Chapter Eighty-Four: The Tortoise Shell Left Behind by Bianji

Guan Wen, let us speak only of that tortoiseshell fragment and the Record of the Western Regions of the Great Tang, and not of the mystery. From that book we know that Master Xuanzang’s pilgrimage route ran from Chang’an to Qinzhou, Lanzhou, Liangzhou, Guazhou, Jade Gate Pass, and then on toward the northwest, later entering the lands of Kyrgyzstan, passing through the states of Shule, Kang, Mi, Cao, He, An, and Shi among the Nine Surnames of Zhaowu, crossing Uzbekistan, and then over the famous Iron Gate of Central Asian history into Afghanistan, continuing south through the Snow Mountains and Peshawar in Pakistan before entering India. Such a route was, in effect, a detour around the forbidden regions—a great sweep that took several times the necessary distance to reach the destination. Why was that?

This strange map once sparked a fierce debate on Baidu and Google, drawing countless historians and archaeologists into the argument.

Most historians believe that from the Han and Tang dynasties onward, northern tribes repeatedly invaded the south, leaving the central dynasties busy fending off such intermittent provocations and unable to carry out much further regional exploration toward the southeast, south, or southwest. Thus, when Master Xuanzang set out westward, he habitually advanced along mountain passes guarded by Tang soldiers, because those cities had already been marked on military maps and could barely be counted as familiar ground. Only after reaching the farthest limit of central authority did he obtain from other countries’ maps the route leading south, whereupon he turned and headed that way.

Physicists and geographers, however, argue that because there were no advanced instruments for determining direction, Master Xuanzang was terribly confused about the road to the Western Heavens. What seemed to him due west was in fact already skewing northwest; a hair’s breadth astray becomes a thousand miles off. Thus he traveled the long road in a vast circle. This, they say, proves that China’s long-distance travel and seafaring techniques were not advanced. Otherwise, how could the eunuch Zheng He have commanded his fleets to sail to the western oceans only in the great prosperity of the Ming?

Qingcheng, why bring up this subject? Do you mean that Bianji and the demon-slaying have some kind of connection as well?

Exactly. Gu Qingcheng stamped the accelerator, pushing the car to its limit. Once we meet up with Baoling, we will be able to uncover the secret of the tortoiseshell fragment. This time, we must succeed. Only then will we no longer miss each other across the cycles of reincarnation.

Guan Wen reached out and laid his palm over the back of Gu Qingcheng’s right hand where it gripped the steering wheel.

Don’t worry. In this life, once I found you again, I will never forget you. he said.

Gu Qingcheng smiled through her tears. Thank you. Only now do I understand why, in this life, no matter how well others treated me, I felt nothing. Because I was alive only to wait for your arrival.

She pressed the button on the record player and, with tears in her eyes, whispered, Listen to this song. It is my favorite.

Softly in the compartment, the heartfelt duet of the Taiwanese singers Su Rui and Yu Kanping began to play:

I tread this unchanging path
for the sake of meeting you.

When you feel hurried and hesitant,
please follow me.

I carry within me the hope of a dream,
an emotion impossible to restrain.

When you are not paying attention,
please follow me...

Guan Wen opened his mouth to say something, but Gu Qingcheng suddenly raised a hand and covered his lips, smiling as she shook her head.

The song happened to reach the line: Say nothing. It is a world you cannot foresee. Say nothing. You need not speak. Your eyes have already told me...

Such lyrics were precisely the state of their hearts at this moment. The road ahead was vast and unknown; no words could explain the complexity of the feelings within them. So long as their hearts were in accord, everything was understood without speech.

Back at the guesthouse, Guan Wen and Gu Qingcheng received the greatest surprise of all: Xiao Hu had already awakened, the snake venom in his body completely cleared, and his condition was recovering at astonishing speed.

When they entered, Xiao Hu was sitting on the sofa with IV lines in both hands, a calm smile in his eyes.

You’re all right? That’s wonderful! Gu Qingcheng clapped her hands again and again in delight.

Sister Gu, it was only a minor wound. It won’t kill me. Besides, with good friends like you and those brothers outside, how could I bear to die? Just now Gao Xiang came to see me and said that Miss Baoling was studying the tortoiseshell fragment brought back from the Palace of the Summer Sun and needed your help. Don’t waste time here. Go quickly.

It was clear that Xiao Hu had fully recovered; his voice was strong and full.

The heavy stone in Guan Wen’s heart finally fell away. He said sincerely, Xiao Hu, your constitution is truly remarkable. The doctor this morning even warned that you’d need at least half a year of convalescence before you could get out of bed.

In truth, the doctor’s words had been even more severe: he had judged that the snake venom had deeply damaged Xiao Hu’s brain and central nervous system, and that he might be left with lifelong disability, even reduced to a vegetative state.

Xiao Hu laughed. I’ve spent so many years struggling in the underworld that, other things aside, my survival skills and instinct are stronger than most people’s. So long as there is even a thread of hope, I’ll never surrender easily. Don’t worry about me. Go and see Miss Baoling.

The two of them hurried back to the guesthouse. As soon as they entered the courtyard, they saw Gao Xiang sitting on the steps outside Baoling’s room, the ground before him littered with cigarette butts.

Hey, you’re back at last—shh! Gao Xiang sprang to his feet at the sight of them, then immediately realized his voice had been too loud and looked stricken with annoyance.

Lowering his voice, he explained, Baoling has been alone in the room for more than four hours. The curtains are drawn, and I can’t see a thing. I even knocked just now to bring her some water, but she refused and said she didn’t want to see anyone except the two of you.

Gu Qingcheng went up the steps and knocked gently on the door.

Guan Wen, what on earth happened over there in Nepal? I feel that after Baoling came back, she’s become an entirely different person. She’s not the same as before. And what about the black hole on Mount Niseri—have you found a solution? I’ve found several friends in the underworld who are skilled in explosives, and I also brought a large batch of supplies, enough to...

Guan Wen.

Gu Qingcheng turned and called out, cutting off Gao Xiang’s chatter.

The door had already opened. Gu Qingcheng beckoned Guan Wen inside and left Gao Xiang standing outside.

The most urgent matter now was the demon-slaying; it had nothing to do with treasure or wealth. At this level of mysterious arts and occult powers, Gao Xiang’s shallow knowledge was useless. Telling him anything would only be a waste of breath.

Hey, what’s with you people? One after another, all of you are like gourds with their mouths cut off—you won’t tell me anything—

The door shut, cutting off Gao Xiang’s voice outside.

Inside, no lights were on. The windows and doors were all covered by thick coarse cloth curtains, leaving the room dim and murky, eerily dark.

I already understand now. The writing on the tortoiseshell belongs to the oldest “secret that is not to be passed on, invisible and formless” in Han-transmitted Buddhism. What the sage who carved it into the shell wished to tell us was not the meaning that appears on the surface. That is why I deliberately blocked out the light and tried to ponder the mystery in the dark. In the ancient theory of yin and yang, the tortoiseshell represents the “Northern Xuanwu Water Formation of Ren and Gui,” yet it was deliberately hidden in the Palace of the Summer Sun in Nepal. Nepal lies south of the forbidden region and belongs to the “Southern Vermilion Bird Fire Formation of Bing and Ding,” while the hiding place itself bears the character for summer, which means the struggle against the demon must involve elements of fire, burning, and explosion. I have also seen that the tortoiseshell was not fully carved, because the one who left it behind had already suffered the cruelest punishment of being cut in half at the waist. So even with extraordinary wisdom, one cannot grasp the whole picture. I am waiting for nightfall. I believe that by midnight, the tortoiseshell will offer us more important enlightenment.

With her long hair loose around her shoulders, Baoling was stroking the tortoiseshell fragment, already sunk into a trance of utter absorption.

Gu Qingcheng’s hair had been cut off by the Red Flame Venerable and now only fell to her shoulders.

She sat cross-legged opposite Baoling, joined one hand in reverence, and spoke with her eyes closed: Baoling, I am certain that the one who left this tortoiseshell fragment behind was the Tang monk Bianji. I realized this in the meditation chamber of the Palace of the Summer Sun. When he compiled and copied the Record of the Western Regions of the Great Tang for Master Xuanzang, it was not mere textual labor. He understood the secret within it. From Xuanzang’s strange route westward, he realized that there existed a Rakshasa demoness of boundless power in the forbidden region, one whom the meager strength of Buddhist pilgrims from China could never overcome. To head west was certain death, which is why the route detoured northwest. Master Xuanzang studied in India for many years and had already obtained the method for destroying the Rakshasa demoness, and that method was hidden in this very work, the Record of the Western Regions of the Great Tang. Bianji was after all only a monk, not some wandering occultist. Lacking sufficient vigilance, he could not protect himself and thus suffered a catastrophe from nowhere. That was his fate. The court case has long since vanished into history and can no longer be investigated. But we must remember that light and darkness coexist; where there is motion, there is resistance. Where there are demon-slayers and demon-exorcists, there must also be those who protect demons and those who worship them. Bianji was killed by demon-worshippers.

Thus, the essence of the Record of the Western Regions of the Great Tang is all on the tortoiseshell fragment. What a pity that among the many monks in the splendid capital of Chang’an in the great Tang, no one continued Bianji’s line of thought and carried on the work of deciphering the secret. Towering scrolls and mountains of scripture only brought dynastic change and a mess of feathers and blood. Baoling replied.

In the five-thousand-year history of the Chinese people, such mysteries are countless. Once an emperor has issued an order to execute a criminal, no matter how great the injustice, no one dares to overturn the case. Thus Bianji’s name as the dark monk has been borne for a thousand years. For others, if it has nothing to do with them, they will stand aside and watch. Since there is no profit to be had, who would bother with the case?

Heaven took pity on him. He carved the words into the tortoiseshell, entrusted it to the demon-exorcists of Wagang Fortress, and after many twists and turns it was brought here, where it played a decisive role in the demon-suppressing war of that year. Historians remember only the lofty and famous heroes, and completely forget the nameless heroes who labored silently in the shadows. Gu Qingcheng said.

Guan Wen could not help thinking of those people led by Master Cheng beneath the ground in Lhasa, living in seclusion year after year, day after day, all for one immortal belief in exorcism.

There are no lack of heroes in this world; what is lacking is a good patron who can recognize them. he said with deep feeling.

Han Yu, first among the Eight Great Masters of Tang and Song, wrote in his essay The Horse: “In the world there must first be a Bole, and only then can there be a fine steed. Fine steeds are common, but Bole is not.”

That meaning holds true everywhere under heaven.

No one can simply choose to be a hero. It is only that circumstances force them to stand up and save the people from the abyss of suffering. Guan Wen, if I could choose, I would lay down everything at this very moment and withdraw into ordinariness, no longer the bounty hunter once famous across the world, nor today’s demon-exorcist, one in ten thousand. Drunk upon the battlefield, do not laugh at me—how many ever return from ancient wars... how many ever return from ancient wars... Those words truly lay bare the whole heart of the one who goes to war. Gu Qingcheng opened her eyes, her face full of bitter smile.

I rather like another two lines of poetry: “In ancient times the sage and the wise were all lonely; only the drinker left his name.” It is still early, and the night is long. Why not drink heartily until midnight and see what Bianji of old is trying to tell us? Baoling laughed.

The two girls had originally been opposite in temperament: Gu Qingcheng bold and generous, Baoling frail and sorrowful. At this moment, they had quite reversed places.

Tibet was never short of fine liquor. In one corner of the room sat a case of Tibetan barley spirit that Qusongjian had not yet had time to move away. This wine, brewed from pure grain by the native methods of Tibet, exuded a mellow, rustic fragrance the moment it was uncorked.

There was only one drinking cup in the room. Guan Wen filled it and handed it to Gu Qingcheng.

Three hearty gulps for Li Taibai’s fine verse—Gu Qingcheng laughed, and truly drank three gulps before passing it to Baoling.

If life gives you joy, then enjoy it to the full; do not let the golden cup stand empty against the moon. Baoling also laughed, drank three gulps, and passed the cup to Guan Wen.

Good poetry and good wine—this is the happiest night of my life. Guan Wen did not recite poetry. With two beauties before him, he did not know whether he would finally be drunk in the wine, or drunk in the glances of Gu Qingcheng and Baoling.

The cup kept passing from hand to hand, and even the air in the room gradually took on a drunken haze. Outside the window, dusk gathered from all sides, silence reigned, and the whole world seemed to have sunk into deep sleep.

Do you still remember a person? Gu Qingcheng asked with a smile.

Who? Baoling asked.

Ludongzan. Gu Qingcheng answered.

The foremost sage of Tibet, Gar Tongtsen? How could I possibly forget him? Baoling asked in return.

Ludongzan was an important figure in the history of the forbidden lands. Under his Tibetan name, Gar Tongtsen, he was unquestionably the foremost strategist under Songtsen Gampo. Songtsen Gampo’s courage in battle and Ludongzan’s manifold cunning together established Tibet’s hegemony on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau.

I know. He once traveled under Songtsen Gampo’s orders to Nepal and proposed a marriage alliance to King Lichavi, requesting that the king send the most beautiful princess, Bhrikuti, to Tibet to marry Songtsen Gampo. The king refused, and in the court Ludongzan verbally outmatched Nepal’s civil officials and military officers three times, using both persuasion and threat, force and inducement, until he finally subdued King Lichavi and secured the marriage alliance... Gu Qingcheng seemed already drunk and suddenly brought up that long-sealed chapter of Tibetan history.

Nepal is Nepal, and Princess Bhrikuti is the historical Princess Chizun.

Historians analyze that Songtsen Gampo sought to marry Princess Chizun in order to strengthen friendly relations with Nepal and consolidate Tibet’s religious ties to the Indian subcontinent. But who can know that it was precisely because of Ludongzan’s insight that there came to be that joint demon-suppressing campaign of one king and two princesses? Historians are nothing but old pedants who take magnifying glasses to chronicles in search of bookworms. Stuck in their ways, mired in convention, they can study for a lifetime and still do nothing more than copy others over and over, chewing on what others have long since chewed... Baoling was drunk too. As she spoke, she waved her sleeves, half singing and half dancing.

Exactly, exactly. Ludongzan was sent by the Tang capital of the East to ask for Princess Wencheng to go west and become the wife of Tibet’s King Songtsen Gampo, all for the sake of the great work of suppressing demons, and certainly not for ordinary matters of love. Who in the world understands those grand feelings that stand above politics and history? In this sense, Songtsen Gampo, Princess Wencheng, Princess Chizun, and Ludongzan are also peerless nameless heroes of the world. It is just that people see their outward achievements, and cannot see what they truly did for Tibet... Gu Qingcheng laughed aloud, no longer using the cup. She snatched the bottle from Guan Wen’s hand and drank straight from the mouth of the bottle.

Drinking can release pressure. These two extraordinarily beautiful girls had borne too much pressure on the journey to Nepal, and only under the influence of alcohol could they shake off the weight and truly be themselves again.

Among the three of them, only Guan Wen remained sober.

So when the tortoiseshell fragment lying flat on the table suddenly flashed a sharp white beam, he sprang to his feet, wrapped his arms around Gu Qingcheng and Baoling from left and right at the waist, and the three of them retreated at speed together.