Chapter Forty-Seven: Only the Dead Can Keep Secrets

Every cultivator summoned here has asked the same question, yet I have no answer. Whether it’s about vanquishing demons, what to do if that fails, or how to open the Black Hole—these, I suspect, my senior has no answers to either. Master Shu sighed deeply, then spoke of those disciples who died to preserve secrets—I admit, I killed them, and they were all the disciples I admired most. Each was willing to sacrifice themselves to defend the Tashilhunpo Monastery. If not for their shallow foundations, they would have followed the Seventy Sages into the Black Hole to join the battle. In the end, they chose another path, just as I did. The enemy will surely covet the monastery’s treasures; every insider will face torture and interrogation. I believe none of them feared death, but not all could endure such trials. If anyone leaks the secret, not only will the treasure be plundered, but opening the Black Hole will also unleash the Rakshasa Demoness, plunging Tibet into an unprecedented catastrophe. Compared to the calamity looming over the world, what does an individual’s suffering matter? Master Shu asked.

Guan Wen could not answer. The essence of the question was sacrificing the self for the greater good. Using the analogy of war made it clearer—scouts, decoys, feints, vanguards, and rear guards all face the greatest risk of dying first; their chances of returning unscathed from the battlefield are slim. Yet these five roles are indispensable. They guarantee victory; because of them, the main forces can advance and retreat in order, crushing the enemy’s core.

“Have you ever asked them what they truly think?” Guan Wen asked.

Master Shu countered, “Then, have you asked what I truly think? Have they asked what I truly think? In the face of great calamity, do I have any other choice? I am their teacher; I must be responsible for their future. Shall they become enlightened sages, living lives worthy of the Buddha’s profound teachings, or die as dark fools, having betrayed secrets under torture? All depends on a single thought. Guan Wen, if you were me, would you have another choice?”

Guan Wen fell silent, recalling countless scenes from wars throughout history. When outnumbered and surrounded, defenders always reserve their final bullet or grenade for themselves, preferring to die standing with a smile, rather than kneel as a captive, fearing death.

“Perhaps you are right.” Guan Wen weighed it in his heart for a long time, finally conceding, though he could never let go of Feng He’s lingering resentment over the wound she suffered before death.

“I know her. The great figure brought her to Tashilhunpo Monastery several times, hoping to awaken her memory by revisiting old places. Yet she was entangled in her own gains and losses, her mind clouded. Even if she returned to the monastery hundreds of times, she could never achieve sudden enlightenment. Her true name is Zetang Dele, a boy found by the monastery’s sweeping monk, who devoted his life to the temple. Some people are born with clear minds, able to grasp the truth of Tibetan Buddhism without guidance; others, born dull, remain outside its threshold no matter how many scriptures they read. Zetang Dele undoubtedly belonged to the latter. Otherwise, he would have become your helper in demon-slaying…”

With this shift in perspective, Guan Wen instantly understood: Feng He was the lowest tier of Tibetan Buddhist cultivators, unable to relinquish her self—how could she reach fruition and embrace the world as the greater self? Similarly, before his enlightenment, Master Tianjiu regarded the Thangka fragments as treasures, focusing solely on piecing them together and finding the great treasure—how laughable it now seemed! Yet, Master Tianjiu ultimately awakened, ascending in rainbow form through the flames, leaving a complete life without regret.

“So, you have finally achieved enlightenment. How delightful,” Master Shu said, rejoicing.

Without Guan Wen needing to speak, Master Shu had already seen through his thoughts.

In that instant, Guan Wen’s spiritual realm rose another level: Elder, in this world, nothing is inherently right or wrong. A cultivator must resolve to purge all demons as the ultimate goal, forging ahead, clearing every obstacle, reaching the light’s end. In this process, all impediments must be eliminated without hesitation. Whether the obstacle is a person or something else, everything must serve ‘demon vanquishing.’ If the obstacle is a ghost, cut it down; if it’s a person, cut it down…

Having understood and seen through everything, Guan Wen felt his heart expand without limit, able to embrace the cosmos and all of history.

Examining the world’s four billion people individually, each is but a grain of sand; fighting foreign invaders alone achieves nothing. Only by gathering the sand into a tower, with everyone fulfilling their role, can immense power be amassed. In this process, the fit survive, the unfit are eliminated; Feng He was undoubtedly among the latter.

Master Shu, killing to preserve secrets and protect the path, is like a gardener removing weak seedlings from the nursery, with only one aim: to refine and strengthen, to reach the goal more swiftly and accurately. In extraordinary times, only extraordinary measures suffice—thus, efficiency and correctness reach their peak.

“Very good, very good. I am at ease now that you understand.” At last, a smile appeared on Master Shu’s face, but it lasted only seconds. Then his face, clothing, and body began to weather and break apart, strands falling away until he collapsed like a sandcastle struck by a tidal wave.

“Elder! Elder! Elder…” Guan Wen cried out several times, suddenly realizing he was within the tree hollow, his soul returned.

The night remained deep, clouds shrouding the sky, fog billowing, all hidden in heavy darkness.

Master Shu had vanished, but his voice lingered: “You must have seen the ‘Great Freedom Void Realm Black-and-White Thangka,’ haven’t you?” the voice asked.

Guan Wen nodded, knowing the elder referred to the mandala painted on the rooftop when he had just awakened. Though it was only a black-and-white sketch, it could instantly make one lose themselves, the soul slowly merging into it, bewildered and dazed, unable to distinguish anything. Clearly, the true pinnacle of painting is to blur reality and illusion, making them indistinguishable.

He answered respectfully, “Yes, elder.”

“That Thangka is the closest to success. Its painter was Bing Qiuhan, from the snow-clad northeast mainland, famed across Asia for painting tigers and beasts. You must have heard of him?”

Guan Wen nodded; indeed, he had heard of Bing Qiuhan’s reputation. The artist became famous thirty years ago, raising, painting, and loving tigers his whole life, the foremost tiger painter in the three northeastern provinces. According to history, Bing Qiuhan secluded himself alone in the Greater Khingan Mountains for ten years after fame, then disappeared. It turns out he journeyed west, becoming a disciple under Master Shu.

Bing Qiuhan’s mandala layout was grand and imposing, its structure solid and balanced, faintly regal. Living long among tigers, the king of beasts, he naturally absorbed their sovereign aura. I once believed he could advance even further, painting a mandala with true colors, continually refining himself as a pioneer in demon-slaying. Yet, unexpectedly, he fell in love with a Hong Kong woman who came to Tashilhunpo Monastery to worship, and became obsessed with the black-and-white world, refusing to use any color. He told me that no color was more beautiful than the woman’s painted brows, no mandala more exquisite than her smile. Sadly, he loved her deeply, but she suddenly left the monastery and vanished. In the end, Bing Qiuhan, overwhelmed by longing, lost his mind and fell to his death from the cliffs atop Niseri Mountain—a most regrettable event. As Master Shu spoke, he could not help but sigh.

Guan Wen gradually understood: all the souls lingering in the Thangka chamber were failures trapped in their own obsessions, unable to escape their life’s labyrinth or let go of attachments, unable to enter the cycle of reincarnation, living only in the awkward gap between truth and illusion. The world of Buddhism and the mundane world share much; being too attached will trap and ultimately destroy oneself.

He recalled when he first entered Tibet, obsessed with all things in the monastery, from the profound principles of Tibetan Buddhism to the exquisite ancient ornaments and artifacts, wishing to embrace them all, his mind ceaselessly preoccupied by them, tossing and turning, unable to eat or sleep. When he was granted permission to paint Buddha statues in Tashilhunpo Monastery, he was elated again, unwilling to part from any statue in every hall, spending all his time there from dawn to dusk.

Those days bordered on obsession, and at the end of obsession lies ruin.

Now, he stood as if high above, looking down on a labyrinth, seeing clearly every wrong turn he had taken. When he was obsessed with painting, he forgot the purpose of life, painting for painting’s sake, disregarding his original pursuit before entering Tibet.

“Elder, I understand,” Guan Wen said calmly.

“Are you certain you wish to master the art of the Skeleton Thangka?” Master Shu asked.

“As long as it serves demon-slaying, I am willing to accept it and devote myself to its practice, not stopping until death,” Guan Wen replied solemnly. Having seen through his past, he had risen to the highest level of wisdom.

Chapter thirty-three of the Dao De Jing says: ‘He who knows others is wise; he who knows himself is enlightened. He who conquers others is strong; he who conquers himself is truly powerful. He who is content is rich; he who perseveres has will; he who does not lose his place endures; he who dies yet does not perish has longevity.’

Before tonight, Guan Wen had not even entered the threshold of life’s cultivation, unable to achieve wisdom or enlightenment. After his conversation with Master Shu, he had reached the stage of strength and self-conquest. Master Shu, meanwhile, had reached the highest realm of ‘dying yet not perishing.’

“Before I teach you the art of the Skeleton Thangka, you must know this is a path of no return, one no one has succeeded in before. You can still turn back; I respect everyone’s choice,” Master Shu warned repeatedly.

Guan Wen nodded firmly. “Elder, I am ready and will not regret it.”