Chapter Four: Subduing Demons

Perhaps it was merely some form of contamination; there’s no need to overthink it. Miss Baoling is an ordinary pilgrim, no different from the tourists who flock to Tashilhunpo Monastery each day. Guan Wen explained, yet suspicion deepened on the faces of Qusongjian and Gesang, their resolve hardening.

Two people have died in the monastery, one of them a revered physician who had rendered great service to the villagers of Rikaze. Though we cannot find the murderer, we must do something. Guan Wen, you are Han, you don’t understand the customs of the Tibetan people. Here, we welcome only friends, not enemies. Lebai Wangjie declared.

Guan Wen requested the flashlight from the young man, tied two slipknots on the well rope to secure it, and slowly lowered it into the well.

The well was about ten meters deep, its walls covered in dark green moss. As the beam neared the water’s surface, Guan Wen could hardly believe his eyes. The water rippled gently—not the crystal-clear spring water of Tibet, but a filthy, murky red, like blood.

How could this be? Guan Wen asked in a low voice.

The others leaned over the well, peering down in silence, the only sound was the hiss of cold air being drawn through their teeth.

Guan Wen swung the rope around the well’s rim, searching the walls with the flashlight. In truth, the well’s walls were perfectly normal; only the water was abnormal.

Lebai Wangjie received a brief phone call, responding with several exclamations, then informed Guan Wen: Someone says that seven or eight spring wells west of Tashilhunpo Monastery have all developed problems. These incidents may be related to that woman and the bloody events in the monastery. Guan Wen, that woman isn’t clean. I advise you not to make trouble—send her away.

Guan Wen looked up to see several faces pale with fear, eyes shining with terror.

He withdrew the flashlight and handed it back to the young man.

It’s late; at least let her stay the night. I’ll say this: I was present at both bloody incidents in the monastery. If you insist the first death is somehow connected to Baoling, perhaps that’s barely plausible. As for the second, Master Duoji was killed in the monks’ quarters south of the White Stupa—Baoling was in the Maitreya Hall at that time. How could she be involved? he said gently.

Lebai Wangjie waved his hand and sighed: Young man, are you so stubborn because you’re besotted with beauty?

Guan Wen smiled: I am not.

Baoling was indeed beautiful, but Guan Wen had not brought her back out of desire; rather, it was out of moral duty to help her find lodging. Besides, there are many possible causes for the abnormal well water, none of which are necessarily related to evil spirits.

Lebai Wangjie pointed north toward the large studio: Come with me, I want to show you something.

Guan Wen turned to Qusongjian: I stake my life on it—Miss Baoling is a normal person.

He followed Lebai Wangjie into the spacious studio, over a hundred square meters in size. On the massive pinewood desk lay a half-finished thangka.

Lebai Wangjie approached the desk and tapped the thangka: Guan Wen, look.

It was a copy of the “Xi Demon Suppression Painting,” and the demoness had only her torso and neck completed.

When the well water changed, I was painting this part. Last year, I saw that woman—she’s visited Tashilhunpo Monastery several times. Sometimes she wanders the main temple halls, sometimes she roams the mountain paths and village homes outside. She’s nothing like the typical tourist, Lebai Wangjie said.

Guan Wen couldn’t grasp what Lebai Wangjie was getting at, so he listened quietly.

Once, I noticed something strange: the monastery’s stray dogs, released for merit, would immediately tuck their tails and flee at her approach, as if terrified out of their wits. Lebai Wangjie continued.

Guan Wen asked calmly: You followed her?

Lebai Wangjie scratched his neck, embarrassed: I… I wasn’t following her, just curious. She’s so striking, alone, and I worried—like you—that she might need help.

Lebai Wangjie was forty, single, pleasant-looking, and a talented Tibetan artist; such curiosity was understandable.

Guan Wen nodded: Go on.

Lebai Wangjie’s smile faded: You know, there are many stray dogs outside the monastery, some gentle, some fierce. I feared she might be attacked, so I kept my distance, following her. Once, she was outside the southwest corner wall, walking up a western slope. Suddenly, a two-meter-long black mutt rushed toward her, silent but baring its teeth in a way that chilled even me. I ran over, picking up a stone, ready to play hero.

Guan Wen patted Lebai Wangjie’s shoulder and laughed: You’re a good man, I understand.

In Rikaze, people are honest and helpful, always stepping in when others need assistance, never standing idly by.

Lebai Wangjie suddenly gave a bitter smile: Unfortunately, I didn’t save her. When the dog was five steps away from Baoling, it let out a miserable howl, rolled on the ground, then retreated to the wall corner, tail between its legs, whimpering. I was stunned, watching from afar, baffled. I know Tibetan dogs have mastiff genes, ordinary in appearance but fierce by nature; only when faced with something truly terrifying do they behave like that. Yet, at that time, only Baoling was on the slope, and the nearby doors and windows were shut. So the only reason the black dog retreated was that Baoling carried something it deeply feared—

Guan Wen interjected: Something it deeply feared? What was it?

Lebai Wangjie whispered: Maybe an evil spirit, maybe something unclean, maybe a ghost.

The wind outside suddenly picked up, rattling the windowpanes.

Guan Wen spread his hands and shrugged: But she’s completely normal—you’ve seen it yourself.

Lebai Wangjie shook his head: We mortals see only the surface; who can see through to her soul?

Guan Wen shook his head as well: Lebai, perhaps you’ve read too many sutras and gotten lost in them. Baoling is just an ordinary pilgrim, please don’t make wild conjectures.

Lebai Wangjie grew agitated, opened the desk drawer, and pulled out a sketch folder, flipping it open with a slap and tossing it before Guan Wen.

Guan Wen looked down; the folder held a dozen sketches. The top one depicted the demoness lying face-up—the protagonist of the “Xi Demon Suppression Painting.” He noticed that the demoness’s body below the neck was normal, but her head was different from the original painting. Looking closely, it was Baoling’s likeness.

Guan Wen was startled, rifling through the sketches—all the demoness’s heads were Baoling. In Lebai Wangjie’s conception, Baoling had become equivalent to the demoness who, in ancient times, was subdued by the Tibetan king and his two consorts.

What does this mean? he asked.

Lebai Wangjie enunciated every word: She—is—the—demoness.

Guan Wen stepped back, shaking his head forcefully: Don’t talk nonsense. What are you thinking?

Lebai Wangjie sniffed and quietly repeated: She is the demoness. I have this feeling, hence the sketches. As for the thangka, I haven’t been able to finish it for half a year; I can’t paint the demoness’s head. Whenever I try, I end up painting Baoling’s features.

Guan Wen gazed at Lebai Wangjie, his mind awash with confusion. After sorting through his thoughts, he said, Lebai, you’re overthinking, losing yourself. Baoling is human; she has nothing to do with the demoness.

Lebai Wangjie replied softly: Neither of us can prove anything. I’ve arranged for someone to check the springs on the mountain. If all the well water turns red, it might be the day the demoness revives, as the scriptures warn—a great calamity for Tibet.

The Tibetan legend connected to the “Xi Demon Suppression Painting” is as follows: In the seventh century, Princess Wencheng of the Tang Dynasty and Princess Bhrikuti of Nepal successively married King Songtsen Gampo of Tibet, each bringing Buddhist relics, including statues of Shakyamuni. Princess Wencheng, using the “Eighty Types of Five-Element Divination” from the Central Plains, deduced that Xi’s terrain resembled a demoness lying supine. The Lhasa Wotang Lake was her heart blood; the three mountains were her vital channels and veins. Jokhang Temple (Xiaozhao Temple) was the abode of the dragon god; Luphu (under the cliffs of Medicine King Mountain’s Charalu Pu) was the lair of the black evil dragon; Dawazedu under the poisonous tree was home to ghosts and non-human beings; a southeastern location resembled an elephant in battle. Princess Bhrikuti, following Wencheng’s instructions, had earth carried by sheep to fill in Wotang Lake and build Jokhang Temple atop it, enshrining Buddha statues to subdue the demoness’s heart and bones. Through comprehensive measures, Lhasa gained the eight auspicious signs. The next step was to construct twelve demon-suppressing temples in U-Tsang, pinning down the demoness’s limbs and joints, known as the Twelve Divine Temples—the twelve unmovable nails suppressing her.

Early Tibetan histories record King Songtsen Gampo’s construction of the twelve demon-suppressing temples, but never depicted the demoness’s form. A few years ago, the Xi Autonomous Region Cultural Relics Committee, sorting relics at Norbulingka, discovered two thangkas of the “Xi Demon Suppression Painting.” Each was one meter high and seventy-three centimeters wide. The demoness in the painting lies supine, right arm raised and wrist drooping, left arm over her head and wrist bent. Her body is marked with mountains and rivers, veins clearly drawn, and sites of various temples—including those built in the seventh century to pin down her limbs—are indicated. These are the twelve demon-suppressing divine temples.

Now, Lebai Wangjie was painting a copy of the above “Xi Demon Suppression Painting.”

Lebai, I can only tell you this: the well water turning red has nothing to do with Baoling, Guan Wen said firmly. As for you, paint your thangka however you wish. Don’t implicate others. We may be colleagues in art, but that doesn’t mean I blindly follow your views or cast suspicion on an innocent pilgrim.

He turned to leave; three young men filed in.

Baoling visited about fifteen spring wells; now twelve of them have changed. There’s no new word from the monastery, but people outside are panicking, one young man reported.

Lebai Wangjie stomped his foot: Guan Wen, did you hear? Baoling is clearly some unknown monster—if we don’t send her away, disaster will follow.

Guan Wen ignored him, walking straight out of the studio and back to Qusongjian’s courtyard.