Chapter Forty-Three: Risking Life to Save Another

A sudden hiss—there, in the southwestern sky, a firework exploded, scattering blue-green sparks that trailed shimmering tails as they drifted apart. Guan Wen was startled. After a brief moment of thought, he rushed out of the courtyard, sprinting toward the place where the firework had bloomed.

He had a foreboding sense that the firework was a bad omen.

Crossing several ditches and clambering over a few embankments, he raced across a stretch of abandoned wasteland. Suddenly, someone stumbled toward him from ahead.

“Hurry… it’s dangerous…” That was Gu Qingcheng’s voice, hoarse and strained, as if she were already gravely injured.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Guan Wen caught her, supporting her with one hand while pulling out his phone with the other, quickly dialing for the police. It was the simplest and most direct solution.

Gu Qingcheng’s body was heavy, her right leg dragging limply and already unable to bear her weight. Bending down, Guan Wen grabbed her arms and hoisted her onto his back, then dashed back the way he had come.

“Go! Both of us can’t get away!” Gu Qingcheng shouted desperately in his ear.

Only a few dozen steps behind, a cacophony of footsteps closed in rapidly; the pursuers were fierce and fast.

“I won’t leave you behind,” Guan Wen answered, utterly fearless, disregarding his own life or death, intent only on saving Gu Qingcheng. He did this not to repay the life-saving favor she had granted him beneath the sacred walnut tree, but out of a pure sense of justice. The ultimate goal was not whether he could save her, but whether, at the critical moment, he had the courage to step forward.

“Fool, you’ll be dragged down with me!” Gu Qingcheng roared.

As they crossed a ditch, Guan Wen’s foot caught and he pitched forward. Fearing he’d injure Gu Qingcheng, he didn’t dare to roll with the fall and instead crashed hard onto his chest, the impact jolting a muffled groan of pain from him.

In an instant, their pursuers caught up, surrounding them on all sides. There were four in total, all dressed in tight black clothing, faces masked by black cloth, only their fierce, evil eyes visible.

“Reinforcements? Then you can die together.” One of them leveled a silenced pistol at Guan Wen.

“This has nothing to do with him, don’t hurt the innocent…” Gu Qingcheng gasped between clenched teeth.

“Anyone who opposes the Azure Dragon Society must die, no exceptions. I never expected your backup to be so useless—how amusing. I’ll kill this one first, and as for you… well, the night is long, and there are other things we can do, aren’t there, brothers?” The gunman let out a sinister laugh.

“Enough talk, kill them. Jin Chan has given the order—anyone who complicates matters will be executed on the spot. Once we leave this province, there are beautiful women everywhere, don’t even think about making trouble with the world’s top female bounty hunter. She’s not to be trifled with—the number of experts who’ve died by her hand is uncountable. Enough—do it! Kill her first, then this guy!” Another drew his gun, aiming at Gu Qingcheng.

At the moment he pulled the trigger, Guan Wen threw himself forward, shielding Gu Qingcheng with his body and taking the bullet for her.

“Is this guy insane? Dead is dead, what’s the rush?” The other two laughed mockingly, circling the pair like cats toying with mice.

“I… I owed you a debt for saving my life… I couldn’t rest in peace if I didn’t repay it… It’s a pity I could only take one bullet for you. I can’t help Baoling return the favor again…” The bullet had pierced Guan Wen’s left shoulder—not instantly fatal, but the searing pain nearly made him lose consciousness.

“Good. One bullet, and the debt is repaid.” Gu Qingcheng answered. “See you in the next life.”

“In the next life… in the next life…” At the brink of death, Guan Wen thought of Baoling, still sleeping in the family inn. He only wished that after he died, there would be another loving man to cherish her, to accompany her through the long years, to guard her every night, so she’d never again be tormented by nightmares.

The icy muzzle pressed against Guan Wen’s head; he could almost feel the bullet in the chamber straining to burst forth, eager to kill.

Suddenly, a sharp flash of lightning shot from the shadows, dazzling and swift, vanishing without a trace—brighter than a midsummer thunderbolt, yet even briefer. Guan Wen didn’t know what had happened. He thought this was the end, that the next cycle was about to begin, and that there was no longer any hope.

Guan Wen awoke, the distinct scent of Dragon-Hiding incense in the air. Someone sat across from him, softly chanting sutras. He remembered the enemy’s gun and that flash of lightning—he had been certain death was inevitable, so much so that now, these sounds and smells seemed mere illusions in the cycle of rebirth.

He opened his eyes to find himself staring up at a massive mandala, boundless, colorless, outlined entirely in shades of gray and white. In a fleeting instant, he felt as though he had entered that gray world, his body light and buoyant, as if drifting through clouds. In that world, there were mountains and rivers, pavilions and towers, bustling markets, trees and flowers—yet all stood rigid and silent, devoid of life, utterly unlike the real world.

“Am I dead? Is this the underworld within the six realms of rebirth?” For a moment, Guan Wen’s heart leapt to his throat, for he still had so many attachments in the living world. What of Baoling? Was this the eternal separation between life and death? He was unwilling—so unwilling.

He struggled to wave his hand, wanting to push aside this black-and-white world and return to where he belonged.

The mandala receded in a flash—it was only a painting on the ceiling above him. He had entered only its painted world. In his dazed state, he’d forgotten himself, immersed in the world within the painting. But as consciousness returned, the painting remained a painting, and he was still himself.

Turning to his right, he saw an old acquaintance: Tsering Dajie, the mysterious monk who guarded Master Shu’s courtyard.

Tsering Dajie sat cross-legged on the wooden bed opposite, hunched over, his hands slowly and mechanically counting ebony prayer beads, eyes half-closed, lips moving ceaselessly. The scriptures he chanted were in an obscure tongue, the voice muffled; Guan Wen could not understand a word.

Behind him, a great wooden window let in sunlight, which spilled through the lattice, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

“Master, how did I end up here?” Guan Wen propped himself up to ask. Instantly, a tearing pain shot through his left shoulder, as if half his body were being split apart.

Tsering Dajie stopped chanting, frowned, and countered, “Why shouldn’t you be here? If not here, then where?”

“Was it you who saved me?” Guan Wen asked again.

Tsering Dajie nodded, came over to feel Guan Wen’s forehead, his expression unusually grave. “You’re not out of danger yet—you have a high fever. Lie still and speak as little as possible.”

The memory of what happened before he lost consciousness came rushing back. Guan Wen blurted, “What about Gu Qingcheng? Is she alright?”

Gu Qingcheng had come to this province to hunt down members of the Azure Dragon Society. If she’d fallen into their hands, the consequences were unthinkable. Guan Wen knew that though he had taken a bullet for her, he couldn’t have changed the final outcome.

Tsering Dajie smiled. “Of course she’s fine—the bullet hit you, not her. Next time you feel like doing something foolish, think carefully: is the great treasure of Mount Ni more important, or is that woman’s life more important?”

Guan Wen nodded gently. “Thank you, Master, for saving me.”

This was the outcome he had most hoped for—to help Gu Qingcheng and repay the debt from their battle in the cellar. Of course, in that instant when he threw himself into the line of fire, it was not only gratitude that drove him, but a selfless, fearless spirit: “If I do not go to hell, who will?”

This place—here, where Tsering Dajie had first told him the story of the Skull Thangka—was Master Shu’s courtyard in the Zashlunbu Monastery. Guan Wen looked around: everywhere, on the walls, the floor, in every corner, were thangka paintings left behind by masters of previous generations. Each was a labor of love, their realms and mysteries transcending the limits of human imagination, leaving him in awe.

He lay back again, gazing for the second time at the black-and-white mandala covering the ceiling, more convinced than ever that those reclusive masters had brought the art of thangka to its ultimate peak, impossible for future generations to surpass. Compared to their works, later painters’ efforts seemed childish as crude doodles, utterly lacking in spirit.

“Sleep. You need rest. Many things still await you…” Tsering Dajie’s hand slowly swept across Guan Wen’s face, fingers curling and uncurling as he muttered a brief incantation. Guan Wen felt drowsiness overcome him, his eyes closing once more, and he sank into deep sleep.

This time, Guan Wen dreamed a long, long dream—

In the dream, he had returned to distant Jinan, to the Liu Family’s Spring Alley on Qu Shui Pavilion Street, watching as his master painted an ancient mandala on a gray wall, stroke by stroke.

The brush was a Buddha’s hand; the mandala, the universe. “The world is in your heart, dividing yin and yang, man and spirit. Do you understand? Look at it. Look at the other world beneath my brush.” His master’s most enduring image was his obsessed back, painting the mandala line by line. Guan Wen never understood the purpose of repeatedly painting such a mandala, but since his master had instructed him, he copied and pondered it over and over.

Jinan, also known as the City of Springs, was home to Baotu Spring, called the finest spring under heaven. The whole city bubbled with water, never drying up, the sound of flowing water everywhere. On Qu Shui Pavilion Street, nearly every household had a spring, water running through every home, making it the leading tourist destination north of the river.

“The wise delight in water, the humane in mountains.” Guan Wen did not consider himself wise, but he loved the flowing waters of the city; water inspired him, gave him endless creative spirit. His paintings, nourished by the springs, grew ever more soulful.

“Go to Zashlunbu Monastery, that’s where your true talents will…” There were countless painters in the world, but none truly understood Zashlunbu Monastery… “You must go, atone for my sins, finish all that I left undone… Never forget, we do not live simply for the sake of living. We must contribute to the Pure Land, devote all our strength and life to the snow-covered plateau. Listen to me—go there, let the mountains and waters of Tibet awaken the power within you…” These were his master’s final words on his deathbed.

“Master, I will go,” Guan Wen vowed, kneeling by his master’s sickbed.

“The next words are for Baolizhu. If you… if you meet her in the future, tell her this, word for word, without a single omission: ‘Lizhu, I have no regrets for what I did, not even if it means divine punishment, exile, or being unable to find a place in the world. From the moment I first saw you, I decided: no matter what the cost, I would be with you, live and die together, walk side by side. When you left this province, my world collapsed. That’s why I broke temple rules and traveled all the way to Hong Kong for you. I always thought loving you was my business, and I did everything willingly for you. Whether you love me or not is your business, and I will never blame you. Before I die, I swear upon my heart: within the six realms of rebirth, my soul will not perish. In the next life, I will find you again, never resting, until this body and heart are dust and ashes…’”

His master passed away, calling Baolizhu’s name, arms outstretched, fingers splayed, unwilling to close his eyes in death.

Guan Wen remembered those words, yet did not know where to find the woman called Baolizhu. When his master died, he left everything in Jinan behind and journeyed resolutely to Tibet.

In his dream, he recalled once more the intricate mandala on the gray wall. What had his master meant by teaching him these things?