Chapter Forty-Nine: The Great Awakening

How could an insect that had already weathered to dust possibly move? Guan Wen held his breath, edging closer to observe. There was no wind inside the tree hollow, eliminating any notion that a breeze had shifted the positions of the mantis and firefly. As the firefly slowly inched diagonally downward once more, Guan Wen quickly signaled to Caidan Dajie to come see.

"What is it?" Caidan Dajie returned. By then, the mantis had slid over an inch, leaving behind a distinct white, narrow mark where it had rested. Around the mark, even three broken claws remained.

The slaughter had finally begun! Caidan Dajie’s brow furrowed deeply; he suddenly reached out his hand, intent on pinching the mantis. But as his fingers neared the mantis's back, he stopped abruptly.

"I truly don't know what to do... What choice should I make? Master, please grant me enlightenment from beyond—how should I choose?" Caidan Dajie muttered, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together, betraying his inner torment.

The mantis’s slide was much faster than the firefly’s retreat; the firefly had barely moved three steps before the mantis’s scythe-like foreleg reached its target. One swift stroke would be enough to cleave the firefly.

Guan Wen’s mind was filled with terror, confusion, and doubt. Several times, he pinched his wrist hard, suspecting he was lost in some strange, illusory dream. He couldn’t decide for Caidan Dajie, nor could he choose for the firefly. Just as Caidan Dajie could crush the mantis and save the firefly, Guan Wen too could have picked up the firefly, sparing it from the fatal blow and placing its empty shell elsewhere in the hollow. Yet, in this silent hunt, an invisible force of nature ruled all. Who under heaven, from ancient times to present, has ever defied the mighty hand of nature? If they resolved this crisis here and now, would it not trigger a more dreadful butterfly effect, making their task of exorcism even more formidable?

A decision had to be made! Caidan Dajie clenched his teeth and let out a hoarse shout as his fingers dropped. Yet he did not crush the mantis. Instead, his whole body shuddered, and another raspy cry escaped him.

In the dawn light outside the tree hollow, a burly young man stood firm, gripping a sharp triangular dagger whose foot-long blade was half-stained with fresh blood.

He was Chizan, once the right hand of Old Dao. The blood on his blade came from Caidan Dajie's body. Now, he raised the dagger to his nose, inhaling deeply and greedily, like a bloodthirsty beast savoring its prey.

On Caidan Dajie’s right side, three fresh wounds gaped, blood welling out like triple-eyed springs.

"This is the finest breakfast." Chizan’s gaze was sly as a jackal’s, cold as an owl’s. His mouth opened in a grin, revealing sharp white canine teeth. "The blood of a sage is indeed far more flavorful than that of ordinary men."

Chizan’s sudden appearance had distracted both Guan Wen and Caidan Dajie. In that split second, the mantis’s scythe struck the firefly, splitting its tiny body in two, the fragments flying apart. Both insects had been weathered for too long; as their shells flew, they crumbled to gray powder, drifting down. The mantis’s own blade snapped with a crack, its body shattering and falling to the ground.

"Master..." Caidan Dajie forgot his wounds, dropping to his knees.

"It’s time to end this!" Chizan stepped into the hollow, his dagger flashing as he stabbed at Guan Wen’s chest.

Mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. As Chizan burst in, another figure leapt after him. As Chizan struck, this newcomer whipped out a fine steel wire, looping and yanking it around Chizan’s right wrist. With a twist, the dagger’s point was turned back against Chizan’s own throat.

"Don’t move. Move, and you die," the newcomer said.

Guan Wen sighed in relief. Amid the sudden violence, he once again beheld Gu Qingcheng’s exquisitely cold face.

Chizan struggled, and the blade immediately bit half an inch into his skin, blood spurting out.

"Tell me—where is your master, Golden Cicada?" Gu Qingcheng demanded urgently.

Chizan gritted his teeth, his strange eyes—more white than black—glared at her murderously as he sneered, "I don’t know. I know nothing. Kill me if you wish!"

Gu Qingcheng sneered as well. "Kill you? That’s no harder than crushing a bug. I have little patience—best speak now, don’t test my limits."

Chizan laughed wildly. "Everyone who comes to Tibet thinks they’ll find treasure, relics of the Dharma, or all they’ve ever dreamed of. But greed blinds them—they seek their own deaths, none to blame but themselves. I have nothing more to say. Golden Cicada will avenge me..."

"Don’t kill him. To save a life is better than building a seven-storied pagoda. Let him go," Caidan Dajie said quietly.

Guan Wen also gestured to Gu Qingcheng to release him. After all, Chizan was just a pawn of Golden Cicada; unless they found the real mastermind, killing a hundred Chizans would be for nothing.

Gu Qingcheng considered, then decisively let go, releasing the wire.

The wild beast’s look faded from Chizan’s eyes. He withdrew, dagger in hand, from the hollow.

The sun rose, casting rays of light that filled the hollow with radiant colors.

"You’d best leave, or you’ll die here sooner or later," Chizan called back, sheathing his dagger and bowing deeply into the hollow.

"I won’t leave until the truth is revealed," Guan Wen replied coolly. Everything comes at a price; seeing so many predecessors die for truth and justice, how could he justify fleeing now?

"I’ll tell you the truth: there is no resolution. Many masters have entered Tibet with lofty aims, but none have ever left Xizang alive. The Azure Dragon Society’s spies are everywhere—in every county, town, and monastery. Outsiders are always outnumbered, fighting alone, and end up corpses in the wild. You think you’ve glimpsed the secrets of heaven, but you’re already moving to the society’s tune. I thank you for sparing me; that’s why I warn you. Ignore it, and disaster will soon be upon you—"

Chizan’s words were cut short as an arrow pierced his throat from behind.

Gu Qingcheng sprang across, dragging Guan Wen into the deepest shadow of the hollow.

"Disaster is here..." Chizan pitched forward, blood streaming from his neck, painting a winding, sinister pattern on the ground.

The arrow had come from the north, over the ridge of the roof. But now, only the wind-tossed, ashen grass shifted atop the roof—no sign of the shooter.

"The real enemy always hides in deepest shadow. I relish this sense of mortal peril," Gu Qingcheng murmured. Pressed against the tree, she rubbed her palms together; under her sleeves came a pair of metallic clicks, and two three-inch silver pistols slid into her hands.

"Mr. Guan, this is no place for a scholar like you. Take my advice and return inland—before you lose your life here," she teased, lips curved in a faint smile.

Guan Wen sighed, feeling his cheeks flush. In this world, it was supposed to be men who protected women. Yet here and now, he needed Gu Qingcheng’s protection. The old saying, "A scholar is useless in a hundred ways," had never rung so true.

"Be careful. Keep your head down," Gu Qingcheng warned softly, inhaled deeply, and crouched low, her frame taut as a bow.

"You too. Take care," Guan Wen replied sincerely.

"Thanks for your concern, but save those words for your precious Miss Baoling—I have no need," Gu Qingcheng answered with a cool, aloof smile, like a white crane in winter frost.

In a flash, she shot out from cover, leapt past Chizan’s corpse, and vanished into the shade on the other side of the hollow. Without pausing, she sped along the eaves, sprang to the windowsill, then vaulted to the rooftop. She darted in a zigzag, headed straight for the spot from which the arrow had come.

Watching her from afar, Guan Wen was full of admiration for her agility and prowess.

Soon, Gu Qingcheng dropped from the roof into the courtyard, shaking her head with a trace of regret. "The enemy is gone."

Guan Wen’s thoughts returned to Caidan Dajie. Both of them could have easily resolved the deadlock between the mantis and the firefly, but Chizan’s arrival had rendered it all irretrievable.

"Master, let me take you to the hospital to bandage your wounds," Guan Wen offered.

Caidan Dajie shook his head. "I’m fine. The vessel that housed my master’s soul is shattered; he must have left us some parting message—perhaps his final enlightenment."

"But you’ve lost so much blood. I fear for your life," Guan Wen said with a wry smile.

By now, Caidan Dajie’s wound had ceased to bleed; half his monastic robe was soaked through. For a true sage, to listen for enlightenment and attain sudden insight was more important than life itself—a truth Guan Wen understood.

He stepped out of the hollow, where Gu Qingcheng immediately met him. "Mr. Guan, your situation is perilous. Since you took a bullet for me, I’ll be your bodyguard, free of charge, until you leave Tashilhunpo Monastery."

Guan Wen thanked her and slowly entered the northern wing. Sunlight poured through doors and windows, brightening the room adorned with thangkas. The shifting light changed his perception; where once, on his first visit with Caidan Dajie, each thangka had stunned him with its brilliance, now he saw only their flaws.

Some thangkas were too careless with color, failing to convey the true hues of things; some were cluttered, their compositions overburdened; some were overly spare, the images dry and lifeless, lacking expression; some were too abstract, obscure, and baffling; some emphasized the material itself, neglecting the fundamentals of composition. Even the mandala on the ceiling, which had once nearly entranced him, now held no allure or power.

"To see a mountain as a mountain, and water as water; to see a mountain not as a mountain, and water not as water; to see a mountain once more as a mountain, and water again as water," he murmured, an endless confidence swelling within him. If he could now discern the flaws and shortcomings in the masterpieces of the past, then his own skill had surely surpassed them.

These three lines described the three spiritual realms that every artist, indeed every creator, must traverse. After devoting oneself to study, after fervent admiration, and finally after achieving calm mastery, one is no longer blindly led, no longer swayed, no longer credulous, but moves with the grace of a true master.

"What are you looking at?" Gu Qingcheng had followed him in, but was utterly puzzled.

"I’m observing this tumultuous world. Only by understanding it can I complete the final task," Guan Wen replied, his words cryptic yet resonant with the wisdom passed down through generations.

Suddenly, a chill wind rose in the thangka room, swirling around every wall and every painting. Where it swept, paint and plaster fell away; each thangka, whether whole or ruined, dissolved and vanished. Amidst the rolling dust, Guan Wen saw gaunt shadows striding alone across the powdery walls.