Chapter Ninety-One: The Hero’s Final Refrain

The sorceress burst free from Gao Xiang’s body and shot straight into the heavens. Gu Wen gave chase at once, the two of them one before the other, swift as a meteor pursuing the moon.

Her body changed in an instant: towering to the sky, then shrinking to a speck, now becoming flowers, birds, fish, and insects, now turning into green peaks and ancient trees. The transformations were endless and intricate, yet she could never shake Gu Wen’s pursuit. At that moment, his heart contained nothing but a single word, written in blood: kill.

Suddenly, the sorceress broke through the valley floor and plateau built by the Venerable Red Flame with the Six-Syllable Mantra and once again entered the black cavern beneath the cliff.

Without the slightest hesitation, Gu Wen charged in after her, all the way to the circular pool at the deepest point of the cavern. Only then did he understand: the human destruction had shattered the sorceress’s own power, but had not reduced her to dust and ashes. That was why she had been able to escape the cavern by borrowing Gao Xiang’s body and Tang Jue’s soul.

She stood upon the crystal platform, her skirt hanging motionless, no longer bearing the arrogant, bloodthirsty aura of a murderer. “Spare my life, please. I beg you. I truly dare not kill again. If you wish it, I will gladly be your maidservant and do any humble work for you. I am ashamed before those who have died. Give me a chance, and I will chant sutras and turn prayer wheels every day to help their souls find release and return quickly to the cycle of rebirth. Please, I know I was wrong. I truly know I was wrong...” Her long hair trailed into the water, her reflection wavering upon its surface, lonely and helpless, like the last withered lotus of the dying winter.

Gu Wen stopped, thirty paces away, and watched her from afar.

“I know many Buddhist scriptures say that even demons can repent, that one can lay down the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha at once. Look, I have no knife in my hand at all. I only killed in self-defense. Surely you understand that sometimes, to survive, we must do things against our will. I, too, once longed to live like any ordinary woman in this world: to marry a good man, bear many rosy, plump children, stay at home to tend husband and raise children, and pass through life in peace and freedom from worry. I swear I truly thought that way, but no one ever gave me the chance. This time, if you are willing to show mercy and give me a chance, I can do it. I certainly will not disappoint you...”

She frowned slightly, her lips gently pressed together, speaking in a soft voice.

If all she said were true, if all the vows she made could be kept, then she would no longer be a sorceress, but a respectable woman of the mortal world.

This world is forever lacking in women of gentleness, modesty, and restraint. Good women are like sweet springs in the desert: rare and precious, and once they appear, they can transform a desolate wasteland into a thriving oasis.

Gu Wen’s heart suddenly softened, like ice immersed in warm water. Yet another voice deep within him was calmly insisting: eradicate evil without exception, eradicate evil without exception, eradicate evil without exception...

It was under the urging of that voice that he lifted the great blade high and stepped forward, pace by pace, onto the narrow path.

“Please, please, I know I was wrong. I truly know I was wrong. Give me one chance... I know your heart is incomparably kind. Can you not grant me even such a small chance? Look how lowly I am—I kneel before you—” The sorceress truly dropped to both knees before Gu Wen, prostrating herself on the ground, too afraid to rise.

Her clothing had been torn during the chase, and most of her body was already exposed. Such a beautiful body, even if seen only in reflection upon the water, was enough to dazzle and bewitch every man in the world.

Gu Wen came to a halt. The murderous intent in his chest had already dispersed, and he truly wanted to give the sorceress a chance to repent. He was a man; if this were a life-and-death contest on the battlefield, blade against blade, he might not have shown mercy. But now, to make him personally strike down a weeping woman, he could not bear it.

Very well, let it all end here. He planted the great blade in the ground. “If you truly reform yourself, I will not pursue you to the bitter end.”

He released his grip, and the blade fell into the water, its edge passing exactly over the sorceress’s shadow.

In that instant, the sorceress—still kneeling, just lifting her head—suddenly had her neck severed. Her head fell to the ground and rolled to Gu Wen’s feet, trailing disheveled long hair.

“Thank you.”

Those were her final words.

Winter in Lhasa’s Barkhor Street was bone-chillingly cold, with scarcely a person in sight.

Gu Wen had just finished a thangka painting. He clipped it with a clamp and hung it on a cord to dry. In winter, the temperature was so low that to air-dry a painting naturally would take at least a week.

This thangka shop had been given to him by Le Bai Wangjie, who had already closed his own art center and formally taken refuge at Tashilhunpo Monastery, chanting scriptures and cultivating himself every day.

Le Bai Wangjie had once said that money and desire drove people’s cravings beyond all bounds, and that was not the life he wanted. To cultivate devoutly was to find peace of mind; the joy in that was endless. Now, in Tibet, more and more people were like him. Even if they had not shaved their heads and formally entered the fold, they sincerely worshiped the Buddha, recited sutras and turned prayer wheels each day, and kept humble and tranquil hearts.

“How long has it been since Baoling left?” Gu Qingcheng, seated in the rocking chair by the window, looked up and closed the book in her hands.

“Up to today, exactly one year and one month,” Gu Wen replied.

As for the relationship between Baoling and Baolizhu, in simple terms it was this:

Baolizhu’s ancestor, Baolu, belonged to the Baoji clan under the Pure Yellow Banner of the Qing dynasty. As a civilian officer in the army, he had once followed Fukang’an on the western campaign. When he reached the Severed Head Cliff of the Niseri Mountains, he picked up the white bronze key left behind by Princess Chaoge and passed it down to his descendants. Because Baolizhu possessed a demon-banishing inner wisdom, she came to Tashilhunpo Monastery and came to know the painter Bing Qiuhan. She asked Bing Qiuhan to paint the inner wisdom hidden deep within her mind, and the two fell deeply in love, secretly binding their fates together. What gestated in Baolizhu’s womb was Baoling—the reborn soul of Princess Chaoge. It was only because of Baoling’s existence that Baolizhu sensed the murderous intent of the sorceress beneath Niseri Mountain and departed without farewell, retreating to Hong Kong.

Baolizhu’s beauty was universally acknowledged, and the half-face of a beauty painted by Caidan Dajie was precisely her likeness.

Bing Qiuhan gave up his cultivation and pursued her to Hong Kong. To avoid dragging him down, Baolizhu deliberately shut him out and refused to see him. After giving birth to Baoling, Baolizhu died of an incurable illness. Bing Qiuhan, brokenhearted and discouraged, sent Baoling to an orphanage. Later, he did not return to his homeland, but wandered everywhere, eventually dying of old age in Jinan, Shandong.

After the battle at Niseri Mountain, Baoling bid farewell to Gu Wen and Gu Qingcheng and returned to Hong Kong, vowing to guard Baolizhu’s grave for ten years in repayment of her mother’s kindness.

“I just happened to be reading the eighty-seventh chapter of this book—” Gu Qingcheng lightly tapped the pages. The chapter title was, “Yang Jian Cleverly Slays the Four Demons; the White Ape Is Caught by the Taiji Diagram.” “And I suddenly thought that the way you once drew the mandala to banish evil inside the black cavern of Niseri Mountain was strikingly similar to how Yang Jian used the Taiji Diagram to construct a wondrous world and capture the Meishan monkey demon. Could it be that the works of Ming and Qing dynasty novelists are all closely entwined with real history?”

She was reading the Investiture of the Gods, written by Xu Zhonglin of the Ming dynasty. It is an ancient Chinese novel of gods and demons, composed roughly during the Longqing and Wanli reigns. Its prototype can be traced back as early as the Southern Song vernacular tale The King of Zhou Campaigns against Zhou, and it may also have drawn on The Story of the Rise of Shang and Zhou and The Journey of the Eight Immortals from Kunlun to the East. Set against the historical background of Jiang Ziya assisting King Wu of Zhou in overthrowing King Zhou of Shang, it tells how the immortals of the Chan and Jie sects vied in wisdom and courage, broke formations, slew generals, and conferred divinity.

Gu Wen smiled but did not answer, because he understood the book even more deeply. Whenever he received repeated instruction from Master Tree, Caidan Dajie, and Master Sangche, he often thought of this novel. His own true experiences across successive lives corresponded in many places to its plot.

In truth, it was not only this book. After surviving his tribulation, he had read the Four Great Classical Novels of China countless times with great care, deeply believing that The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Journey to the West, Water Margin, and Dream of the Red Chamber each contained hundreds of clues related to demon eradication. The more closely one pondered them, the more profound, subtle, and unfathomable their meaning became. No wonder all modern and contemporary Chinese literati praised the Four Great Classical Novels and regarded them as treasures upon their desks.

He had discussed these complicated thoughts with Gu Qingcheng countless times, and the two of them each expressed their views and gained insights.

Gu Qingcheng’s background had once caused Gu Wen endless sorrow. She was the child of Bing Qiuhan and his former wife; her birth mother died when she was one year old, which was why Bing Qiuhan left that place of grief and traveled far away to refine his painting skills. Since Gu Qingcheng’s family name was originally Bing, when she entered the circle of the wise among the five countries and twelve monasteries, she took the title Ice Spirit.

Now, Gu Qingcheng was no longer a lone bounty hunter roaming the martial world, but the proprietress of this tiny thangka shop.

“Boss, do you have a copy of the Demon-Suppressing Map?” Three young people passed the shop, and one young man stopped to ask.

Gu Wen shook his head. “No.”

The young man frowned. “I’m asking whether you have a reproduction of that thangka. If a relic like that turned up in a little shop like yours, it would be a real oddity!”

Gu Wen shook his head again. “Sorry, we don’t.”

The young man shrugged at the two girls with him. “What a letdown. Snow has blocked the mountains and the roads, trapping us here. We wanted to buy a thangka and hear the myth of how Songtsen Gampo led Princess Wencheng and Princess Tritsun to subdue the demon. But this shabby shop has nothing at all. I really wonder whether the owner has even a shred of cultural refinement, not even knowing how to copy the Demon-Suppressing Map?”

One of the girls laughed and replied, “Forget it. What’s so interesting about myths? Let’s go back and get online to see whether the new version of The Investiture of the Gods has started airing. I heard the lead actors this time are from Hong Kong and Taiwan, handsome and beautiful, very easy on the eyes...”

The three young people left amid laughter and chatter, and Gu Wen and Gu Qingcheng exchanged wry smiles, not knowing what to say.

The war to subdue and banish demons was not a story, but a brutal and arduous struggle that truly took place, and countless wise figures of Tibetan Buddhism gave their lives for it. Yet in the real world, who took any notice? Everyone was living their own lives, chasing stars, chasing girls... Thus, people like Gu Wen and Gu Qingcheng could forever be only obscure, unsung heroes.

Was this the best of times? Was it the most perfect cycle of our lives? Gu Qingcheng switched to another book, Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities.

“I think it should be,” Gu Wen answered.

Gu Qingcheng shook her head and said thoughtfully, “But in the age of one king and two princesses, Songtsen Gampo and the two princesses Wencheng and Tritsun could live in harmony and create a legend for the ages. Why can’t we? Baoling left, willing to guard a small grave alone in a distant fortress city, all to make room for us. If we are happy, she certainly cannot be.”

Gu Wen fell silent, because that was something he, too, often worried about.

“I firmly believe that in some future cycle of reincarnation, we will certainly be able to return to the age of one king and two princesses, to become the best of friends and create a new legend of love. What do you think?” Gu Qingcheng asked.

Outside the door, snowflakes as large as goose feathers began drifting down again.

Gu Wen smiled and nodded, drawing Gu Qingcheng close as they watched the silver flakes and shattered jade of the falling snow.

He longed for the day when, after the snow had passed, Baoling would return, and it would surely be a beautiful season of spring warmth and blooming flowers.