Chapter Fifty: The Destruction of the Hollow Tree

He has already achieved enlightenment—Bai Yumo from Chizhou in Anhui has departed… said a voice.

Enlightenment is good—Fang Zhigu from Qisong Ridge in Yunnan has departed… said another voice.

The Thousand Horse Monk of Mount Wutai is about to depart as well. This young man truly has talent; now we can rest assured. No one will regret having wasted so many years in vain… added yet another voice.

Hua Situ from Mount Putuo has departed…

Ban the Madman from Yan has departed…

Xiang Wuliang from Guangdong has departed…

Xue Huchan from Funiu Mountain in Henan has departed…

Everyone who passed before Guan Wen was physically broken and incomplete.

Guan Wen understood that these were the authors of the tangka paintings. They hailed from various dynasties and regions, but once they passed through the tree hollow into the room of tangka, their fate became identical: each mutilated their own body in pursuit of creating a peerless tangka, ultimately dying before the masterpiece could be finished, tragically failing the true intention of Master Shu’s summons.

Farewell, esteemed seniors. He bowed to the shadows in gratitude.

Guan Wen, seeing you again, I realize I have truly grown old. A person’s life cannot be reversed. If only I could return to youth, I too would hold fast to my true heart, undisturbed by any temptations, become a true sage to save Tibet, and not betray the guidance and teachings of Master Shu. But it is too late now; the burden is yours to carry. I go ahead into the cycle of rebirth. Good luck to you… One shadow paused five steps away, smiling at Guan Wen.

Guan Wen was stunned, his throat suddenly choking up, for it was someone he knew intimately.

Do not cry, just as when I left you…

The shadow’s words were incomplete; Guan Wen knelt straight to the ground: Master, why is it you? Why is it you…

It was the one who had patiently taught him painting skills in Qushuiting Street, Jinan, who had passed away years ago. Guan Wen had personally sent the body to the crematorium, then buried the urn deep beneath the old courtyard’s pomegranate tree.

The shadow’s voice trembled as well: Child, do not cry. This is fate. If I had not encountered the woman of my dreams before the monastery at Tashilhunpo, none of the subsequent changes would have happened, nor would I have wandered to Jinan… Everything must be attributed to the changes of fate. Since fate manipulates thus, there is nothing more we can do but bow our heads and accept. But this is good as well. I erred, but you can stand upon the foundation of those before you, skip over all the pitfalls, walk the right path, and accomplish the great task of banishing evil. Child, stand up—there is gold beneath a man’s knees; do not kneel lightly. To meet you one last time before departing brings satisfaction. Once my worries are settled, I can enter the cycle of rebirth and be reincarnated soon. Guan Wen, do you remember what I told you before I died? Remember, remember how I taught you to paint the mandala…

Suddenly, Guan Wen awakened—the black and white mandala was indeed his master’s work, and his master had painted countless mandalas in the old courtyard on Qushuiting Street. Because of this familiarity, upon waking from unconsciousness he nearly wandered into the world of the black and white mandala.

I jumped from the cliff of Mount Niseri, believing death would sever hopeless longing, but Heaven did not abandon me and let me discover the secret beneath the cliff… The shadow’s narration grew difficult, pausing before continuing, Guan Wen, the memory from the cliff of Mount Niseri to Jinan is terribly confused; I have serious amnesia, only remembering that a great secret lies beneath the cliff. I have never regretted anything in my life, though everything began with meeting Baolizhu, but I never hated her—my heart was full only of love. Now, everything is about to end, end…

Gradually, the shadow faded from indistinct to nothing, dissolving into the air.

Guan Wen forgot his sorrow and tears, in his mind equating Bing Qiuhan with his master.

Fate is strange indeed: it drew the famous painter Bing Qiuhan, who was meant to shoulder the task of banishing evil, from the northeast to Tashilhunpo Monastery, bound him to Baolizhu by the red thread of destiny, then separated them, causing Bing Qiuhan to be consumed by longing, lose his mind, jump from the cliff, suffer amnesia, and wander in Jinan. Later, Bing Qiuhan entered and left Tibet, guiding Guan Wen into Tibet, and though Bing Qiuhan had died in Jinan, his spirit appeared here. The master and disciple, one in the light and one in the shadow, met again. In the end, everyone’s sacrifice was for the banishment of evil. The great task remains unfinished; who knows how many more masters will give their lives for it.

Gu Qingcheng remained silent, though she did not understand why Guan Wen knelt in grief.

They have all departed. When the wind and silence returned, Guan Wen brushed away his sorrow; a thousand words condensed into a gentle phrase.

Who? Who has departed? Gu Qingcheng was puzzled; she had not seen the illusory scenes in Guan Wen’s eyes nor heard the lingering spirits in the room of tangka imparting their earnest teachings to him.

Let’s go—there is nothing here worth staying for. Guan Wen rose and led the way out. The skeleton tangka left by the wise elders had vanished like smoke; the house, the courtyard, even the old tree that had hidden Master Shu’s soul had lost all meaning.

They passed through the tree hollow; Cai Dan Dajie was still deep in meditation.

Master, it is over, Guan Wen said.

Cai Dan Dajie lifted his head, his face shadowed, his eyes full of confusion.

Guan Wen bent down, placed both palms on Cai Dan Dajie’s shoulders, and gazed into his eyes: The sun rises and sets, marking the cycle’s renewal. Withered wood cannot meet spring; whoever dwells in waiting will inevitably lose. Master, the departed are gone; their story is closed. The future can be pursued, never abandoned. Do you understand?

These words, rich with mysterious wisdom, were what he had learned from Master Shu’s teachings. Whether in Tibetan Buddhism or Han Buddhism, a disciple’s awakening is innate, not achieved through cultivation, nor related to age. At this moment, Guan Wen had achieved enlightenment; his spiritual realm was absolutely above Cai Dan Dajie’s.

I am willing to remain here, guarding the fragments of Master Shu’s soul until old age and death—Cai Dan Dajie said.

Wrong! Guan Wen barked.

Then, shall I leave the tree hollow, meditate in the room of tangka until my soul ascends, and follow Master Shu? Is that acceptable? Cai Dan Dajie asked again.

Wrong. Guan Wen sighed.

Then, shall I devote myself to Buddhist studies, compose texts in Master Shu’s name, set an example for future cultivators, and ensure Master Shu’s name shines forever in Tibetan Buddhist scriptures? Is that acceptable? Cai Dan Dajie’s tone grew more bewildered.

Guan Wen said no more, turned toward the other end of the tree hollow, and with a sweep of his arm, knocked all the glass coffins to the ground. A series of glass-shattering sounds echoed; the miniature corpses inside immediately weathered into swirling powder.

You—Cai Dan Dajie leapt up, shouting in fury, How dare you disrespect the remains of these elder masters? Without their generations of transmitting Master Shu’s teachings, the banishers would have lost their direction long ago!

Gu Qingcheng rushed ahead of Guan Wen, fearing Cai Dan Dajie might harm him in anger.

Master Shu discarded the ** hidden in the firefly’s shell, precisely to teach us that spirit matters more than **. True cultivators must sift the essential from the trivial, cast off all external restraints, and reach the root of the matter. Look—this tree, these coffins, these remains, the house, the tangka, the soul—what meaning do they have? When we realize ‘casting off the misguided path of suppressing evil, returning to the right way of banishing evil,’ all appearances become unimportant, for we have comprehended the essence within. If you cling stubbornly, you betray all Master Shu’s teachings. Go, go now…

Guan Wen lingered no longer, striding out of the tree hollow and through the courtyard gate.

All around, the chanting of monks, the sounds of the market outside the monastery, distant car horns, blended with birdsong in the treetops, barking of released dogs, and the shrill cries of hawks circling above, cleared Guan Wen’s heart.

In Guan Wen’s view, the lesser hermit hides in the wild, the greater hermit hides in the city. Only by stepping out of the tree hollow and room of tangka which Cai Dan Dajie clung to, can one enter the new era of banishing evil.

Gu Qingcheng followed closely, her gaze flickering, sighing softly: Guan Wen, after this night, you seem to have changed completely—your words and actions are all different. Though I know nothing of Tibetan Buddhist culture, I sense from you a mysterious power, one that can be felt but not spoken. For someone like me, a bounty hunter, these things are far too profound.

The courtyard gate stood open; together they looked back at Cai Dan Dajie, who stood inside the tree hollow, head bowed in a daze.

The mountain wind swept in; the old tree shifted from gentle swaying to violent trembling, its bark cracking and peeling away.

Master, let’s go, it’s over! Guan Wen called out once more.

Cai Dan Dajie did not raise his head, but slowly bent to gather the powder with his lone remaining arm, paying no heed to the impending collapse of the tree hollow.

After hundreds of shakes, the trunk emitted a terrifying creak; thick branches crashed down one after another.

The tree is about to fall. Gu Qingcheng looked up at the canopy.

Guan Wen sighed deeply, rushed back into the tree hollow, grabbed Cai Dan Dajie’s arm, and tried to drag him out.

They are immortal because of their mission to banish evil. My duty is to let future generations forever remember their immortality. You go; I have seen through the vanity of life and death. Living further has no meaning. Here, I will perish with the remains of all wise men… Cai Dan Dajie didn’t even look at Guan Wen, but only gazed at the pile of gray powder on the ground.

Banishing evil is not a task for one alone; the road ahead is long. Your stubbornness is merely an excuse for your own weakness. A true sage knows when to forge ahead. Even retreat and defense serve the purpose of pulling back the fist for a stronger punch. And you? All you desire is death; where is your Buddha-nature? If you die here, it will do nothing to help the cause. Some deaths are as weighty as Mount Tai, others lighter than a feather. Master Shu and the other wise men died to pass on the mission of banishing evil—weighty as Mount Tai. Your death, unrelated to the cause, is merely the choice of one who strayed from the path, lighter than a feather…

Guan Wen’s words held no anger, only compassion.

Am I wrong? Cai Dan Dajie finally lifted his head, his eyes brimming with murky tears.

Guan Wen shook his head: On the path of cultivation, right and wrong are relative. In times of calm and peace, if you sacrificed yourself for Buddhism, following the remains of the elders, it might be remembered as a noble act in Tibetan Buddhism. Now, when the great task of banishing evil needs hands, your lack of effort and self-destruction is an unforgivable crime. Whether to stay or go, you must weigh it yourself.

The tree hollow rocked ever more violently; shards of bark and dust fell from above, covering Guan Wen’s head and body.

Hey, come on, the tree really is about to fall—Gu Qingcheng shouted from outside.

The distance from the tree hollow to the gate was only twenty steps; space could be crossed easily, but the gap in thinking was insurmountable. Cai Dan Dajie’s mind was imprisoned by this ancient courtyard, unable to step through the door.

If we all die here, who will take up the mission of banishing evil? To stay, to die—it’s the easiest thing. But as a cultivator, do you really believe death is the highest state in Tibetan Buddhism? Don’t you see? Master Shu never entrusted you with the burden because your mind was narrow and your vision short; you failed even to comprehend, let alone step out of this small tree hollow. How could you protect Tashilhunpo Monastery? Guan Wen’s tone grew sharper, but Cai Dan Dajie remained unmoved.

Suddenly, a heart-rending crack sounded above; the tree hollow collapsed, the main trunk falling vertically just two paces to their right, then tilting to crush toward them.

Gu Qingcheng darted in, grabbed both men left and right, then doubled back, exerted all her strength to run, dragging them out the door.

The main trunk crashed down, smashing the northern roof, collapsing the house and walls into ruin. This courtyard, with centuries of history, had rotted in its materials; one collapse triggered a chain reaction, reducing it to gray rubble within minutes. The ancient tree that had housed Master Shu was shattered into countless pieces, and the birds, insects, and snakes hidden in the hollow fled in panic.

Amid the chaos, a dozen brilliant rainbows shot up, circled the ruins several times, then soared straight into the sky, piercing through sunlight and clouds.