Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Fire Offering

At some indeterminate moment, Gu Qingcheng and Guan Wen’s hands became clasped together, yet this gesture of intimacy bore no connection to romantic affection. The two seemed like companions forging their way through a torrent, their bodies and spirits lending mutual support, expending every ounce of strength to recall Master Sangche’s exact words.

The heroes of the East are as valiant as King Gesar,
His brilliance shines upon Mount Niseri.
The task left unfinished by the king and two princesses
Was ended at last by his hand.
Beware the Rakshasa witch,
She does not possess only one life.
Good people see only the blazing sun,
But fail to glimpse the darkness of the moon.
All eyes have been blinded,
For they lack the divine sight of King Gesar.
The witch unleashed her final assault,
The hero’s life hangs by a thread...

With a sudden spurt, Master Sangche coughed up a mouthful of blood, his body swaying twice before he could sing no further, and he slowly collapsed forward.

Guan Wen rushed over and caught him.

"A bard... must not reveal the secrets of heaven—else he must suffer divine retribution... What we drank... this was no wine, but a draught to break the divine barrier upon the lyrics—through it, I could see what is forbidden to mortal eyes..." Master Sangche gave a tragic smile; a star-shaped blot of black had appeared on his previously ashen brow and was swiftly spreading downward, soon consuming his nose and lips. He opened his mouth again, but no words emerged, only a hoarse, indistinct sound.

Caidan Dajie’s blood still dripped silently; the lamp wick had become a ghastly crimson.

Master Sangche turned, lifted the wine pouch, and looked at Caidan Dajie.

"I understand your meaning," said Caidan Dajie, a profound smile crossing his face.

Master Sangche struggled toward the oil vat, clutching the wine pouch in both hands, his body leaning against the side.

"Let it end here—everything has come together at just the right moment. My soul and body should be wholly dedicated to the Tashilhunpo Monastery, as those wise masters before me, like Master Shu, who cast aside the self and departed in selfless oblivion, becoming the final, beautiful echo within Tibetan Buddhism. I am ready. Let it begin..."

Caidan Dajie straightened his back and, smiling, gazed at the diminishing flame.

Master Sangche uncorked the wine pouch again; its contents flowed out, mingling with the butter and fresh blood at the bottom of the vat. He turned his head, pressed his right hand to his throat, his lips moving, yet no sound issued forth.

Guan Wen fixed his attention upon Master Sangche’s lips, reading every word. Their general meaning was—"The world at the foot of Mount Niseri awaits your salvation. This is not only a calamity for Tibetan Buddhism, but for all the land and its people. In the reign of the king and two princesses, they never prayed for themselves, but devoted themselves to cultivation for the people’s welfare—this is the act of true wisdom. Our mission is fulfilled. Farewell..."

With a roar, flames surged from the oil vat, the fire leaping and licking at Caidan Dajie’s single arm.

"Master, get away from there—!"

Guan Wen shouted, about to rush forward, but was stopped by Caidan Dajie’s raised hand.

"All illusions appear not without cause, nor do they vanish without reason—they exist for those with the destined affinity. Guan Wen, a man’s life is but a speck in the ocean, a grain of sand on the Ganges. Do not look at me—look at the illusions that have lingered on this land for thousands of years. That is what you should care for..." Caidan Dajie’s fingers had already melted into the flames, the room reeking of burnt flesh and skin.

Above the fire, a general appeared, clad in black armor, broad-shouldered and imposing, holding a silver long sword in both hands. His features, dark and rugged, had been weathered by the harsh winds of the plateau until their original hue was indistinct, but the space between his brows radiated a boundless, heroic righteousness. His eyes gazed far ahead with piercing intensity.

To the general’s right, another flicker in the flames revealed a woman in pure white. Her face was radiant as the moon, her long black hair trailing to her heels. She cradled a bundle of bamboo slips, half black and half red, each two feet in length. She was as sacred and pure as a goddess of the snowy mountains, beyond mortal comparison.

Guan Wen thought that if these two were lovers, they would be the perfect embodiment of beauty and heroism. Only such a woman was worthy of such a towering hero, and only an awe-inspiring, invincible general in black armor could defend her and fight for her, shielding her from all harm.

Caidan Dajie’s arm had burned to the elbow; sweat as large as beans beaded his face from the agony, but he still wore a smile, having long since set life and death aside.

"This is what I want you... to see. And it is what Master Shu and all the wise sages of this land want you to see. Only by seeing them can you comprehend the true meaning of cultivation and carry the mission of demon-expulsion to the end. They are but phantoms, yet you must know that their presence at Tashilhunpo Monastery is not without reason..."

The fire in the vat began to dwindle, like a pot whose fuel had been spent, the boiling gradually subsiding.

"They want you to witness the age of the king and two princesses. Yet my life is nearly spent; I can hardly accomplish even this simplest task... I am useless indeed. All those years spent hidden in that courtyard brought no advancement, only the loss of past abilities. I am ashamed—so ashamed!" As Caidan Dajie shook his head in regret, the flames had already reached his shoulder.

"The cultivation of Tibetan Buddhism is like rowing against the current—advance or be swept back. Even the sharpest blade will rust and decay if not honed daily. I have sung too many songs of heroes in my years and seen too many of them wither in old age. No one escapes the wheel of time, not even the great King Gesar." Master Sangche’s arms, thin as a bird’s claws, reached into the flames, his ten fingers trembling as they brushed the leaping fire.

"Time waits for no one. Thus, all those who clung to the art of the skull thangka failed, trapped in that tiny courtyard, unable to break free from the shackles of desire. Bing Qiuhan is the same—though he escaped the prison of the thangka, he fell into a deeper well of passion, sinking ever further, never to return. Master, what kind of person can truly sever all desire and become one above men, above gods?" Caidan Dajie shifted his body, his severed arm meeting the bony fingers of Master Sangche.

Amidst the roaring flames, the three hands—now but charred remnants—clasped tightly together.

Master Sangche’s flesh and blood joined the conflagration, the flames dancing perilously close to their hair and brows.

Guan Wen’s throat constricted; he could utter not a word, shaken to his core by the spirit of sacrifice shown by Caidan Dajie and Master Sangche.

"Look... at the era... of the king and two princesses... Look at them..." Caidan Dajie gasped, the sweat on his face forming great droplets that hung from his chin, glistening in the firelight.

"Look! There—not at us—look there! With your heart..." Master Sangche’s voice suddenly rose, thunderous as a clap, striking Guan Wen with a jolt of enlightenment.

He closed his eyes, feeling his heartbeat gradually calm, then opened them abruptly. This time, he saw that beside the general and the beauty stood a woman in red, her left arm held before her chest, supporting a red jade stupa at her elbow, her right hand hanging down gripping a reins, which was fastened to the neck of a striped tiger.

Three figures stood tall above the flames, three pairs of eyes gazing into the distance.

"I see them," Guan Wen said.

In this moment, his heart was as still as water, casting aside all grief, fear, pity, and remorse, seeing himself wholly as an observer. Thus, the burning arms of Caidan Dajie and Master Sangche, and the illusory images of the king and two princesses in the fire, became but a living drama, no longer disturbing his spirit nor distracting his mind. Perhaps only in this way—regarding life and death, pain, past and present, reality and illusion as things outside oneself, as clouds beyond the sky—could one see the truth of all things.

"Good, good, I knew... he could do it..." Caidan Dajie panted like a dying ox.

"This is only... the first step of a journey of ten thousand miles. There’s no cause for celebration... So many years, so many people, I’ve never seen anyone reach true enlightenment, able to discern the history of millennia, able to find the path they must walk... In this land, there was never a path; the road to success is unfathomably distant... We bards, blessed by the gods, should never have involved ourselves in these matters. Bards are outcasts in this land—neither gods nor men, neither Buddhas nor demons, not belonging to any camp... We are only observers, chroniclers of these events, wandering souls adrift in Tibet... But this time... this time I miscalculated. I only meant to watch the fire from afar, but somehow leapt into the blaze myself. The taste of burning... pain... such pain..." Master Sangche’s voice shook like a leaf in late autumn; though he gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow, he could not help but draw sharp, pained breaths.

"Even the mightiest eagle has its final, despairing flight... Even the most sacred bard has his last song, isn’t that so? Isn’t it?" Caidan Dajie gasped.

"You’re right. But I... but I... but it hurts..." Master Sangche cried out in agony, suddenly straining, his body pulling away from the vat and falling backward. His hands and forearms, already charred, snapped off at the elbows as he jerked, the fragments tumbling into the vat. The joints, unbound by sinew, fell apart with ease, breaking into dozens of pieces, and the fire at the bottom of the vat erupted anew.

At the same moment, Caidan Dajie’s body slumped, collapsing against the vat, his arm burned to the shoulder, the wound blackened and smoking.

Guan Wen seemed to witness this grim spectacle, and yet as if he saw nothing at all. His body suddenly felt light, and he found himself standing upon the flames, face to face with the king and two princesses. Instantly, he felt their gazes pierce through him—six eyes like six burning arrows, sharp and searing, boring through his very soul, then vanishing without a sound.

A thought flashed through Guan Wen’s mind; he quickly shifted his position, taking two swift steps to stand beside the woman in white and, with them, gazed into the distance.

He saw the mountains, lakes, temples, and prayer flags of Tibet, saw flocks of sheep, horses, and yaks scattered on the green grasslands like pearls or clouds. In that moment, he felt as though he sat in an aerial plane, surveying the land below, looking down upon a vibrant map of the world.

"There is nothing more perilous than this moment," murmured the woman in white, her voice as melodious as spring wind over harp strings.

"Indeed, there is nothing more perilous now. I can even feel the black flames lurking beneath the earth, stirring restlessly, ready to erupt at any moment, to consume the land and all upon it," said the woman in red.

The tiger at her side, previously docile, suddenly opened its blood-red maw and let out a series of deep, thunderous roars, nearly deafening Guan Wen.

"But what can be done? Even though we so dearly love this land beneath our feet, we are powerless to stop tragedy from unfolding. What we could do, we have done with all our hearts. What we could not do, we have never been able to do—only to watch helplessly as tragedy comes to pass," said the black-armored general.

"I have divined it. Among all deadlocks, there is always a living piece, barely surviving by a thread. That is perhaps our only hope," the woman in white said, raising her arms.

Suddenly, Guan Wen’s vision was filled with a Go board, intersected with three hundred and sixty-one squares. Black and white stones interwove, the battle fiercely tangled and chaotic.

"Look, it’s that white stone in the upper right ‘3-3’ position. It lives. No matter how dire the situation, no matter how many white dragons are beset by the enemy’s fierce attacks, it survives, carving out its own space, struggling and striving, living with careful tenacity. I think it is our hope—Tibet’s hope," said the woman in white, her voice infinitely sorrowful and filled with longing.