Chapter Thirty-Nine: Only in Death Comes Enlightenment

Soon, Basang’s face appeared outside the narrow window at the top of the iron door.

He glanced first at the mess strewn about the room, then looked at Guan Wen. “What is it?”

“I want to go to Mount Niseri. Everything you seek is there,” Guan Wen replied gently. Though he had been kidnapped and imprisoned by Basang, he bore no hatred toward him. Years steeped in the art of painting had honed his temperament to be humble and patient, indifferent to all injustice from the outside world.

“Are you sure you can help me find what I want?” Basang looked at Baoling with suspicion, then shifted his gaze back to Guan Wen.

“I’m not certain. But I know the story of ‘carving the boat to seek the sword.’ Do you know it?” Guan Wen asked with a smile.

Basang was taken aback, touching the tip of his nose, silent.

“Good and evil, right and wrong, treasure and immortality—all the stories surrounding the Demon-Suppressing Scroll of Xizng Town took place at Mount Niseri. That is the place where the sword was lost, just as in the parable. If you seek the sword, you must begin at the place of loss, rather than shutting us in here and deluding yourself. Basang, you are blinded by too much desire. Wake up and return to who you were.” Guan Wen explained calmly.

The parable of “carving the boat to seek the sword” comes from “The Spring and Autumn of Master Lü—Inspecting the Present.” It tells of a man from Chu who, upon losing his sword in the river, marked the side of the boat where it fell, thinking to retrieve it when the boat stopped—failing to realize the boat moves but the sword does not. Is such a search not folly?

“We are not far from Mount Niseri. Rather than sitting underground and speculating, why not go there in person and explore further?” At this moment, Guan Wen’s concerns had surpassed his own life and honor; suppressing and eradicating demons was a matter for all humanity. The burden that stretched across a millennium now rested on his shoulders.

“Basang, don’t hesitate any longer,” he said.

“Master Tianjiu? Master Tianjiu?” Basang called twice, but the elder remained standing before the silver buckets, silent and unmoving.

In truth, Master Tianjiu, the sages of the Twelve Temples of the Five Nations, and the elders of Zashilunbu Monastery had already scoured every inch of Mount Niseri, yet found nothing. Their only discovery was an ancient mural hidden behind vines in a secluded canyon at the mountain’s rear. “Guan Wen, I must tell you, Mount Niseri is your last stop. If you come up empty, you will face the worst outcome. Do you understand?” Basang’s smile was stiff and forced.

“You will kill me? Ruin years of cultivation for this?” Guan Wen asked.

Basang shook his head. “I won’t kill you, but Tang Guang and Jin Chanzi certainly will. They have done much to seek the great treasure; if all comes to nothing, in their fury, they will kill to vent their wrath.”

“Take us to Mount Niseri. To resolve this, we must go there. There’s no other way,” Guan Wen said with utmost sincerity.

“Hey, don’t expect anyone to rescue you once you’re out of the cellar. Unless you reveal the secret, you’re not going anywhere,” Tang Guang emerged from the shadows, sneering with a sinister air, tapping the iron door with his hammer. “You can fool Basang, but don’t forget—I’m still here!”

“Tang Guang, I am speaking with Guan Wen. Step back and do not interfere,” Basang barked.

He and Tang Guang were men of entirely different paths. The latter was a pure assassin, treating killing and looting as a profession—and finding great pleasure in it. Basang, by contrast, had entered Zashilunbu Monastery as a child, possessing the pure spiritual wisdom vital to Tibetan Buddhist monks.

“What’s the point of talking? Let me use the instruments of torture—after one round, they’ll spill everything. Basang, you may be good at chanting and meditation, but you’re useless at interrogation. Have some self-awareness,” Tang Guang retorted, refusing to obey Basang’s orders.

“Torture? Ridiculous. What we need is not a confession, but a concrete solution. What use are three confessions to Jin Chanzi? Will they find the treasure with confessions alone? Tang Guang, you are Han; you do not understand the profound depths of Tibetan Buddhism. In the boundless sea of Dharma, where there is no limit, no past or present, no high or low, life and death are but motes of dust. The effect of your torture is but another speck,” Basang replied.

Tang Guang was momentarily speechless.

“Tang Guang, whatever you’ve done elsewhere, this is Tibet—a land pure and unique under heaven. Any word or deed of disrespect could bring doom upon you. Think carefully; don’t be so quick to kill. If you offend the heavens, you’ll die without a grave,” Basang continued.

Tang Guang’s voice rose sharply. “We of the Tang family from Sichuan have never feared divine retribution. Our sole purpose is to make others’ lives miserable! Enough talk—if you can’t make them confess, then let me! I refuse to believe that those afflicted by the Nine-Sun Demon Silkworm Gu and Earthfire’s Glimmer can still defy me!”

He was justly proud of his mastery of Gu poison. Indeed, whenever the Tang family was mentioned in the martial world, people thought of their hidden weapons, poisons, and Gu arts. Countless heroes had died at their hands, their bones left to rot in wild hills.

“What’s that smell? Is something burning?” Basang suddenly sniffed the air.

A burnt, papery smell spread quickly. Guan Wen turned to see a wisp of blue smoke rising from the silver bucket before Master Tianjiu.

“Master, the fragments are on fire!” Guan Wen shouted.

Master Tianjiu raised his arms, and smoke began to pour from the other two buckets as well. He turned, gazing at Guan Wen with a gentle smile. The strange gray hue on his face was slowly fading in the firelight.

“Hey, old man, what are you doing? Are you trying to die?” Tang Guang banged furiously on the iron door from outside.

“Master, let’s talk! Don’t do anything rash!” Basang called as well.

Within half a minute, fire snaked through the silver buckets, reducing the remaining fragments to ashes. Any hope of restoring the thangka was gone.

“This burden now falls to you.” Master Tianjiu clasped his hands at his chest, thumbs touching, the other fingers forming a strange ring-shaped mudra. “I must deal with the Gu worm in my body; this is the only way. To end my life here is to die well. Tang Guang’s Gu has given me the power to break through the barriers of thought, accelerating the burning of my life to seek true enlightenment. Unfortunately, I lack the strength to save you.”

The door opened, and Basang and Tang Guang crowded in. In truth, once part of the fragments burned, the rest were rendered useless. Their entering or not now made little difference.

Guan Wen bowed deeply to Master Tianjiu. “I will do my utmost.”

Suddenly, Master Tianjiu’s mudra dispersed, his fingertips scraping together with a metallic sound as countless sparks shot from between his fingers. The sparks ignited the fragments on the floor, spreading the flames in a ring around him.

Basang could go no further; he saw the resolve for death in Master Tianjiu’s eyes. He said no more, joining his palms, muttering prayers for the dead.

At that moment, he understood—this was the inevitable end for a great monk. All doubts and confusion were swept away in an instant—this was the most joyful moment, casting off all bonds and soaring to the paradise of reincarnation. “Between dreams and their turning points, I have always longed for such perfect awakening, but have searched in vain…” Baoling, standing beside Guan Wen, gazed distantly at the serene, smiling figure of Master Tianjiu in the flames, reflecting on her own past with deep emotion.

“Lucky old man—I didn’t even get a chance to deal with him properly. Basang, it’s all your fault, dithering and hesitating. Now that old man is gone, how will you answer to Jin Chanzi?” Tang Guang muttered, licking his lips with regret.

“Guan Wen—” Master Tianjiu called out amid the flames, “Did you see it? Did you see?”

There was no need for Master Tianjiu to point it out; Guan Wen had already noticed the swirling ashes rising in a counterclockwise vortex. The flickering flames cast the fragments’ shadows onto the cellar walls, shifting rapidly—at times the shadows looked like galloping horses or shooting stars, like butterflies or strange birds, like swords and battlefields; at times, like meditating monks, grand temples, or the ubiquitous prayer flags of Tibet.

Suddenly, Master Tianjiu stepped forward into the heart of the vortex.

The ashes circled him, gathering thicker and thicker, gradually enveloping him, transforming him into a giant of gray.

It was at this moment that I stood at the intersection of reincarnation and saw… saw those things. You are right—history must be changed, and there must be a leader to shoulder all mistakes, to show another path, taking the lead. That person is you… it is you… Master Tianjiu shouted hoarsely.

Guan Wen never thought of rushing to save Master Tianjiu, for he understood that monks valued life lightly, seeking only their own spiritual realm. To die for such a realm was the highest expression of their fearless spirit.

“There is someone waiting for you in that place. You must hurry—go there. I am waiting for you… waiting for you…” Master Tianjiu’s voice suddenly changed, becoming that of a centenarian—hoarse, slow, and weak.

“Look at his face!” Baoling gasped.

In an instant, the rough, taut skin of Master Tianjiu’s face sagged, the light left his eyes, replaced by deep wrinkles and utter despair. His body swayed, stumbled, and fell, half-immersed in fire.

Now, he was no longer the commanding leader of the sages of the Five Nations and Twelve Temples, but a dying, decrepit old man at the end of his strength.

“Master, who is waiting for me? Where?” Guan Wen asked hurriedly.

Master Tianjiu struggled to raise his head, his lifeless eyes staring ahead, not at Guan Wen.

“Waiting… for you…” Flames caught his robes, beard, and hair; the smell of burning grew thick, but he did not struggle, as though he had become a senseless, unfeeling statue.

Upon the boundless snowy plateau, only those wholeheartedly devoted to the Buddha can keep their true nature—free of selfish thoughts, distractions, fear, or hidden troubles. I have waited here for lifetimes. Look—the lamp is about to go out… When a person dies, the lamp goes out. A monk never fears death, but fears the failure of transmitting the Dharma and the eternal fall of light into the sea of darkness… The snow plateau is the only pure land beneath the heavens, above the underworld, within the three realms and five elements. I once swore a vow of endless rebirth—to never abandon the task of eradicating demons while life remained. Now, my time has come… has come…

But this was not Master Tianjiu’s voice, but that of another unseen being, speaking through his body and tongue.

Suddenly, on the wall opposite, a shadow appeared—seated cross-legged, emaciated to the extreme, like a person made of cardboard.

“Is it you speaking? Who are you? Elder, how should I address you?” Basang, who had been listening intently, stepped forward and fell to his knees.

The world turns, fate shifts. Perhaps when you arrive, I will already be gone. This is the greatest regret, but none can change it. Light and shadow alternate endlessly—never ending. The task of the monk is to extinguish all darkness from the Snow land, so that the sky is always clear, the waters always pure, and hearts always good. This is the final farewell… the voice continued.

Basang stretched out his arms in full prostration, heedless of his face pressing into the ashes.

Guan Wen was drawn forward, nearing the edge of the flames. Shadows cannot be held; he knew once Master Tianjiu died, the shadow would vanish without trace.

“Elder, thank you for your guidance. But how can I reach your place?” Guan Wen asked.

Mount Niseri was vast; without guidance, searching for the treasure’s entrance would be like seeking a needle in the sea, and might take years.

Sadly, the shadow was only a narrator—it could not converse, much less give answers.

“All that happens today is the fruit of what was sown before…” With these final words, Master Tianjiu’s head fell, and he passed away forever.

As Guan Wen had foreseen, the shadow on the wall dispersed with the smoke.