Chapter Eighty-Two: The Relics of the Tang Princess

Guan Wen suddenly felt his feet firmly planted on the ground.

The scissors were still in his hand, and before him knelt a young maiden with a long braid trailing down her back.

All around, incense smoke curled in the air, monks prostrated themselves in worship, and the chanting of sutras surged together into a torrent of sound, startling the resting birds hidden in the depths of trees and behind the red walls and green tiles. In the distance, a round, orange sun hung low over the peak of West Mountain, as dusk gathered, waiting to descend.

In his other hand, he held the girl’s jet-black braid, fully three feet long.

With this cut, your whole life will change. Will you regret it? he asked.

I will not, she replied. The maiden lifted her face, her eyes bright as two black grapes steeped in icy water. In those eyes, Guan Wen saw not the unspoiled innocence unique to youth, but a calm, unflinching fearlessness born of having weathered many storms. He had seen many girls before, but never encountered such a gaze.

A lifetime is but the blink of an eye—life and death, success and failure, are of little consequence. As long as my soul endures, after countless cycles of rebirth, I will return to this place to fight for justice. As the Buddha teaches: if I do not descend into hell, who will? I am prepared. You need not ask again. She smiled, wise as a newly blossomed white lotus, proud and ethereal, standing apart from all other lotuses.

Behind her, thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—knelt upon the ground: men and women, young and old, generals and monks alike; but none possessed courage surpassing hers.

Now, you still have a chance to turn back, he said. Precisely because this single cut would change her fate, he hesitated, weighing and reweighing, unable to bring the scissors down lightly.

All beings are equal; he could not, merely because he held dominion over samsara, disregard another’s future. This girl was meant for a brighter path: to wear brocade, live in high towers, grow up in the palace carefree and joyous, then marry into a noble family. She would bear several plump, healthy children, laughter ringing around her knees, while her husband sat at the pinnacle of power, renowned and remembered in history.

Such a life is the happiness a girl ought most to cherish. Humanity is divided into male and female; each bears a different mission. Since antiquity, men ventured forth to hunt and gather, while women stayed to nurture the young—a distinction as old as time, clear and immutable.

To burden a young girl with the weighty task of exorcising demons—was it that all the valiant men in the capital had perished?

To safeguard the world from evil is the purpose of my existence. There is no other thought within me. I know I must go, she answered. I have reasons I cannot refuse.

I still cannot, and do not wish to, he said, gazing into her face.

Before he broke free from the endless cycle of rebirth to become a Buddha, it seemed as though they had already met somewhere along the river of samsara. Because of this faint sense of déjà vu, he was all the more unwilling to let the scissors fall.

Though he had attained Buddhahood, a small selfishness lingered in his heart. If, in a previous life, fate had denied their union—blown apart like thistledown in the wind, or blossoms swept away by rain—now, at this moment, he had the power to protect and preserve her, to save her from the sea of suffering and the battlefield of Asura. Thus, he wished to dissuade her, to shelter her beneath his wings, rather than let her stray time and again into error.

You must not, for your own selfishness, disrupt the order of the world. We both know the truth: real fate is simply meeting the right person at the right time. Anything else is just mistake compounding mistake.

At last, the girl spoke the words he had awaited. It confirmed that his sense of familiarity was true—beneath her mortal shell, another soul was hidden.

Only by acting, or not acting, can I know whether my choice is right or wrong. Or perhaps, only by changing the world can I alter the convergence of fate. A deep sorrow welled in his heart, for reality had already shown they were passing each other by. He had ascended to the realm of gods and Buddhas, indifferent to life and death, beyond the wheel of reincarnation, possessing an undying form, while she was but fifteen, bright-eyed and pure as a spring in the depths of the earth.

Do not try to change anything; let all things unfold, for that is a realm your abilities will never reach. She grew anxious. When fate has not yet arrived, a girl either meets a man she cannot depend on for life, or meets the right man but never finds fulfillment. Do not try to do anything for me; you will destroy yourself. Think of those years the Buddha endured, imprisoned within the halo of light…

He was stunned. What?

Check: The Golden-Winged Roc, who stole the Pearl of Spirits from the Western Glass Chalice, committed a heavenly crime and was sentenced to endure a thousand days in the undying Western halo. Check: General Curtain fell from grace for dereliction of duty, banished to the mortal realm, never to rise again… Do you remember? Don’t make mistakes—don’t let there be more errors, she cried.

Guan Wen suddenly understood: the tales of samsara he knew were but a billionth of the whole. What he did not know, what the world did not know, what even the three thousand gods and Buddhas above and below did not know—those were infinite, endless, beyond counting.

In that instant, he recalled what Tang Jue had once said: if you grasp the power of the Rakshasa Demoness, you could instantly duplicate all things—the earth, the stars, the solar system, even the primordial universe. Only in such a vast cosmos could all cycles of reincarnation be encompassed. If he truly wished to change both her fate and his own, he must hold everything in his grasp. Otherwise, with one omission, all would be lost.

Now I understand—the ultimate meaning of exorcising evil is to change everything, from the very beginning, the very root. That is the only true path. As the Dao De Jing says: The way that can be spoken of is not the eternal Way; the name that can be named is not the eternal Name. Nothingness is called the beginning of heaven and earth; Existence is the mother of all things. Therefore, ever without desire, one may behold its wonders; ever with desire, one may behold its boundaries. These two spring from the same source but differ in name; both are called mysteries; mystery upon mystery—the gateway to all marvels…

Guan Wen recited the original text of the Dao De Jing aloud, the lines about the beginning of heaven and earth, the mother of all things—giving him a sense of enlightenment.

Excellent, you truly understand! The girl wept for joy.

Suddenly, black clouds surged in all directions, thunder rumbled, and a violent storm was about to break.

To hear the Way in the morning, and die in the evening—I have waited for this day. Only true awakening can… can set the world right, undo all mistakes; only then… can one meet the right person at the right time, live each life without regret, reverse every sorrowful ending, and grant every lost soul the warmest homecoming… The maiden rose and grasped Guan Wen’s hand.

Guan Wen lowered his head, feeling clearly that the warmth in her grasp belonged to Gu Qingcheng.

A wild wind swept the black clouds, making the platform beneath their feet sway perilously. Sand and stones flew, and great trees, three men round, were uprooted and whirled into the sky. The kneeling masses scattered in panic; incense sticks and prayer flags lay abandoned.

Last night, I remembered the world I endured alone against the ravages of time. That was the wrong moment. For a hundred years, you never even appeared; I was left by myself through the cold night—‘A thousand miles to war, crossing the passes as if in flight. Northern winds rattle the golden watch, cold light gleams on iron mail. The general dies in a hundred battles, the hero returns after ten years.’ she recited.

Those were famous lines from the Northern Dynasty’s epic ballad, “The Ballad of Mulan.” Yet from her lips, beyond their ringing cadence, they carried an inexpressible sorrow and hidden bitterness.

Those are the lines I wrote for myself as I leafed through my stories of reincarnation in the endless night—‘Returned to face the Son of Heaven, who sits in the bright hall. Twelve times rewarded for merit, honored with a hundred thousand gifts. The Khan asks my desire; Mulan asks for no high office. She only wants a swift horse to send her home… Who in the world knows where my homeland lies? That valiant woman who crossed the battlefield lives in someone else’s world, yet I am simply myself, unaltered by the world. Through the surging tides of samsara, I never forget my original vow—to exorcise evil—because I know that only by doing so can everything finally end…

Guan Wen knew her name no longer mattered. What mattered was that she was the most important woman in his life.

This “Ballad of Mulan” was once included in the “Yuefu Poetry Anthology” under “Drums and Horns of Liang,” which, quoting the monk Zhi Jiang’s “Record of Ancient and Modern Music,” says: Mulan—her true name is unknown.

The “Wenyuan Yinghua” notes: The “Ballad of Mulan” was originally a Xianbei song. It spread south, was translated into Chinese, entered the Liang Dynasty’s music bureau, and later found its way among the people.

In the boundless cycles of rebirth, holding fast to one’s original heart is exceedingly hard, but she had done so.

Do not try to change my life—it’s useless. Exorcising evil is our only path. She repeated her resolve.

The wind grew fiercer. Through the gaps in the black clouds, lightning, branch-like, struck down again and again. A few times, its tips nearly touched the three-zhang-high platform.

The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to all things. All things carry yin and embrace yang, blending their energies to achieve harmony. What people dislike most are loneliness, fewness, and want, yet princes and lords call themselves thus. Therefore, things are sometimes diminished and yet increase, or increased and yet diminished. What people teach, I too will teach: the violent meet untimely ends—let this be my warning… These classic lines from the Dao De Jing showered Guan Wen’s mind like rain of wisdom.

Some things must fail before they can succeed; some people must be lost before they can be found. Only thus can we return to the era of the One. Since there is only the One, there is no need to distinguish past from future, victory from defeat, right from wrong, gain from loss… As long as we return to the One, as long as the realm of the One is set in order and understood, we shall always stand invincible. Then, through all lives and ages, whether as Buddha or as a mortal, as long as the final goal is the One, that is the purest and truest principle.

At last, he understood everything, but the foundation of the high platform had loosened, and it collapsed with a roar.

In the swirling dust and chaos, a bolt of lightning crashed between him and her, so bright he could not open his eyes. As the branching tips of lightning wrapped around him, his limbs went numb; the scissors slipped from his grasp.

With a crisp snap, the scissors fell, slicing cleanly through her braid at the roots. Silently, the braid fell away. In that instant, he felt his body grow light, transforming into the Golden-Winged Roc, spreading his wings and soaring into the heavens.

Beneath him, the ancient halls, forests, cities, rivers, and mountains shrank into tiny scenes on a painted scroll, receding farther and farther until they disappeared from sight.

Qingcheng, wait for me… However deep the longing and regret, in this fleeting, world-spanning separation, it was cleaved in two, never to be joined again.