sky Vulture.

The distinguished figure waved to prevent the others from charging forward, quickly restoring order to the scene and avoiding a mass brawl. The Sky Vulture’s skill was formidable; trying to restrain him by force would only result in injury.

She was mistaken. After a long silence, the Sky Vulture sneered, casting a sidelong glance at Guan Wen.

What do you mean? the distinguished figure asked.

She thought that since this Mr. Guan could draw others’ thoughts, he could also depict the ‘hidden knowledge’ in her mind. But what happened? In the end—she died, the knowledge vanished, and Mr. Guan drew nothing at all. The Sky Vulture’s tone was mocking.

He was dressed from head to toe in jet-black nightwear, his entire figure swallowed by shadow save for his piercing, reflective eyes—a form that could melt into darkness at any moment.

Guan Wen raised his head and asked calmly, You’ve been following us all along? From Mount Niseri’s Tashilhunpo Monastery to here—I’ve sensed a cold, detached gaze on my back the whole way. That was you, wasn’t it?

He had met many wise men, most of whom were gentle and withdrawn, free of desire and competition. Only this Sky Vulture before him had eyes sharp and cold, words aggressive and unyielding, with not a hint of inner restraint—a man who bore no likeness to a monk.

There was no doubt: Guan Wen disliked the Sky Vulture. His presence stirred only aversion.

That’s right. The Sky Vulture grinned. But don’t think I mean you any harm. What I want is to piece together that thangka and seize the secret it contains. Now, I have it—ha ha ha ha…

A hush fell over the gathering, broken only by the occasional crackle of burning wood.

The distinguished figure asked cautiously, What is this secret? Is it about the survival of the Tashilhunpo Monastery?

The Flame Master pressed as well, You’ve obtained it? What have you obtained? This is no time for riddles—

The Sky Vulture cackled, Riddles? I led sages from five nations and twelve monasteries across the border to Tashilhunpo, just to play games? You underestimate me. I said it before—there are no true sages on the Tibetan frontier. The great monasteries north of the Himalayas are crowded with fame-seekers. Chanting and meditation are fine, but to unravel the secrets of Tashilhunpo, they fall far short!

He flicked his sleeve, brushing Guan Wen’s shoulder.

An invisible force shoved Guan Wen back, stumbling—he was caught just in time by the distinguished figure.

I mean you, too! the Sky Vulture declared haughtily.

Guan Wen cared nothing for personal honor or humiliation—only for the knowledge in Feng He’s mind. With just a bit more guidance, he could discover the hidden dweller’s location and dig up the secret buried below.

I saw something, but not everything, he said.

What you saw may not be accurate; what you did not see cannot be put to paper—am I right? Then was it not blind leading the blind for Feng He to consult you? If the people of Tashilhunpo rely on you to find the ‘hidden knowledge,’ isn’t it like a blind man riding a blind horse, approaching a deep pool at midnight? With one misstep, all is lost, the Sky Vulture pressed relentlessly.

Guan Wen drew a deep breath and nodded slowly. If I am mistaken, Master, please show me—where have I gone astray? How should I correct it?

At the crucial moment, he calmed his mind, setting aside all anger and discontent, focusing solely on the knowledge itself. True heroes and champions are often like this: when the storm is about to break, they do not lose their heads, nor yield to impulse. They seize the key point and do not let go until the conflict is resolved.

Behind him, the Flame Master let out a quiet sigh. Good, very good. Young man, I knew I was not mistaken about you.