Chapter Forty-Six: Only the Vanquisher of Demons Achieves Immortality

Disciples of Tibetan Buddhism, regardless of age, strength, or intellect, always place virtue above all else. Fleeing from battle or fearing death is considered a grievous stain upon one's character; a wise man revered for a lifetime of cultivation would rather die than bear such dishonor. True practitioners are fearless and selfless; even if their names are never recorded in history, they offer their lives without regret.

Although Guan Wen was of Han descent, when Master Shu recounted the story of seventy sages who vied to enter the black hole and fight the demoness to the death, he felt his blood boil with excitement. Later, my senior brother asked me: which is easier, to die heroically with passionate resolve, or to endure humiliation and survive in secret? I answered: The former is easier—it requires only a single, reckless effort, carried by fervor, not caring about the outcome, and may even secure a place in history. The latter demands facing endless years of torment, constant accusation and slander, myriad hardships of life… Before I could finish, my brother interrupted, saying he would undertake the easier task and leave the harder one to me. He would lead the seventy sages into the black hole, while sealing and guarding it would be my responsibility. I accepted the arrangement without protest. Senior Brother Duoge Jiachu once saved my life when we went to collect the sacred snow lotus at the north slope of Mount Everest; he rescued me from over forty wolves. I owed him my life and would obey him unconditionally, no matter what he asked of me.

There was no need to guess; Guan Wen could foresee the outcome: none of the seventy sages survived the battle. The disparity between humans and demons was so vast—it was like ants fighting elephants, with almost no chance of success. When one king and two princesses led three thousand demon-subduing monks of the Tang dynasty against the demoness, they could only suppress her, not destroy her. This shows the demoness's immense power. In the past, three thousand participated; now only seventy sages remained—the result was clear.

As they spoke, their bodies slowly descended from midair, landing atop an ancient tree. From this vantage point, one could gaze down at Tashilhunpo Monastery, from the front square to the secret tantric courtyard at the rear.

Guan Wen recalled the glorious history of this greatest monastery in Western Tibet. Its original name, Gangjian Chupei, meant "Temple Promoting Buddhism in the Land of Snow." Later it was renamed Zashilunpo Bajide Jingqinque Tangjie Nangujie Weilin, meaning "Auspicious, Grand, Stable, Prosperous, Blessed Sanctuary, Excellent Among All Realms." Commonly, it is called Tashilhunpo Monastery, meaning "Auspicious Mountain Monastery" or "Auspicious Sumeru Monastery."

My senior brother told me that before sealing the black hole, all the monastery's gold, silver, and jewels were cast into it, to prevent them from being plundered by enemies. In the future, these treasures would serve as the foundation for reviving Tashilhunpo. I loved this monastery so much that my soul, undying, remained bound to the ancient tree, watching over its morning and evening, day and night. Looking down at the halls and temples beneath my feet, it seemed that centuries of history had passed in the blink of an eye, leaving no trace. All those events I just told you about feel as if they happened only yesterday; I can still faintly hear Senior Brother Duoge Jiachu's earnest teachings…

Tashilhunpo was founded in 1447 by Gendun Drub, disciple of Master Tsongkhapa, and took twelve years to complete the main hall, Maitreya Hall, Tara Hall, and the platform for displaying the Buddha. In 1600, the fourth Panchen Lama, Losang Chökyi Gyaltsen, added two golden-roofed halls and the great Lhakhang Gyaltsen Thonbu Palace, as well as the new tantric college Abazha and numerous chapels, bringing the total to over 3,000 rooms. Successive generations of Panchen Lamas continued to expand the monastery. Today, its buildings cover 300,000 square meters, with 56 scripture halls, 236 temples, 14 golden roofs, and four colleges for exoteric and esoteric teachings: Tosanglin, Shazi, Jikang, and Abazha.

As the foreign proverb says, Rome was not built in a day. The flourishing incense of Tashilhunpo today is not the achievement of a single generation, but the result of countless generations' efforts, layer upon layer. Tibetan history records those who contributed to the construction of the monastery, but rarely mentions the nameless heroes who died defending it from invaders. No monastery can exist without its foundation—those fearless, unyielding demon fighters are the eternal base upon which Tashilhunpo has stood for centuries. In ancient times, one king and two princesses established twelve immovable nails to suppress the demoness; each defender of the Dharma can be considered an immovable nail driven into the enemy's heart.

For Master Shu, whose soul had left his body, the splendors, bustle, suffering, and entanglements of the world meant little; his mind contained only the mission of defeating evil, always upholding Duoge Jiachu's teachings to make demon-slaying his life's purpose.

Watching Tashilhunpo grow ever more prosperous, he most feared that all practitioners would be blinded by superficial glory and forget the demoness's existence. To this day, I believe Senior Brother Duoge Jiachu is still alive, beneath the sealed black hole, steadfast in his cultivation—he once appeared in my dreams to recount the fierce battle against the demoness. The seventy sages joined forces to unleash the "Mind Dragon Demon-Subduing Hand," forcing the demoness, who had escaped from the earth's veins, to reveal her true form, and for the second time sealed her within the earth. Originally, Senior Brother Duoge Jiachu had arranged for two guardian disciples to carry the sacred white elephant and tiger implements, to destroy the demoness's eyes and strip her of her power to stir up chaos. However, for unknown reasons, the two guardians did not enter the black hole at the appointed time with the seventy sages. Thus, this demon-slaying action was only half successful, though we paid a heavy price: the twenty second-generation disciples I led sacrificed their lives to keep the black hole's secret. That battle saw the monastery's elite forces nearly wiped out—the most devastating loss since its founding. Among the second generation were many with extraordinary wisdom; had there been no war, they would surely have achieved great progress in Buddhist studies. In later years of seclusion, I often reflected that war was like another vast black hole, devouring human life and hope…

Suddenly, Guan Wen felt a chill, for his thoughts turned abruptly to Feng He.

In Feng He's memory store, after the brothers who buried the treasure entered the black hole, they never returned, and the normally gentle master suddenly drew his blade against her, ending her life without mercy. Feng He's experience perfectly matched Master Shu's story; events that happened to her and him in those ancient years became deeply carved memories.

Feng He's death in her previous life was not an act of sacrifice, but a sudden slaughter she neither anticipated nor understood, dying with unwillingness and resentment. Can such a death truly be called an offering? Guan Wen had read Feng He's memories: aside from being stabbed in her past life and having her throat cut in this one, she had endured countless reincarnations, none natural, all ending in violent deaths for various reasons. For this reason, Feng He's understanding of human life was filled with bitterness and hatred; her storehouse of consciousness differed from the common Tibetan Buddhist understanding, remembering most the hardships of her past lives. This had much in common with Baoling's nightmare memories.

They did not offer their lives; you killed them yourself to keep your secret. Guan Wen could not restrain himself, his voice rising with agitation, his mood no longer calm. Master Shu, did you personally kill your loyal disciples?

Master Shu did not immediately admit it, but suddenly clenched his fists, his face dark and his brows tightly knit. His features were marked by countless lines of resolve, revealing a man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

There is only one truth in history, whether you admit it or not, Guan Wen sighed.

No, there are countless truths in history, each shaped by different people's accounts. What you believe is right, others may see as wrong. You may think you stand on the side of justice and can condemn the other side, but what gives you the right to judge yourself as just? Master Shu gently retorted.

Then tell me, in the battle against the demon, did you kill your own disciples? Guan Wen pressed.

Master Shu sighed three times and finally nodded.

No one has the right to take another's life. By natural rights, all are equal; to kill is to deprive another of their rights, and thus a crime. Guan Wen calmly voiced his thoughts.

Using extreme measures to protect a secret—such methods were favored by ancient rulers. For example, Emperor Qin Shi Huang and King Cao of Wei, notoriously suspicious and murderous, feared their tombs would be desecrated after death, so they created numerous false tombs to mislead grave robbers. When they were finally buried, trusted officials arranged for all craftsmen and laborers to be slaughtered, to prevent leaks. Such ruthless acts for personal gain, costing hundreds or thousands of lives, exposed the cowardice of the powerful and were condemned repeatedly by later historians.

For a long time, Master Shu was silent.

In a sudden daze, Guan Wen fell and found himself at the entrance of a vast cave. The dark stone merged with the night, as if ready to swallow everything.

Not far ahead, a thin monk stood with his back to the cave, holding a pine torch in one hand and a three-foot blade in the other, warily glancing to either side. The torch was unlit, and he wore black, so Guan Wen had not noticed him at first.

Another man hurried out from the cave. The thin monk heard the footsteps, turned to meet him. As they approached—just two steps apart—the newcomer suddenly twisted his wrist, plunging a short blade into the monk's body. The force was immense; the bright tip of the blade emerged from the monk's back.

The thin monk dropped the torch and blade, struggling and falling.

The entire murder took only a few minutes, but as Guan Wen witnessed it, he understood the past shared by Master Shu and Feng He. Feng He's previous incarnation stood guard outside the cave, unaware of what transpired within, and became the last victim. Perhaps at that moment, she was filled with resolve to fight to the death against the enemy, determined to protect the monastery, regardless of the outcome.

No one can bear betrayal, not even from the most revered teacher. This unwillingness led to countless reincarnations, with Feng He clinging to her terror.

Remember that cave—it is the only passage to the depths.

The cave is sealed, nearly impossible to open by human means. How can one enter? Guan Wen was perplexed. Tibet lacked advanced construction machinery, and the cave was on Mount Nisari, with winding mountain paths; summoning manpower and equipment would be extremely difficult.

In truth, when my senior brother asked me to seal the cave, he was determined to perish with the demoness. Master Shu replied.

Guan Wen smiled bitterly: Yet the demoness is not gone. I experienced her madness firsthand in the demon-suppressing array in Lhasa.

Master Cheng's death made Guan Wen acutely aware of how powerless humans were compared to the demoness, utterly unequal.