Chapter 38: Intertwining Nightmares and Hidden Knowledge

This time, Baoling’s voice was exceptionally calm, her narration methodical and composed, devoid of any tension or fear. It was as if she were a storyteller, wooden gavel in hand, recounting another’s tale.

I have visited Tashilhunpo Monastery countless times, searching for the people, places, and objects from my dreams. The first time I laid eyes on Mount Nisari and the monastery built upon its slopes, I felt both elation and trepidation, for they were exactly as I had seen them in my dreams—of course, I sought out these places because of my dreams, and when I first dreamt of the mountain and monastery, I was still an infant. It was not a case of day-thoughts turning into night-dreams.

I found that abandoned cliff, deserted for over a century. Now, it was merely an ordinary precipice: the path had crumbled, its summit lay bare, with no trace left from my dream. Among all my dreams, the most terrifying took place here, as I’ve told you before: someone dearest to me was tied by brutes to a post, tortured with a thousand cuts, a fate worse than death. In that dream’s conclusion, I became the woman who nearly suffered the beasts’ violation. As one of them approached, grinning savagely, I struggled desperately, recoiling. Suddenly, I was elsewhere—enveloped in a warm darkness, surrounded by turbulent waters. When I reached out, all around me were soft walls.

Perhaps you have guessed it: I was inside a mother’s womb. Humanity is diverse, but all wombs that bear life are the same—soft, silent, peaceful, warm. Even the most agitated soul finds calm within. After the immense terror, I was soothed, falling into a deep, unbroken sleep, as though I were resting in paradise. The womb is the safest haven; in its gentle tranquility, I nearly forgot all past misfortunes and even my identity as a princess of Zhaoge. I wished only for endless sleep.

Between the scene of the cliff and the womb, there was a period like a silent black-and-white film. I could see all around, but hear nothing. I stood amidst an endless tide of humanity, people crossing paths in utter chaos, walking wordlessly, each staring straight ahead, moving mechanically. Lost without direction, I simply stood still, unmoving. Perhaps it was this stillness that allowed me to pass from the cliff to the womb. After I gained my hearing as an infant, I once again heard the familiar chimes and chanting.

Though Guan Wen did not interrupt in shock, he began to draw sharp breaths, for by Baoling’s account, she had vanished from the cliff and reappeared in a womb nearby—close enough to the cliff that the chimes and chanting felt familiar.

Master Tianjiu was less patient than Guan Wen, unable to suppress his agitation. He asked bluntly, “Do you mean to say you were born near the cliff?”

Baoling did not answer immediately. She frowned in thought, then replied slowly, “Master, you are a wise practitioner and surely know that in any religion, in any monastery on earth, the version of the scriptures, the rhythm of the chimes and drums, even the ambient noises—the wind, voices, birds—do not change lightly. Good habits persist for centuries, even millennia, forming the traditions of the monastery. Isn’t that so?”

Master Tianjiu answered at once, “Of course. In Buddhist texts, these enduring sounds are called ‘celestial harmonies.’ But you haven’t answered me. Did you disappear and reappear in the same place?”

Baoling nodded, then shook her head.

Master Tianjiu slapped his thigh in frustration. “Oh, do hurry and answer me! Don’t speak in riddles!”

Baoling replied, “All I can say is that as an infant, I sensed my mother’s womb was within Tashilhunpo Monastery. But I grew up in an orphanage in Hong Kong. From birth to the age of three, my memory is a complete blank. The cause of this is a famous thangka.”

Even Guan Wen could not help but exclaim, “A thangka? Why a thangka?”

Baoling gave a bitter smile. “Yes, I know these things may sound unbelievable, but…when I was in the womb, I had the hearing and mind of an adult. Once, while awake, I heard someone say, ‘The Demon-Suppressing Painting has been stolen back. I’ll return it at dawn…’”

Master Tianjiu cried out in alarm, “What? What Demon-Suppressing Painting?”

Baoling shook her head. “You ask me, but I have no answer. Now, I am only the storyteller. And it was here that my memory took a great turn. Far away, a woman was calling my name—”

“Which name? The old name, Zhaoge? Was it?” Guan Wen asked and answered himself.

Baoling nodded. “Yes, she called my name again and again, her voice alluring and enchanting. She beckoned me to her side, waving from afar. I could not see her clearly, only a blurred shadow. At first, I felt no wariness and rashly answered her. In that instant, her hand pierced the boundary of space, reaching suddenly before me, with sharp nails like five knives, nearly stabbing my heart. Sensing the danger, I fell silent in terror, not daring to make a sound. After that, I didn’t dare sleep, always hovering between waking and dreaming, forcing my thoughts to scatter, never again looking toward that distant place. My memory ends there. When it resumed, I was already in the Hong Kong orphanage, a child with no parents.”

Guan Wen let out a long sigh and forced a smile to ease Baoling’s sorrow. “What a strange tale. You carried memories from your past life into this one, only to find that even in the womb, you were hunted and tempted. I wonder what happened during your lost years that left you orphaned?”

These memories were unbearably painful. Guan Wen, hearing Baoling’s halting account, was filled with compassion.

“Why don’t you ask why I scattered the fragments?” Baoling changed the subject herself.

“Why?” Guan Wen asked.

“Because I suddenly understood—the one who destroyed the thangka was the very one who painted it. His true intent was to warn future generations that ‘suppressing the demon’ was a grave mistake. If the genuine thangka remained, it would mislead those who came after into believing the demoness was forever suppressed, that they could rest easy.”

Baoling’s words matched Guan Wen’s reasoning exactly, to his great satisfaction.

“Then what about the Demon-Suppressing Painting? Why did someone go to such lengths to preserve it?” Master Tianjiu was unconvinced.

Guan Wen smiled. “Master, there’s an unspoken rule in the art world—if you recognize a forgery, as long as it doesn’t affect your own interests, you never expose it, lest you ruin your peers’ livelihoods. The discovery of the Demon-Suppressing Painting during the Norbulingka relic excavations was a sensational event. Amidst the flood of praise, any doubts were instantly drowned out by the applause.”

Master Tianjiu sighed heavily. “And what of the ones I possess? After all my effort and the lives of several friends, if they too are fakes, how can I face the world?”

He finally lowered his proud head, his face full of deep regret. As the saying goes, a dying man speaks kindly. He saw his own future, knew death was near, and became suddenly detached from all his past glories.

In truth, many in this world are the same—they regret only at the brink of death. When he led sages from five nations and twelve monasteries to challenge Tashilhunpo, how heroic he was! Yet only days later, he became a prisoner, a meal for others.

“I can reassemble them,” said Baoling. “In certain dream fragments, I have seen the Demon-Suppressing Painting with my own eyes. Master, these fragments are undoubtedly genuine, but the key is not in matching their edges, but in shaping them into a three-dimensional figure. What we must do is piece them together into a three-dimensional image of the demoness, restoring the thangka’s original form—”

“Is that truly possible?” Hope glittered again in Master Tianjiu’s eyes. “You—I hardly know what to call you. Princess Zhaoge? Or—”

“Just call me Baoling.” Her spirit had returned, and color was coming back to her face.

“Miss Baoling, I have spent decades traversing the Himalayas, all to restore the fragments of the thangka. According to my family’s ancestors, to possess the complete thangka is to find the hidden treasure, to discover the gateway to eternal light and the triumph of dharma. What are we waiting for? Let’s begin at once!” As he spoke, Master Tianjiu crouched down, gathering the fragments back into the silver canister.

Guan Wen had been silent, but now he held up a hand to stop him. “No need, Master.”

Master Tianjiu looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

With his hands clasped behind his back, Guan Wen stepped forward over the precious fragments, as if he were a poet strolling across a plaza thick with autumn leaves.

“Don’t step on them carelessly—these…these are important!” Master Tianjiu could not help but warn.

Guan Wen shook his head. “They are no longer important. Master, the fragments exist only as a vivid warning to later generations, a marker of the mistakes made by the king and two princesses. Their purpose is fulfilled. Keeping them now would only be redundant. I assure you, once our business here is done, I could paint the reassembled Demon-Suppressing Painting at any time. But for now—trapped as we are, even if we achieve understanding, it would only be stolen and used by others. Wouldn’t that be handing our work over to our enemies?”

Master Tianjiu, half convinced, stood by the silver canister, fragments in hand, stunned.

“We three are moments from death, and our only chance is to use our last bargaining chip wisely. Master, forget the Nine-Sun Demon Silkworm Poison and the Earthfire Radiance for now. I believe we will yet have a chance to turn the tables,” said Guan Wen with conviction.

Between the need to avoid damaging the goods and the threat of being silenced, there is a delicate balance—anyone with the least experience in these matters can see how this contest will play out. Basang and Tang Guang want the secret of the thangka; once they have it, Guan Wen, Baoling, and Master Tianjiu will be useless burdens.

After seeing through the true nature of the thangka fragments, Guan Wen felt a window open in his mind, his vision suddenly expanding from the halls of Tashilhunpo to the vast ranges of Mount Nisari and the whole sweep of the Himalayas. He seemed able to see through a millennium of stories surrounding the Demon-Suppressing Painting, to grasp the careful intentions and helpless choices of the king and two princesses who once tried to suppress the demoness.

Though the fragments were not yet assembled, in his mind he could sketch the figure of the Rakshasi demoness and the layout of the temples that suppressed her. For a thousand years, the gradual ruin of those demon-suppressing temples could superficially be blamed on wind and weather, but in truth, he realized with a sharp clarity, the demoness beneath had begun to stir.

A time of crisis, the cusp of life and death, he thought silently.

“There’s no need for me to draw out all my nightmares, is there?” Baoling had come to stand beside him.

Guan Wen tapped his temple lightly. “They’re all here.”

The two stood face to face, unmoving, gazing at each other.

“Let those who should hear, hear. Let those who should see, see. Let those who should understand, understand. That is the meaning of nightmares and hidden treasures. Wouldn’t you agree?” Guan Wen smiled, wise and confident.

“So long as they exist in your mind, I am at ease. In all the world, only you truly understand these things,” Baoling replied. She no longer looked sad; her face shone with a radiant, heartfelt smile.

“We must get out,” said Guan Wen, walking to the door and pounding on the iron gate.

“To where?” Baoling followed closely.

“To the place where the nightmare began,” Guan Wen answered.