Chapter Nine: Fang Qing Amidst Adversity

He Xiangjun set the photo down, her eyes shifting silently to Ding Jun’s face, silently asking a question.

“I can only conclude there’s a ninety percent chance it’s the same person,” Ding Jun replied succinctly.

Years of warfare had instilled in him a habit of absolute precision—what was uncertain could never be conveyed as certain. Even with ninety-nine percent confidence, he would never claim a hundred.

He Xiangjun smiled: “Very well, then this time it’s... a big trouble.”

The Fire God laughed heartily: “The Five Poisons Sect never fears big trouble. The bigger the trouble, the better, the more exciting!”

He Wuqiu frowned. “Brother, this isn’t a game. This is a real fight, sword against sword.”

The Fire God rolled his eyes but held back any retort to He Wuqiu’s admonishment.

“Uncle Shi, as long as I still have breath, the baby will be safe,” Ding Jun said firmly.

A gentleman’s promise is hard to retract. He had promised Shi Hai to deliver the photo to Shi Miaoshou, and even sworn over Shi Hai’s corpse to devote himself to the Shi family’s affairs, considering himself one of them.

“Little Ding, I didn’t want to burden you, but now I have no choice... On behalf of my poor little grandson, I beg all of you...” Shi Miaoshou’s voice cracked as he covered his face, sobbing before finishing.

“Everyone, Shi Hai’s wife, Si Qin, is currently under the protection of the most capable disciples at the Sutra Library with Master Pingcuo Jiebu. According to the Silver Eye Death Charm’s rules, both Uncle Shi and Si Qin will be safe until the baby is born. Si Qin’s due date is two weeks away. During this time, please move carefully and avoid going out; all meals will be delivered by designated persons,” Fang Qing spoke on behalf of Shi Miaoshou, arranging everything with meticulous order.

Her manner was exceptionally efficient and graceful, earning unanimous admiration. Even the proud young Fire God cast her admiring glances.

Before dawn, everyone lay on the sofas, dozing lightly to ensure they had energy for the challenges ahead.

Ding Jun’s mind kept returning to the dripping sound of water. He felt that by locating its source, they could uncover the hiding place of the Gugé envoy. In modern warfare, there was no need for direct confrontation—a conventional or improvised bomb could reduce even the most skilled warrior to fragments.

Suddenly, he recalled the day Shi Hai led the “Mouse Trap” operation into the deep valley. Was his thinking similar to his own? Yet the result was forty-four Delta Force elites slaughtered. So, was a proactive strike still feasible? Was it truly the best strategy?

The terrain around Tolin Monastery was surrounded by earth pillars, similar to Bamiyan Valley where that battle occurred. If the enemy was hiding in caves waiting for the baby’s birth, would their side have any chance during that period? He tossed and turned, his temples throbbed painfully.

Among everyone present, the only person he trusted was Fang Qing. Conversely, if it were the Delta Force deployed, he could trust every member. The difference in trust led to vastly different outcomes.

Why did I trust her so completely? He turned over again, Fang Qing’s image vivid in his mind.

After returning from Afghanistan to Hong Kong, countless socialites and debutantes had extended invitations to him, including Miss Hong Kong contestants, rising stars in film, and fashion models, but none interested him. He politely declined them all. They were simply not the type he desired, and after a single glance, he made a swift judgment.

And Fang Qing? Is she the girl I desire? This thought stubbornly settled deep in his heart, refusing to fade until dawn.

At eight in the morning, breakfast was delivered, but clearly no one had an appetite.

Ding Jun stepped outside, pacing leisurely in the courtyard, breathing the fresh mountain air of the ancient temple. Here, the sky was a boundless blue, distant mountains a muted gray-green, offering endless vistas that refreshed the spirit.

The courtyard had seven northern rooms. Aside from the reception, lounge, dining hall, and kitchen, three rooms were prepared as rest areas. Though a bit crowded for so many, the sudden passing of Aunt Ge, Uncle Li, and Mr. Qin overnight naturally resolved the accommodation issue.

Thinking of this, Ding Jun shook his head with a wry smile—such unforeseen events were beyond anyone’s control.

“Mr. Ding,” Fang Qing approached.

Everyone had barely slept, yet she looked radiant and energetic.

“My master instructed me to wait a moment and then take you to the Sutra Library to meet Master Pingcuo Jiebu,” she said.

Ding Jun nodded; this had been mentioned by Chi Sang Jiacuo the previous night.

Fang Qing paused, kicking a pebble at her feet, as if wanting to say more.

Ding Jun gently encouraged, “Miss Fang, please, speak freely.”

Fang Qing looked up, smiling shyly: “Mr. Ding, I was very interested in your description of last night’s battle. It’s very relevant to our current situation. I’m not a soldier, so I’m ignorant of strategy and tactics, and some of my ideas may be naive. Please don’t laugh.”

Ding Jun nodded. Fang Qing continued: “Shi Hai’s decision to strike proactively after learning the enemy’s location was absolutely correct. But he underestimated their strength and made a reckless advance, which caused the failure. Conversely, if he had launched a long-range bombardment or rocket attack, the outcome would have been favorable, right?”

Her words mirrored exactly what Ding Jun had pondered before dawn.

Their minds aligned so closely, it brought him unexpected delight.

“Please, continue,” he said.

“If we concentrate, we can find where the caller is hiding. It’s strange, as you said, both calls came from a dripping cave. Of course, it’s not the same cave, but if we can identify similar caves around Tolin Monastery, we can pinpoint their location. Then...” Fang Qing didn’t finish, instead laughed: “Mr. Ding, you’re the expert in combat. I won’t embarrass myself by explaining further.”

Ding Jun did not laugh; his face was calm, but inwardly he was thrilled.

“Do you think my idea makes sense?” Fang Qing asked.

Ding Jun thought a moment, then countered: “Miss Fang, are you telling me this because you’re facing a problem you can’t solve?”

Their communication flowed smoothly. Before Fang Qing could finish, he understood both her overt meaning and the underlying implication.

On the surface, she was sharing her tactical thoughts. Given her decisive nature, once convinced, she would act immediately. Yet now, she took no action and sought his counsel—implying obstacles preventing her from moving forward.

“Sigh...” Fang Qing suddenly sighed deeply.

The soft sound pierced Ding Jun’s strong, steady heart. Hardened by war’s fire, he had become a finely tempered blade, yet this beautiful, wise young woman softened him instantly.

“I’ve never met anyone with such quick mental reflexes, Mr. Ding,” Fang Qing said, her gaze gentle and resolute. “You say one thing, and you’ve already inferred ten. Talking with you is like a spring breeze. I’m truly grateful to have a teammate like you in this harsh reality.”

She extended her hand. He did the same, their hands clasping firmly for a minute before slowly parting.

“Miss Fang, you flatter me. It is your brilliance. Whatever I guess, you have already pondered a hundred times over. Don’t be so humble. With your battlefield adaptability, you could easily command a mid-level position in Delta Force.” Ding Jun rarely praised others, especially a woman; this was a first.

Fang Qing smiled awkwardly: “Let’s not flatter each other further.”

In truth, as soon as she connected the dots—cave, dripping water, hiding place—she brought out a topographical map of the Tolin Monastery area to search inch by inch.

Her reasoning was that since the enemy could confidently call Shi Miaoshou to announce a death sentence, their hiding place could not be far—no more than twenty kilometers, or a half-hour drive.

She drew a twenty-kilometer radius circle around Tolin Monastery on the map but found nothing matching her expectations.

In short, the area around Tolin was only desert or earth pillars—no caves with water sources suitable for hiding.

“That’s very strange,” Ding Jun frowned. By his estimate, twenty kilometers was the absolute limit; he even suspected the caller was within ten kilometers.

“There really isn’t such an environment,” Fang Qing confirmed again. “Now, let’s go meet Master Pingcuo Jiebu.”

The two left the courtyard, passing through a narrow corridor toward the northwest corner of Tolin Monastery.

Walls over three meters high flanked both sides, blocking the blazing sun and leaving only the howling north wind. The Tibetan environment was unlike anywhere else in mainland China—sky high and clouds light, utterly unobstructed. Looking up felt as if one could see beyond the firmament, the horizon boundless.

Founded during the Northern Song period, Tolin Monastery was the first Buddhist temple built by the ancient Gugé Kingdom in the Ali region. The temple complex was dense with halls and towering stupas. The oldest buildings were constructed under King Yixiwo of Gugé and Buddhist scripture translator Renqing Sangbu, modeled after the Samye Monastery of former Tibet.

Today, Tolin’s layout was linear, consisting of halls, monks’ quarters, and stupas. Major buildings included Kasa Hall, White Hall (nunnery), Stupa, Arhat Hall, Maitreya Hall, Dharma Protector Hall, Assembly Hall (Zulakang Hall), Sekang Hall, Atisha Scripture Hall, along with prayer wheels, Lajang, and monks’ quarters.

“After meeting the master, I will show you around the temple. There are few tourists here, and all the halls retain their original appearance. Visiting here feels entirely different from other Tibetan temples,” Fang Qing smiled as she explained.

Ding Jun noticed the worry lingering in her expression—she was still preoccupied with that mysterious call.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“You’re welcome. Though not an official disciple, I have studied under Master Chi Sang Jiacuo for some time, so I suppose I can be considered a half-local, and must observe the host’s courtesy,” she said with a sigh before adding, “Unfortunately, you just arrived as the Silver Eye Death Charm incident struck. No one is in the mood for sightseeing.”

Ding Jun smiled: “Resolving those issues will clear the dark clouds and rain, bringing peace to the world.”

His worldview and philosophy had been forged in the Delta Force, America’s elite unit where every member possessed iron will, relentless determination, and unshakable confidence to overcome any obstacle. That was why this unit was sent to the most perilous frontlines to solve problems that others could not.

“Do you have confidence?” Fang Qing asked.

“We make the best of what we have,” Ding Jun replied without a direct answer, but his resolute expression spoke volumes.

Fang Qing’s worry lifted into a smile: “Hearing you say that reassures me. I had long suspected that Zhu Ye’s gang cared only about treasure, never about the Shi family’s baby.”

The two turned a corner, following the temple’s unique circumambulation path westward.

The Sutra Library stood beneath a red-brick tower at the temple’s northwest edge. Though called a library, it was only a single story, with white walls and a red roof—majestic and solemn.

A young monk was reading scriptures in the morning light. Seeing Ding Jun and Fang Qing, he smiled and greeted, “Tshupadele” (Good morning in Tibetan).

Fang Qing bowed: “Tshupadele.”

The monk looked at Ding Jun and switched to somewhat awkward Mandarin: “You must be Mr. Ding? The master is waiting for you.” He set the scriptures down and gestured inside.

Ding Jun bowed slightly and, alongside Fang Qing, stepped over the one-foot-high white bronze threshold into the spacious room.

The room was devoid of furniture. Wooden shelves lined all four walls, each compartment three feet high and wide, stacked from floor to ceiling. Instead of scriptures, the shelves held yellowed scrolls of varying lengths—ancient relics bearing a patina of age that no modern industrial process could replicate.

The floor was paved with white bronze tiles, two feet square, not polished smooth but intricately engraved with various ritual implements using ancient, rustic techniques.

Fang Qing removed her boots gently, placing them in a corner inside the threshold.

Ding Jun mirrored her, and the two walked side by side along the twenty-step bronze pathway, passing through a slightly narrow door in the rear wall, then across a short path of white pebbles to reach an octagonal pavilion draped in multicolored prayer flags.

At the pavilion’s entrance, a blue stone slab about five meters long and one meter wide lay on the ground, carved with a giant line of the Six-Syllable Mantra. Each Tibetan character’s recess was painted dark red, shimmering with an uncanny glow.