Chapter Fifty-Four: An Uncertain Future

After a brief rest, Gao Xiang started the car and left the Dead End Cliff, heading first back to the family-run inn.

On the way, everyone fell silent. No one spoke; the air inside the car was so heavy it seemed almost solid.

When the car passed the entrance of the Tashilhunpo Monastery, Gao Xiang pulled over.

Tseden Dajie got out and pressed his palms together in farewell to Guan Wen: the matter of the black hole still required effort, and he urged him not to lose confidence because of a temporary setback.

“Take care, Master,” Guan Wen replied as he got out, bowed in return, and watched Tseden Dajie walk through the temple gates.

In fact, Tseden Dajie had always lived in Master Shu’s courtyard. Now that the great tree had been felled and the courtyard had collapsed, even if he resided within the temple, his heart would remain lost and adrift, unable to find its place. Just like Master Shu, once the firefly’s body was shattered, even the soul had nowhere left to dwell.

Had there not been that episode of seclusion and painting with skulls, Tseden Dajie should now have been one of the monastery’s most respected monks, cultivating by ancient lamplight and scriptures, becoming a master revered by generations of disciples.

Such is life; different choices lead to different endings, a tiny deviation resulting in a chasm.

On the square, many travelers still lingered, sitting together in small groups, resting. The air was thick with the scent of butter, wafting from within the temple. The street lamps on either side were already lit, but the bright light they brought with modern technology seemed out of place, far removed from the ancient, sacred Tashilhunpo Monastery. Here, people truly revered and cherished the dim glow of butter lamps; without them, the temples of Tibet would lose their own unique essence.

Gu Qingcheng sighed softly, “Look at those people—truly free of distractions, relaxed and at ease. They sit when they wish, walk when they wish, eat when they wish, laugh when they wish… So this is what it’s like to be a true traveler, so comfortable!”

“Anyone can do the same,” Gao Xiang replied with a smile. “It’s just that everyone harbors their own dreams. They come here on pilgrimage, but you entered Tibet for a higher purpose. If you gave up your original goal, you would also find yourself as calm and untroubled as they are.”

Gu Qingcheng smiled faintly, “Indeed, giving up the pursuit brings peace of mind. But in this world, there are always things that someone must do—such as eradicating the remnants of the Azure Dragon Society, or hunting down Golden Cicada. I am a bounty hunter who lives for money, but I have my own code of conduct: I only kill the notorious scoundrels of the underworld.”

Gao Xiang laughed heartily. “There are many standards by which to judge good and evil. One man’s honey is another man’s poison. As long as there are opposing sides in the world, there will be distinctions between good and evil; what you deem evil might, in many eyes, be good, and vice versa. Isn't that so?”

Such debates are endless, so Gu Qingcheng merely smiled and let the matter drop.

When they returned to the family inn, Qusongjian vacated all the rooms, moving with his wife into a small woodshed in the corner of the courtyard. Of course, Gao Xiang did not let the elderly couple suffer a loss—he paid double the usual rent.

Baoling and Gu Qingcheng shared a room; Gao Xiang had a room to himself, while Guan Wen returned to his own quarters. The journey to the black hole had left him increasingly perplexed. He had thought more than once that if he could not break through the vine-covered black hole, all the clues would come to a dead end and be meaningless.

That night, he stayed awake until three in the morning. As soon as he closed his eyes, he fell into a dark nightmare—he seemed to have broken through the black hole and entered a place like an ancient Roman coliseum. But all the monks there had decayed severely; a mere touch would make them crumble into piles of ashen dust. Time had worn away everything; neither man nor object could escape.

He walked to the edge of a black well. A low voice called out by his ear, “Come here, come here…”

The well was as dark as ink. Just peering into it made him dizzy.

“Who’s there? Who is calling me?” He looked around. Apart from the broken, stepped stands, there were only those lifeless, decayed bodies.

This was the final battlefield; he had to summon all his courage and fight with all his might. There was no choice, no retreat, only to fight to the death… The voice persisted.

“Who are you…” Guan Wen shouted at the top of his lungs.

Darkness closed in from all sides, blotting out the sky and swallowing Guan Wen whole…

Ah! Guan Wen sat up abruptly, shaking off the nightmare’s grip.

Sunlight streamed brightly through the window; morning had arrived in Tibet as expected.

Knock, knock—someone rapped softly at the door.

Guan Wen slipped on his shoes and opened it. A young monk, still bearing traces of boyishness, stood outside, holding a letter in his hand.

“Master Basang from the monastery asked me to bring this to Mr. Guan,” the young monk said, smiling a little shyly as he offered the envelope with both hands. “Master Basang is waiting for you at the Han Buddhist Hall. There are some matters to discuss face to face. He also said that the ‘ten-day retreat’ will begin tomorrow—if you can’t meet today, it might be a long delay.”

The young monk spoke quickly, and Guan Wen could tell he was reciting words he had been taught.

“Thank you,” Guan Wen said sincerely.

The young monk smiled and shook his head, “No need to thank me.”

The younger generation of monks at Tashilhunpo Monastery all studied Tibetan, Chinese, and English together; though their accents were awkward, their meaning was never lost.

Guan Wen opened the letter; instead of words, it was a hastily drawn picture.

Fresh from his dream, he had arrived. Basang stood outside the thatched hut to report.

“Come in,” answered an old, frail voice from within.

Basang stood at the door, gesturing Guan Wen inside, while raising his other hand to stop Gu Qingcheng.

“It’s all right, wait for me here,” Guan Wen told Gu Qingcheng.

“If anything happens, call me,” Gu Qingcheng whispered.

Guan Wen lifted the leather curtain hanging over the doorway. Inside, the light was dim and the air thick with a greasy scent of butter. In one corner, an elderly Tibetan man with snow-white hair was curled up on a straw mat, holding a book close to his face. In another corner, Tseden Dajie sat cross-legged, but though he clearly heard Guan Wen’s voice, he did not look up, continuing his chanting.

“Master Sangche is the living encyclopedia of this monastery, and of all Shigatse. Any doubt in your mind can find its answer here. Guan Wen, I hope this can atone for my past sins.” Basang’s expression grew more somber. He had once been lured by the Azure Dragon Society and nearly lost both Basang’s and Baoling’s lives in the secret cellar under the walnut sacred tree. Fortunately, Gu Qingcheng had intervened; otherwise, Basang would have been lost forever, unable to return.

“Thank you,” Guan Wen said, bowing deeply, then stepped inside.

Guan Wen entered, but Master Sangche did not move, his reading posture unchanged. He was draped in a thin quilt, its original color long obscured by oil stains and dust, now shining with a greasy sheen. Beside him stood an enormous porcelain jar over a meter in diameter, from which a long, blackened wick stretched out, feeding into an ancient octagonal oil lamp on the rim. The lamp was lit, and the hot, pervasive aroma of butter had permeated everything in the room, including Master Sangche himself.