Chapter One: The Thief Meets a Sudden End

Prologue: The Xi Demon-Suppressing Thangka

Thangka, also called Tangka or Tangka, is a term transliterated from Tibetan, specifically referring to religious scroll paintings mounted with colored silk and hung for worship. It is a unique form of painting in Tibetan culture, with a wide variety of subjects encompassing the history, politics, culture, and social life of the Tibetan people. Historians have honored it as an encyclopedia of the Tibetan nation.

The surviving thangkas in mainland China are mostly works from Tibetan Buddhism and Bon, among which two thangkas named "Xi Demon-Suppressing Chart" have especially drawn the attention of historians.

These thangkas were discovered by the Xi Autonomous Region Cultural Relics Administration Committee during the cataloging of relics from the Norbulingka Palace. Both are identical in size and content, measuring one meter in height and seventy-three centimeters in width. In the painting, the demoness lies on her back, legs slightly bent, right arm raised with wrist drooping, left arm lifted above her head, wrist arched. Her body is adorned with mountains and rivers, veins clearly visible, and numerous temples of various sizes are constructed across her form, including twelve demon-suppressing temples said to have been built in the seventh century, such as the Suppressing Limb Temple and others.

The content of the "Xi Demon-Suppressing Chart" originates from the ancient legend of Songtsen Gampo, the Tibetan king; Princess Wencheng of the Tang dynasty; and Princess Bhrikuti of Nepal, who, together in Lhasa, constructed temples to subdue the subterranean demoness. Yet, after the Norbulingka relics were unearthed, another rumor gradually surfaced—

Back then, Princess Wencheng’s journey to Tibet had not been for marriage alliance, but was a pretext to lead three thousand demon-subduing masters from the Wagang stronghold to slay the demoness, ridding the world of the calamity of the Empress participating in politics and the moon obscuring the sun. After arriving in Tibet, the demon-subduing masters, along with eminent monks from Xi, Nepal, India, Sikkim, Thailand, and other regions, sacrificed their own bones and blood to jointly create the Xi Demon-Suppressing Skeleton Thangka, restraining the demoness forever beneath the mountain of the Xi Potala Palace.

The Skeleton Thangka is a secret never passed down in Tibet. With the completion of the demon-suppressing ritual, its craftsmanship faded into the river of history.

From the perspective of Tibetan Buddhism, the demon-suppression was accomplished, and the people of Xi have led civilized and enlightened lives ever since. Yet, to this day, historians and archaeologists, starting from the "Xi Demon-Suppressing Chart" in Norbulingka, have pursued the truth of the demon-suppression, making discoveries that have shocked the world…

Chapter One: The Thief Meets a Sudden End

The sunlight was somewhat dazzling. Guan Wen shifted his position, retreating completely into the shadow beneath the eaves, loosely holding his pencil and rapidly sketching in his drawing pad.

He was capturing the flying eaves of the esoteric hall at Tashilhunpo Monastery and the distant peaks of Mount Niseri. Gray tiles and gray grass, set against the vibrant colors of countless prayer flags, formed a striking contrast, highlighting the ancient tranquility of Tashilhunpo.

Within the monastery, Guan Wen’s heart was always calm and detached, like the butter lamps that burn year-round inside and outside the main hall. No matter how many times people came and went, the lamp remained the lamp, its visage unchanged for anyone.

At this moment, he noticed a peculiar group approaching from the front courtyard. They were neither brightly dressed tourists, nor dusty pilgrims, nor robed monks of the temple.

There were fifteen in total, all without exception wearing loose black coats, hoods pulled up to shade their foreheads.

The last person in the group glanced at Guan Wen as she passed. In that instant, it seemed as if two stars exploded in his eyes—the gaze was sharp and bright, filled with extraordinary wisdom and keen, piercing light.

Guan Wen instantly judged that this was a young woman of striking beauty and refined intellect. As an artist with exceptional observation skills, he was confident he wasn’t mistaken.

In the brief exchange of glances, Guan Wen felt his heart lightly touched. The woman’s face seemed familiar, but when he searched his memory, it vanished without a trace.

The group filed into the gray wooden door of the esoteric hall, which closed behind them, blocking Guan Wen’s view. Still, he remembered her scent—a most elegant fragrance, fresh and distant, not overpowered by the butter or sandalwood aroma filling the temple air.

When Guan Wen entered the Buddha Jampa Hall, his sketchpad was tucked under his arm, pencils clipped to each ear, his brows habitually furrowed as he pondered the angle, considering how to portray the Buddha Jampa in the twilight as more compassionate and benevolent, to capture the complex inner world of this unparalleled giant copper Buddha.

Buddha Jampa is Maitreya in Chinese Buddhism; in Tibetan Buddhism, he is the lord of the future, deeply revered by believers. The Jampa Hall, called Jampakang in Tibetan, was constructed under the guidance of the Ninth Panchen Lama, Chökyi Nyima, in 1914. The statue itself is 4.2 meters tall, with broad shoulders and large feet, 3.2 meters long hands, 1.2 meters circumference of the middle finger, and 2.8 meters long ears, making it the tallest and largest copper Buddha statue in the world.

Guan Wen had always believed that every Buddha statue preserved in the great temples of Xi had its own inner world. Whether made of copper, gold, jade, wood, stone, or clay, during the initial casting, they were imbued with the peculiar faith, praise, and prayers of their creators. As an artist, only by penetrating beneath the surface of the statue to explore its remote depths could he depict its spirit, leaving immortal close-ups for countless Buddhas.

On the kneeling mat before the Buddha Jampa sat a figure, head bowed, hands pressed together at her chest, silently praying in devotion.

Guan Wen’s thoughts were wholly absorbed by the copper Buddha, and he did not notice whether the person was male or female, only gazing upward at Buddha Jampa’s face.

In Tibetan Buddhism, Buddha Jampa is the future Buddha, and thus highly revered; every day, countless people come to worship. Guan Wen had grown accustomed to such visitors, so he was immersed only in his own spiritual world.

Had it not been for the person’s sudden, long sigh disturbing him, he might never have turned his head to look.

"Ah… For so many years, I’ve searched and waited in agony, and finally here, I glimpse a ray of light in the darkness. But you ought to give me more guidance, shouldn’t you? Don’t let me wander in fear in my dreams… Just give me more guidance, even a word, a painting, a sound… You won’t give, and leave me trapped in darkness… If you can't enlighten me, release me, let me forget those strange things…"

It was the voice of a young woman, probably in her twenties.

Guan Wen turned his head and saw the silhouette of the girl’s left profile. She had sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, strongly defined philtrum and lips, and a delicate, pointed chin. Her eyes were tightly shut, long lashes trembling anxiously, evidently struggling with inner pain.

"Erase the painful memories from my heart, they don’t belong to me. I just want, like everyone else, to sleep peacefully at night. I only wish to be ordinary…" Her voice trembled.

By now, the twilight mist had drifted in from outside, gathering in the open space before the hall.

As the sky darkened, the butter lamps glowed brighter, and inside and outside the temple, warm golden halos appeared everywhere.

This was Guan Wen’s favorite time of day, for the contrast of light and darkness always inspired vague philosophical thoughts. Though he couldn’t capture the soul’s fleeting stirrings, he thoroughly enjoyed the moment.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of burning butter lamps in the air, occasionally hearing the faint crackle of the wick.

Tap, tap, tap, tap—a set of footsteps approached, entering the Buddha Jampa Hall.

Guan Wen did not open his eyes; his thoughts floated in the clouds, his soul seeming to leave his body.

"Ow!" The girl cried out.

Guan Wen opened his eyes, just in time to see a man in a black leather jacket fleeing the hall, clutching a black satchel.

The girl stood up, panic-stricken: "Robbery! Someone stole my bag!"

Without thinking, Guan Wen sprang after him.

The man was extremely agile; by the time Guan Wen reached the doorway, he had already lost sight of him.

He stood outside the hall, bewildered, unsure which way to pursue.

The girl ran out, no longer calling out, but stood beside Guan Wen, sighing repeatedly.

"Thieves usually want only cash; the bag and documents inside are often discarded. If someone finds them, they’ll be sent to the temple’s lost-and-found. Don’t worry," Guan Wen comforted her.

The girl nodded: "Thank you."

Guan Wen forced a smile: "Don’t thank me—I couldn’t really help."

He was an artist, not a martial arts master; judging by the circumstances, even if he caught the thief, the bag would not be recovered.

The girl shook her head: "You chased after him for me, and I’m already very grateful."

She moved her right arm, suddenly grimacing in pain, inhaling sharply and letting out a low cry.

"What’s wrong?" Guan Wen asked.

"The satchel was slung over my shoulder. When the thief yanked the strap, he used great force. My right shoulder hurts badly, I can’t move my right arm, it feels almost torn off, so painful… oh, it hurts…" The girl stepped back, leaning against a large pillar.

Guan Wen frowned, a bit at a loss.

The girl slowly moved her right arm, crying out repeatedly, tears streaming from the pain.

"Can you walk? Shall I take you to the hospital?" he asked.

The hospital was just inside the main gate of Tashilhunpo Monastery, itself a quaint, temple-style building.

The girl shook her head, pain flaring again: "I can’t move… not at all…"

Guan Wen frowned again, setting down his sketchpad, but dared not help her directly; they were strangers, and propriety demanded caution.

"Guan Wen." Someone emerged from the corner of the hall, footsteps light, dressed in crimson monk’s robes.

Guan Wen looked up, relieved: "Master Basang, you came just in time—"

The young monk, with thick brows and large eyes, stopped at the foot of the steps, looking up and studying the girl.

"Master Basang, you’re here at the right moment. This lady was robbed, her right arm injured and unable to move. You’re the prized disciple of Master Duoji, expert in medicine—"

Before Guan Wen finished, the monk bounded up the steps, pressing his index and middle fingers gently on the girl’s right shoulder.

The girl cried out twice more, clearly in great pain.

"It’s a severe dislocation and tendon sprain, somewhat troublesome. But my master is over by the White Pagoda—Miss, can you stand and walk?" The monk’s Mandarin was very fluent.

The girl shook her head again: "I have no feeling in half my body. I dare not move."

The monk sighed: "No choice, I’ll have to fetch my master here."

Guan Wen’s worry finally eased, for Basang Jiangcuo’s master, Master Duoji—full name Duoji Qunpei—had studied medicine for forty years and was the foremost physician in Tashilhunpo Monastery.

"This thief is despicable. Later, when I have time, I’ll sketch his likeness and hand it to the temple administration. If he appears again, he’ll surely be caught…" Guan Wen muttered.

Basang Jiangcuo stepped back, saying to the girl, "Please bear it a few minutes, I’ll fetch my master at once."

The girl nodded: "Thank you, sorry to trouble you."

Descending the steps, Basang Jiangcuo turned back to Guan Wen: "Draw the thief’s face as soon as possible. He’s so ruthless—if not caught quickly, who knows how many more he’ll harm."

Guan Wen nodded, opened his sketchpad, pondered a few seconds, then began to draw. In half a minute, he had depicted the Han thief in leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers. The thief had short hair, a round face, small eyes, thin lips, and a small coral bead dangling from his left earlobe.

He showed the sketch to the girl: "Miss, do you recognize him?"

The girl, enduring the pain, examined it closely, nodding thoughtfully: "I think I’ve seen him. Since arriving in Rikaze these past few days, I’ve spotted him both in and outside the city."

Guan Wen looked at his sketchpad, the pencil tip hovering over the back of the thief’s hand clutching the bag.

He seemed to recall a tattoo there, but it had been only a fleeting glimpse; he couldn’t make out the details.

Soon, the thin, energetic Master Duoji arrived alone, Basang Jiangcuo not following behind.

Master Duoji ascended the steps, first examining the girl’s injury, then grasping her elbow with his right hand and pressing her shoulder with his left.

"This will hurt—bear with it," Master Duoji said.

The girl inhaled sharply, biting her lower lip.

"Guan Wen, you witnessed the robbery yourself?" Master Duoji turned, face stern.

Guan Wen nodded, showing him the sketchpad.

Master Duoji said coldly: "Tashilhunpo Monastery has always had good security. In the last three years, this is the first time a robbery has happened inside. When Basang told me, I could hardly believe it."

Guan Wen understood Master Duoji’s mood; as a monk of Tashilhunpo, he valued the monastery’s reputation more than life.

"It’s absolutely true. What I drew is exactly how the thief escaped," Guan Wen said solemnly.

Master Duoji sneered: "All the entanglements of the world have cause and effect. If this man merely has a conflict with the lady, she is his target, and he cannot be called a thief."

The girl spoke: "I don’t know him—not at all. How could there be any conflict?"

Master Duoji’s hands suddenly pulled, twisted, and pressed. Before the girl could cry out, his withered, bird-like right hand swept down her shoulder, upper arm, elbow, forearm, wrist, hand, and fingertips, then let go and stepped back, clapping his hands twice, murmuring: "It’s done."

"Ah—ah…" The girl cried out sharply.

"It’s healed. By tomorrow morning, there will be no pain," Master Duoji shook his robes, shaking his head in displeasure. "If you can’t bear even this pain, how dare you travel all the way to Xi as a tourist?"

The girl cried out seven or eight times, then suddenly jumped up, hiding behind a pillar, her left arm extended to point ahead: "Look at him—quick, look!"

In fact, Guan Wen had already noticed the man stumbling out from around the hall's corner, backing toward them, right hand pressed to his throat, left hand dangling, a black strap wrapped around his wrist, the girl’s lost satchel dragging along the ground.

Master Duoji turned, his expression changing.

"That’s the thief," Guan Wen whispered.

The girl, terrified, darted behind Guan Wen, while Master Duoji spread his arms, shielding them both.

The thief backed up twenty steps, heels hitting the gray-blue slate paving, nearly falling, then turned to face the three.

"Who are you?" Master Duoji demanded.

The thief released his hand from his throat, revealing a thumb-sized bloody hole at his Adam’s apple.

Guan Wen jumped in fright, dropping his sketchpad.

"Green… Dragon…" The thief uttered two words, blood gushing from his mouth and nose, but before he could say the third, he collapsed backward, feet kicking weakly before lying still.

The girl was petrified, clutching Guan Wen’s arm, her nails nearly digging into his flesh through his jacket.