Chapter Thirty-Three: The Death of the Wind Crane

Suddenly, Feng He opened her eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. Master Tianjiu immediately ceased speaking, pulled out a flashlight and a magnifying glass, and examined Feng He's pupils, issuing hurried instructions: Speak to her, quickly, speak to her, make her say something!

Guan Wen leaned down, asking softly, "Your dance is finished. Shouldn't you tell me something now?"

Feng He's eyes twitched, and two large tears suddenly welled up, sliding from the corners of her eyes.

Guan Wen frowned, uncertain what this meant. If she wept, she must be feeling some extreme emotion—joy, anger, sorrow, or fear—unable to dispel it, thus expressing it in tears.

"Master..." Feng He moved her lips, uttering two syllables.

Guan Wen immediately asked, "Are you looking for the venerable one? Shall I invite him here right now?"

Master Tianjiu instantly gestured to stop him, signaling Guan Wen to continue communicating with Feng He.

"I saw a wondrous world in your dance. Where is that place? Is it beneath Mount Niseri? How does one reach it?" Guan Wen pressed on.

"Master... Master... you... you..." Feng He's tears flowed more fiercely, quickly soaking her hair, but she answered none of Guan Wen's questions, only continued to cry.

"She isn't looking for us," Guan Wen straightened and informed Master Tianjiu.

"No one must intrude now. This secret belongs to me," Master Tianjiu answered with icy lips.

"If she doesn't speak, the secret dies and no one will have it," Guan Wen sighed.

"If she does, countless people will flock to overturn Mount Niseri," Master Tianjiu said.

"I must tell you: that secret is not yours alone. All treasures of the world belong to those destined. If it's yours, no one can take it; if not, no amount of force will help you keep it. You are a famed sage—unless blinded by greed, surely you understand such a simple truth?" Guan Wen asked.

Master Tianjiu waved his hand furiously, "What do you know? What do you know? Others see only a great treasure; I see the supreme attainment of Tibetan Buddhist practice! What I pursue, no one understands! No one!"

Abruptly, Feng He's body began to twist and struggle, clutching her chest, her face contorted in agony.

Guan Wen was startled, immediately grasped her wrist.

"Master, how cruel you are... so cruel..." Feng He's expression grew more pained, as if a knife had been thrust into her chest by someone closest to her.

"What is she saying? What is she saying?" Even Master Tianjiu was bewildered now.

"Feng He, tell me, what did you see? What are you thinking?" Guan Wen pressed close to her ear, trying to soften his voice.

His fingers clearly felt her pulse racing—sometimes sharp and intense, sometimes faint and scattered. This indicated her body was at its limit, entering the brief flicker before death, liable to expire at any moment.

"Master, why? Why... why do you want to kill me... why..." Suddenly, Feng He screamed, abruptly sat up, and with a sweep of her arms, shoved Guan Wen back five steps, falling backward.

It turned out Master Tianjiu had just drawn a small knife and plunged it into Feng He's thigh, heedless of anything. This sudden agony completely restored Feng He's senses.

Ignoring the pain, Guan Wen leapt up and rushed to the bedside.

"I saw it." Feng He's face had turned ashen, her eyes bulging slightly, as if a layer of dust had settled upon them.

"What did you see? Who killed you?" Guan Wen pressed anxiously.

"That day, we threw all the treasure into a vast pit and sealed it with huge stones. I was the first to climb out to keep watch, but waited a long time and neither Master nor my fellow disciples emerged. I went to the entrance to look, saw Master come out alone. I asked where the others were, he didn't answer, just walked straight toward me..." Feng He spoke rapidly, then gasped deeply, her gaze unwavering, staring forward, ignoring Guan Wen and Master Tianjiu.

"Ask her, ask her about the treasure, about the secret—ask her!" Master Tianjiu could no longer restrain himself, interjecting from the side.

Guan Wen wanted to ask, but in this state, he feared Feng He would not hear anything.

"I don't know what happened. I looked back into the cave. Master came close, smiled at me. His smile was strange—tragic and eerie—as if he wanted to say something but only opened his mouth. I dared not ask, for all the masters in the temple were worried about the treasure's future; anyone who spoke out of turn risked rebuke. Suddenly, I felt a chill and pain in my chest. I looked down—a knife was embedded in my chest, only two inches of the hilt visible. One side of the hilt was inlaid with a turquoise sun, the other with a ruby moon. It was the knife I knew best; I had set those stones myself. Master never parted with it. And yet, then, it was in my chest. Why? Why did Master want to kill me? Why..." Feng He pressed hard on her chest, slowly turned to look at Guan Wen. Her eyes were now bloodshot, half red, half gray, like two shattered cat's-eye gems.

Guan Wen was immersed in Feng He's strange tale, unable to extricate himself. He could say nothing, his chest weighed down as if by a boulder, all words stuck in his throat.

Feng He's death was surely linked to the treasure, to secrecy, to silencing witnesses; yet in this affair, both killer and victim were sacrifices, everyone giving their lives for the treasure. Personal fate and honor were less than moths or ants compared to the importance of keeping the secret.

And the treasure? Where was the cave? Where was its entrance? Master Tianjiu roared, gripping Feng He's shoulder, twisting her body toward him. In his other hand, he still held the blood-dripping knife. Judging by his posture, he might strike Feng He again at any moment.

"It’s useless to ask more; she’s already in her final moments," Guan Wen said.

"I don’t care. Even if I have to cut her open, I’ll get the secret from her!" Master Tianjiu grinned savagely. "Speak! Speak!"

Guan Wen turned and ran out. He could not stop the crazed Master Tianjiu; he must alert the authorities and the Venerable Chiyan.

From turning to reaching the door, Guan Wen took perhaps five seconds. As he pushed the door open and stepped out, he suddenly heard the sound of a blade slicing through a throat, followed by the hiss of blood spraying from a narrow gap, and the patter of blood hitting the floor.

He froze, slowly turned, and saw Feng He's throat shooting four or five jets of blood, the distant ones splattering at the end of the dissecting table, the nearer ones landing on her feet.

Guan Wen's heart sank: Master Tianjiu had struck! Yet at this moment, Master Tianjiu was not in the room; instead, a ragged wooden window in the northwest corner of the wall had been torn open.

He hurried to the window. It was just a two-foot square frame with plastic sheeting nailed over it as a vent. Now the plastic was ripped away, revealing only the silent, boundless darkness outside.

He paused for a few seconds, then returned, removed his coat, and wrapped it around Feng He's neck. Yet the killer's blade was ruthless—a single cut severed both blood vessels and trachea; no emergency measures could save her.

In desperation, Guan Wen shouted, "Someone come! Hurry!"

Unable to wait for others, he leaped through the window and sprinted forward.

At first, he suspected Master Tianjiu of the murder, but the night wind cleared his mind. He realized it had to be an enemy's sneak attack; Master Tianjiu could not have protected Feng He from the throat-slashing blow and had immediately pursued the assailant.

Behind the house was a gently sloping wasteland, then the ordinary homes and alleys of Lhasa. There were no streetlights, every household was asleep, no lights visible. The night wind stirred the prayer flags atop the roofs near and far, fluttering and flapping, making muffled noises.

The night in Lhasa was desolate and silent, leaving him feeling immeasurably lonely. At this moment, he missed the leisurely days of sketching and painting at Tashilhunpo Monastery all the more. He did not belong to the world of violence and intrigue, nor wished to be drawn into its twists and turns, into such perilous and bizarre living.

Guan Wen wanted to give chase, but there was no trace to follow.

Feng He was dead. The clues were broken. He looked down at his hands, meant only for holding a brush, and muttered dejectedly, "The killer silenced her, didn't they?"

Knowing too many secrets brings danger; for Feng He, the hidden treasures were both her fortune and the source of her demise.

"Hey, Guan Wen, how are you?" A large group rounded the side, led by Old Dao, whose flashlight beam shone directly into Guan Wen's face.

Guan Wen gazed at the group, dispirited, not even bothering to raise his hand to block the light.

"What happened? Where is Master Tianjiu?" Gao Xiang's voice reached him.

Guan Wen shook his head, unwilling to answer their questions.

"Mr. Guan, what happened? Are you all right?" This was the voice he most wanted to hear—Baoling's.

"I'm fine, but I didn't see the moment Feng He was slain. I suspect someone killed her, and Master Tianjiu chased after them," he replied softly. The light was too harsh; he could not see Baoling, only looked toward her voice.

Baoling sighed, regretful and surprised, "So... it's come to this?"

"What did Feng He say? Guan Wen, she must have said something before she was killed, right?" Gao Xiang stepped forward, his voice brimming with arrogant skepticism.

"Is that so? If you ask like that, I have nothing to say," Guan Wen turned and walked back.

"Old Dao, you and Chizan search ahead, and support Master Tianjiu," Gao Xiang commanded, raising his hand.

As Guan Wen passed, Gao Xiang lowered his voice and sneered, "Hey, don’t be afraid. We’re here—we’ll guarantee your safety."

Guan Wen paused, wanting to retaliate, but then his energy drained away. He knew such verbal sparring was pointless. In the end, everyone here had come for the treasure, united by interest, bound to become adversaries over it.

"Mr. Guan, you’ve been shocked," Baoling said.

Guan Wen turned, meeting Baoling’s gentle gaze, and said nothing, only nodded softly.

Feng He was dead, the killer’s blow so swift it severed two-thirds of her neck, only half an inch short of decapitation.

Now, Feng He lay flat upon a door panel, her blood drained away, leaving only a ghastly dark purple wound.

Many people crowded about the stretcher, filling the room, all craning their necks to look, but none could help the poor woman.

Did the hidden treasures help her, or harm her? Guan Wen could not help but think this sadly.

The hidden treasures had brought Feng He from her village to Lhasa, earned her the favor of the Venerable Chiyan, and respect for the knowledge stored in her mind. But a noble person, bearing precious things, invites misfortune—the killer had acted decisively to silence her because of those secrets in her mind.

"What did she say?" The same question came from every mouth, directed only at Guan Wen, as Master Tianjiu had vanished.

Old Dao and Chizan returned to report that they had searched every dwelling, alley, and abandoned lot within five kilometers, but found no trace of Master Tianjiu. Fortunately, everyone knew he was a martial arts expert and could protect himself.

"We will ensure Feng He is buried properly. As for the mysteries stored in her mind, we must rely on you," the Venerable Chiyan said, patting Guan Wen's shoulder.

Guan Wen smiled bitterly, lost, "I can only try my best. She did say some things, but they’re as fleeting as footprints in the snow. I’m not confident I can piece them together."

"Sometimes, don't force yourself to ponder. Follow your heart—where your spirit points, what you seek is there," the Venerable Chiyan said. "In fact, much of what others tell you is illusion; only by clearing your heart and eyes can you see the truth. In other words, what Feng He told you isn’t important—you must follow your heart. Shall I prepare a quiet chamber for you, to help you calm your mind?"

Guan Wen half-understood, his mind tangled, as if filled with knotted threads, impossible to unravel.

"No need; I want to return to Tashilhunpo Monastery," he replied. In truth, he wanted to leave this world of turmoil, return to the little room at the guesthouse, settle his thoughts alone, and consider whether he could bear the trust that the Venerable Chiyan and the important figure had placed in him.

The Venerable Chiyan and the important figure exchanged a glance and nodded, "Very well, we’ll send you back."

Guan Wen had one more request, but it concerned Baoling, and the others had no authority over it. He vaguely felt that Baoling’s dream and the knowledge stored in Feng He’s mind were connected, but he had not yet figured out how the details fit together.

"When do you want to leave?" the important figure asked.

"Right now," Guan Wen answered.

"Good, let the car from Tashilhunpo Monastery take you back," said the important figure.

"Give her a proper burial," Guan Wen said, gazing at Feng He’s face for a long time.

He had witnessed her dance and recognized the mysterious knowledge she held, yet he could neither foresee the dangers that would befall her nor save her life, but could only watch as she silently slipped away.

The immense gulf between life and death left him feeling as if the sky had collapsed, every hope dashed, powerless.

"We will. Take care of yourself," said the important figure, coming over to pat Guan Wen’s shoulder from the other side.