Chapter 80: The General Falls After a Hundred Battles, The Warrior Returns After Ten Years

Twenty paces away from Baoling, Guan Wen heard her suppressed sobbing. Opposite the high slope lay the land of Nepal, across the border—the homeland of Princess Chaoge. Fallen leaves return to their roots, souls return after death. With this farewell, the Princess Chaoge in Baoling’s mind ceased to exist; she would return to herself, body and soul, becoming truly Baoling of Hong Kong.

Guan Wen approached; Baoling stopped sobbing, pressed her palms together, and bowed deeply toward the distance.

Thus it ended, and after the ending comes a new beginning. Do not be overly sad; that is not what Princess Chaoge’s soul would wish to see, Guan Wen whispered gently.

“All these years, those nightmares were the driving force for my existence. I strove to find their origins, to break them... Now the dream is shattered. I feel as if I killed Princess Chaoge—”

Guan Wen smiled wryly, asking, “Why do you think so?”

The death of Princess Chaoge was precisely the birth of Baoling. One death, one life—two ends of the boundary of yin and yang, touching yet never intersecting. The former’s death and the latter’s birth are not antagonistic.

“Her soul could have lived on in my nightmares, boundless and unrestricted, drifting like an untethered boat. Though she was never happy, at least she survived with her obsession. Her body has perished, but the existence of her soul proved she once lived. Even if history never records her, I know she existed, know her story—I am her only audience, her only listener. Now, with the dream shattered, her soul is gone as well. From this moment, Princess Chaoge disappears forever, leaving no trace, like a torrential rain sweeping through a long street, washing everything away, leaving only clean stone slabs behind...”

These words struck Guan Wen like a heavy hammer, pain wrenching his insides, his face changed dramatically.

He recalled the Eight Lives and Eight Deaths in the saga of Heavenly Dragon, where Tang Jue had said clearly that death after one cycle of reincarnation was not true death; only after eight cycles would one truly vanish.

If now Princess Chaoge’s soul had disappeared, was this not the final death in the Eight Lives and Eight Deaths? That was true annihilation—body, spirit, soul, and all memories others held of her, swept away without a trace.

“Let’s go back. It’s over.” He took Baoling’s arm, preparing to lead her away. The past was gone; they must face the future with resolve, bear responsibility, achieve something—that was most important.

Suddenly, a strange wind swirled up from the slope, spiraling upward, sand and stones dancing across the ground.

Guan Wen embraced Baoling, shielding her face beneath his jacket.

The eerie wind circled them in a frenzied dance, and from within it came a distant, ethereal song. The singer was a young woman, and the lyrics were all in the language of Nepal.

“It’s her, it’s her!” Baoling cried out.

“Princess Chaoge, may you appear to us? Baoling and I would be deeply grateful,” Guan Wen shouted.

The song lasted for a while, and the wind receded toward the border, making the dry grass sway along its path. Once across the border, the wind hovered in the air, slowly transforming into a vague human figure, whose flowing robes danced with the gusts.

“It’s her! It’s her!” Baoling whispered in awe, suddenly spreading her arms and lunging forward. Had Guan Wen not held her back in time, she would have tumbled down the slope.

“Guan Wen, it’s her. I sense her breath, her thoughts—it is Princess Chaoge, it is my...my...” She choked several times, unable to finish the words “my former life.”

Imagine—on this side of the border, a person bidding a tragic farewell to the soul of her past life on the other side, as though losing the most indelible part of her mind, all history, half her soul. Even if Princess Chaoge brought her endless nightmares, once she understood the princess’s suffering, those nightmares became part of her psyche. No longer hatred, only compassion—for her former self, who had endured so much pain.

“Come back, let me take you away, take you from Nepal... The Summer Palace has become a ruin. Come with me—we can live together peacefully, or I can ask a high monk to chant for you, so you may enter the cycle of reincarnation and forge a new fate. In any case, come with me; don’t return there... It is no longer habitable...” Baoling, drained of strength, half-sat, half-knelt on the ground, waving ceaselessly at the apparition.

Guan Wen was at a loss for words; his chest was hot, unshed tears flooding inward.

He was used to farewells between lovers, men and women, the desperate cries for reunion, but never had he witnessed a parting between a soul of this life and the soul of a past life. This was a true farewell, beyond human control, surpassing imagination, entering the realm of the metaphysical and the arcane.

At last, the sudden whirlwind vanished, silent and unseen.

Baoling gave a cry and collapsed forward, unable to weep, only letting hot tears flow.

Guan Wen held her for the second time, gently patting her back, soothing her, “Cry, cry it out. These are matters beyond our control.”

“She was singing—‘Time flows like water, eastward without waiting for me. Seize the moment, for beauty slips away most easily.’ Her voice was truly exquisite,” Baoling said.

At some point, Baoling’s tears had soaked Guan Wen’s chest.

“To send you a thousand miles, there must always be a farewell. Farewell, farewell...” Baoling gazed in the direction the wind had gone, prostrating herself on the ground, reverently performing the full-body salute.

Guan Wen’s nose tingled; these tales of karmic cycles and reincarnation were often used by editors and writers, yet now, he saw it unfold before his eyes. He was not Baoling, could not wholly feel her sorrow, but seeing her wracked with grief, his own heart was twisted and restless.

The car returned to the Tashilhunpo Monastery. Gu Qingcheng had rented a guesthouse beside their family inn to settle Xiao Huo’s friends. Then she brought in the best doctors from Shigatse and Lhasa to treat Xiao Huo’s poisoning and injuries. All she did for him was to repay his selfless rescue at the Summer Palace, unrelated to any romantic feelings.

Xiao Huo’s condition was improving, which greatly relieved Guan Wen.

Gao Xiang was delighted at their return, bustling in and out to help care for Xiao Huo.

“Guan Wen, accompany me to see the Master of Scarlet Flame.” With everything settled, Gu Qingcheng said to Guan Wen.

He agreed without hesitation, bade farewell to Baoling, and got into Gu Qingcheng’s off-road vehicle, heading together for Lhasa.

Previously, Gu Qingcheng had phoned the Master of Scarlet Flame, who had just recovered from a serious illness and agreed to meet. After the calamity of Fenghe’s death, Master Scarlet Flame and others had been attacked by the Golden Cicada of the Azure Dragon Society, all hospitalized for treatment. Now just recovered, he was back at home resting.

“Guan Wen, I have a worry that started after hearing the teachings of Cai Dan Dajie and Master Sangche. Since everyone has a past life, I fear that if someone finds their former incarnation, they might forget their current one, becoming an empty shell, someone else entirely. Then, all my memories of you would be lost forever. I know Baoling spoke the same to you, so I believe she shares this fear.” In the speeding car, a faint bitterness appeared on Gu Qingcheng’s face.

“The battle against evil is like a dam about to burst. Once begun, no one can stop the flood—it will drown us all, beyond our control. No one can guarantee safety, nor that after the ordeal, one’s mind will remain as pure as before.”

“Yes, she said so,” Guan Wen admitted.

His shoulder still bore the wound, the pain from Baoling’s bite vivid and unforgettable.

“If a bite could leave a mark that makes one remember forever, never forgetting across lifetimes, I would gladly try it,” Gu Qingcheng smiled bitterly.

She opened the window, turned up the music, and sang all the way east.

Master Scarlet Flame lay in his meditation room, receiving them on his Zen bed; his face was sallow, his spirit weak, oxygen tubes in his nostrils. Compared to their last meeting, he seemed to have aged thirty years overnight.

“I’ve been waiting for you... so long. What you seek is right there, inside that jar... I am certain it is yours—I can feel it belongs to you, that you are its master...” Master Scarlet Flame pointed to a Tibetan silver jar by his bedside, telling Gu Qingcheng with labored breath.

The jar was flat, half a foot tall, a foot in diameter, covered with countless ancient Tibetan characters.

It must have been incredibly old; its once-bright silver body was layered with black-brown tarnish, now thoroughly iron-black.

“Open it,” Master Scarlet Flame said.

Gu Qingcheng walked over slowly, grasped the lotus knob on the lid, and took a deep breath. The lid was not heavy, nor tightly fitted, seemingly easy to lift, yet in her grasp, it felt like thousands of pounds, requiring her to gather strength and focus.

“Shall I help you?” Guan Wen stepped forward.

Gu Qingcheng closed her eyes, inhaled again, her chest rising and falling, cold sweat beading on her brow.

“Don’t worry,” Guan Wen said.

“Worry about what?” Gu Qingcheng asked, eyes still closed.

“Some people and things do not change with time and space. Once we meet, it’s eternal. Qingcheng, even if you become someone else, my feelings for you will not alter. At worst, we’ll meet again, start anew, just as we did in this life,” Guan Wen replied softly.

He never spoke sweet words; every syllable came from his heart, sincere and true.

“Since joining the ranks of bounty hunters, I’ve fought countless battles, brushed past death a dozen times—Middle Eastern battlefields, Egyptian revolutions, Russian bandit dens, Icelandic terrorist bases... No matter how dangerous, I always emerged unscathed. ‘Fear’ was never in my vocabulary. But this time, my heart beats like a drum. As if, once I lift this lid, my life will change completely. Guan Wen, now I regret bringing you to Lhasa. Because of you, I am deeply attached to this world—I am no longer the world’s top female bounty hunter...” Tears brimmed in Gu Qingcheng’s eyes.

Every girl has moments of helplessness; she is no exception. However strong or stubborn she appears, she cannot escape the innate shackles of human nature.

“Cough, cough... child, come here, let me tell you—” Master Scarlet Flame coughed violently, then beckoned Gu Qingcheng in a low voice.

Gu Qingcheng approached his bed, head bowed, listening intently.

“I believe that, since you have the courage to come here, you are ready to shoulder this responsibility. Do not be ashamed of your fear; even the most fearless sages in Tibetan Buddhism possess negative thoughts in the gaps of their souls, the shadows of their practice. Just as when we light a lamp and raise it high, wherever the light shines, there will be places it does not reach. But we must not stop lighting lamps because of darkness—that’s the simplest truth. In truth, I cannot give you strength, just as a lamp cannot help one slay demons or cross mountains and rivers, cannot help one climb, forge, or bridge—it is only a lamp...” Master Scarlet Flame ceased coughing, his voice as calm as a gently flowing river.

Guan Wen listened in the same respectful silence. In his heart, Master Scarlet Flame was a Tibetan elder of boundless wisdom; every meeting elevated him.