Chapter Thirty-Two: The Ice Deity

The crowd in the square had already dispersed. Guan Wen estimated that Feng He had been carried to another room to receive treatment from the medical experts.

Old Dao pulled Guan Wen to the right, passing through a patch of shadow untouched by firelight. Suddenly, he stopped, fixing his gaze intently on Guan Wen’s face.

Almost at the same moment they halted, someone emerged swiftly from the other side of the shadow, appearing from the corner of a building.

“There’s a serious problem. I’ve observed other experts lying in wait; something major is about to happen,” said the newcomer, a young woman. Though her tone was urgent and subdued, it was melodious, reminiscent of a master pipa player’s swift and intricate plucking—no matter how many notes, how abrupt the shifts, how quick the changes in fingering, the entire melody was conveyed with crystalline clarity to Guan Wen’s ears.

“What should we do? Should we start killing? Wipe out all the dangerous ones, cut through the complexity—how about that?” Old Dao asked.

“No. We can’t be sure—no, in fact, we know nothing at all. Killing is the last resort; strategy comes first. You, protect Feng He and Tian Jiu, keep them alive. I’ll move around and counter every move. Remember, Feng He is the key. I’ve observed her for a long time.” The woman drew closer, exchanged positions with Old Dao as they brushed past each other, her lips never ceasing to speak.

The gray wind cap atop her head covered most of her face, but for an instant, Guan Wen saw her lips moving incessantly.

They were flawless lips, both in shape and hue—like a painting repeatedly conceived and then executed in a single stroke, polished and refined countless times. As a painter himself, Guan Wen could only describe those lips with one word: perfection.

“Tian Jiu is a troublemaker,” Old Dao remarked.

“No, he isn’t. He merely wants to uncover the secrets of the Skeleton Thangka of the Great Tang. I’ve hidden among the wise men of the Five Nations and Twelve Temples, and I know his history and movements intimately. He’s not the true enemy—”

“Then who is?” Old Dao interrupted anxiously.

The woman suddenly turned her head, looking back toward the corner from which she had emerged.

“What is it?” Old Dao asked.

“Tiger walks on snow, crane stands in frosted fields, dragon lurks in the abyss, phoenix dances in—" She stopped mid-sentence, and in a flash, she tossed away her wind cap, revealing eyes that gleamed with brilliance and a face as exquisite as a painting.

Her hair at the brow was slightly disheveled, yet even in the shadows, it shimmered with silken gloss—jet black, intensely bright.

Guan Wen saw her face: young and beautiful. Though her words were urgent, her bearing was proud and composed, like a commanding general holding the tally of power and strategizing in the tent. Her nose was slender and straight, as if carved from the finest Hetian jade.

“Is it you? You are—” Guan Wen exclaimed in astonishment, finally recognizing her voice.

The first time he saw her was outside the Esoteric Sect’s院, a fleeting glimpse, a lingering fragrance. The second time was at Tashilhunpo Monastery, during the battle between the wise men of the Five Nations and Twelve Temples and the influential figures; the lightly fragrant woman’s words still echoed in his mind. He hadn’t seen her face, but he remembered the gentle voice—like pearls falling onto a jade plate.

“It’s me,” she smiled. “I warned you not to bring trouble upon yourself, but you couldn’t avoid it after all.”

“You are—” Old Dao was thoroughly bewildered.

“That’s a trivial matter, unrelated to the larger picture.” The woman waved her hand, her smile vanishing. “This is not the time for reminiscing.”

A subtle warmth seeped into Guan Wen’s heart. He bowed deeply, sincerely, “Thank you.”

The woman shook her head. “Thank me for what? We’re but strangers crossing paths, stars meeting in the night—forget the past.”

No longer smiling, she was as icy as ancient jade, as sharp as a blade unsheathed, radiating an indescribable cold arrogance.

Guan Wen said nothing, only sighed inwardly: Perhaps only those with sorrowful histories can cultivate such aloofness, keeping everyone at a distance.

“I truly don’t know how many experts have gathered in Lhasa now!” Old Dao gave a short sigh.

“There’s been no clue found in the Tashilhunpo Monastery blood case—strange beyond measure, especially at the second crime scene—” The woman broke off mid-sentence, abruptly crouching and darting toward the corner.

Old Dao hesitated, dragging Guan Wen after her.

The shadowy area was small; lingering any longer would surely draw attention. After rounding the corner, they found two branching paths to the left and right, both deserted, not a soul in sight.

The woman kept her right hand pressed to her waist, left arm bent, gripping a three-inch willow-leaf dagger in her palm.

“No one?” Old Dao asked.

“There is, but the other is highly alert. When I moved, he retreated. I only heard footsteps echoing across the rooftiles,” the woman pointed toward the roof ahead on the right.

“Never mind for now. I’ll take this kid to see Master Tian Jiu. Any later, and they’ll get suspicious.” Old Dao glanced anxiously around.

“Listen carefully to their conversation. This time, violence alone won’t solve anything—” The woman sighed with worry.

She turned to face Guan Wen, a faint smile at her lips. “Painter Guan, the situation is urgent. If I offend, please forgive me.”

Her beauty was entirely different from Bao Ling’s. Bao Ling’s was delicate and uncertain, stirring Guan Wen’s protective instincts, while this woman was calm, reserved, her sharpness concealed—like a famous sword hidden in its sheath, silent until it strikes.

“It’s nothing,” Guan Wen replied with a bitter smile.

He couldn’t discern her background, but sensed she was not aligned with Gao Xiang and his group.

“Perhaps you know—what are they searching for?” the woman asked after a moment’s thought.

“They? Who do you mean?” Guan Wen countered.

“Everyone—except the three of us,” she traced a circle in the air with her left index finger, still gripping the dagger in reverse.

“I don’t know, and I don’t know what you want either. I’m just an unknown painter. Before getting involved in this, I was simply sketching and painting at Tashilhunpo Monastery, indifferent to the world, without desires or ambitions. All the questions you ask—I truly have nothing to offer.” Facing her piercing gaze, Guan Wen could hardly lie and had to answer truthfully.

“I mean well. At any time, I can protect you.” She smiled, turned her wrist, and the dagger slipped into her sleeve. “This is a world where the strong prey on the weak. People like you, once caught in the vortex, are hard pressed to escape. If you help me, I can guarantee your safety, and I keep my word.”

“But I still don’t know who you are,” Guan Wen replied.

He was weary—too much had happened tonight. His mind was filled with thoughts of Bao Ling, and he worried about Feng He’s life and death. Until he fully resolved the mystery hidden in Feng He’s mind, he was unwilling to let go.

“You’ll know in time. Believe me—only I can help you, keep you alive.” She smiled again, her smile seeming casual yet laden with meaning, like winter plum blossoms blooming defiantly against the snow, as if no matter how many hardships lay ahead, she could dispel them all with a smile, caring nothing for the obstacles.

Old Dao urged again, “Ice Goddess, we’re really out of time. I must—”

The woman waved him off, “Go!”

Without a moment’s delay, Old Dao dragged Guan Wen from the shadows, jogging toward the westernmost room.

Ice Goddess? Guan Wen savored the name silently. Indeed, the woman gave him an impression both cold and proud, untouched by earthly desires—beautiful as a goddess, cold as frost. The name suited her perfectly.

No sooner had they reached the doorway than a strong scent of formaldehyde disinfectant struck Guan Wen’s nose, making him sneeze twice.

The tightly shut door was immediately opened. Master Tian Jiu, his face clouded with gloom, stood in the doorway.

“You, come in. You, get out.” He pointed first at Guan Wen, then at Old Dao.

Old Dao hesitated, still holding Guan Wen’s hand, but Master Tian Jiu barked, “You, get out now!”

Despite his fierce reputation, Old Dao was no match for Master Tian Jiu’s authority; a single shout sent him retreating a few steps.

Master Tian Jiu stepped aside, gesturing for Guan Wen to enter.

Inside, the smell of disinfectant was even stronger. Guan Wen felt as if he had entered a medical school’s dissection room—the odor flooded his senses, making him uncomfortable throughout his body.

The room was rectangular, about twenty paces long and ten paces wide.

In the center stood a stainless steel dissecting table, where Feng He lay flat.

“I’ve done many things; I always thought I was right. Whatever I set my mind to, I pursued with all my strength, unstoppable. But this time, I suddenly feel lost. Come, see—” Master Tian Jiu pushed Guan Wen forward by the shoulder.

Standing beside the dissecting table, Guan Wen saw Feng He’s eyes tightly closed, her face ashen, her chest rising and falling faintly.

“She’s about to die,” Master Tian Jiu said.

Guan Wen nodded, then, without thinking, sighed three times in succession.

“She’s the only clue, but even that is about to be lost.” Master Tian Jiu frowned deeply. “Her mind holds too much. If we can’t uncover it all, it’ll be a huge loss for Tibetan Buddhism.”

Guan Wen could only nod again, expressing agreement, not knowing what else to say.

Master Tian Jiu grew agitated: “Don’t just nod! Say something, share your thoughts—I've seen your paintings. What did you gain from her dance? Speak!”

“What did I gain?” Guan Wen repeated to himself.

He brushed aside a few stray strands of hair from Feng He’s forehead, gazing at the faint wrinkles there. Such women are abundant in Tibet, their lives spent farming, herding, cooking, bearing children, keeping house—no grand dreams or future, life like wild grass on the hillside: sprouting in spring, dying in autumn, endlessly cycling, coming and going in silence.

If there were no hidden treasures in Feng He’s mind, she would be an ordinary Tibetan woman among thousands, never come to Lhasa, never hover on the brink of death after a wild dance. So, what the disciples of Tibetan Buddhism consider priceless hidden treasures—are they fortune or misfortune for her?

Because of the hidden treasures, she has attracted attention, thrust under the spotlight, and because of them, she has lost her life prematurely.

“You ask what I gained? I’d rather ask you—what do you seek?” Guan Wen replied with a heavy, bitter smile. From Feng He’s dance, he had only glimpsed fragments, scattered and incomplete.

“You’re negotiating terms with me?” Master Tian Jiu grew more agitated, pacing around the dissecting table.

“No, I just want to know about the Skeleton Thangka—unlike you, I’m a painter, concerned only with what relates to art.” Guan Wen answered.

Master Tian Jiu paused, leaned across the table, and pressed with a cold sneer, “Only concerned with art? What about the great treasure? The great practice? The ultimate enlightenment? If it’s only art, why stay so long at Tashilhunpo Monastery? Now I suspect you’re a spy sent by some organization, here to probe the secrets of Mount Nisari.”

Guan Wen was puzzled, “What spy? You’re getting farther and farther from the point.”

Master Tian Jiu sneered twice, replying word by word, “Guan Wen, I suspect you’re a spy from Area 51—not suspect, I’m certain! Your organization planted agents in several famous monasteries on both sides of the Himalayas, and I’ve dug out those spies one by one, personally eliminating them!”

He rubbed his hands vigorously, then mimed choking someone.

Guan Wen had heard of Area 51—it was a famous secret military unit in the United States, responsible mainly for handling supernatural events. But as a painter, he had nothing to do with spies or Area 51, and could not fathom why Master Tian Jiu placed him in that camp.

“I’m not,” Guan Wen replied.

“I don’t care whether you are or not!” Master Tian Jiu grew agitated again. “Anyone who tries to block the treasure is my enemy! I’ve planned for so long, all to uncover the secrets beneath Mount Nisari, to understand the hidden treasures passed down for centuries at Tashilhunpo Monastery. Even if it means opposing the whole world, I don’t care. Whoever possesses the great secret carried by the Skeleton Thangka can achieve true enlightenment—”