Chapter One: The Gugu Silver-Eye Death Talisman

Prologue: Sifting Through the Past, Ruins of an Ancient Kingdom

Tibet has a history stretching back to remotest antiquity. In the old days, the Kingdom of Guge excelled at smelting and casting, and the metal Buddhas and ritual implements of the twenty-four monasteries subordinate to Toling Monastery in western Tibet were all made by the craftsmen of Ruba. It is said that the Buddhas cast by Ruba were forged from a blend of gold, silver, copper, and other materials, with exquisite skill, seamless throughout, as though born of nature itself. Their value was said to surpass even that of solid-gold images. Most wondrous of all was a copper statue known as the Gugesilver Eye, regarded as a masterpiece among Buddha images and so rarely seen in the world that it became all the more precious.

In the summer of 1997, during an archaeological excavation at the Duke Hall of the Piyang site, a splendid copper statue was unearthed, at last unveiling the mystery of the Gugesilver Eye. The statue wore a jeweled crown of transformed Buddhas, had four arms each holding a ritual object, and sat in lotus posture upon a beast-backed lotus throne. It bore three eyes, with a third eye set vertically at the center of its brow in an eerie, vertical gaze. The pupils of all three eyes were made by silver plating. Against the statue’s golden copper body, they flashed with vivid silver light, lifelike and uncanny. This was the so-called Gugesilver Eye, and it indeed deserved its reputation.

Three hundred years ago, the mysterious Kingdom of Guge vanished from the earth in a single night, leaving to the world only the ruins that recorded its splendid cultural and artistic achievements. Since the 1985 expedition organized by the Tibet regional cultural relics authorities returned with remarkable finds, this kingdom, extinct for three and a half centuries, suddenly came into public view and drew ever more travelers from every corner of the globe.

Guge had not been swallowed up by the vast, forlorn ruins scattered across Tibet. On the contrary, after a mere tenth of the twenty-first century had passed, it had already drawn the attention of more than a dozen famous archaeological teams around the world, all of them eager to uncover the secret hidden in the Gugesilver Eye. Yet with armies massed and eyes fixed hungrily upon it, who would ultimately claim the prize remained unknown...

At dusk, the scenery around Toling Monastery was breathtaking, even more beautiful than the images captured by the Discovery Channel, the photographs in Tibet travel magazines, or the descriptions offered by tourism experts.

The setting sun bled across the sky, bathing the towering earth pillars and the ancient Tibetan temple embraced by them in a crimson glow. The land lay hushed, without the least stray sound; everything was veiled in a thick orange gauze, as if time itself had long ago come to a standstill, transformed into a mysterious oil painting set against a background of blue sky and yellow earth.

Ding Jun’s off-road vehicle pulled up slowly outside the gate of Toling Monastery, and he jumped out with a travel bag slung over his back.

At the foot of the steps, a young man in a dark red monk’s robe was waiting for him.

“You must be Mr. Ding from Hong Kong?” the young monk said with a courteous smile. “Mr. Shi is waiting for you.”

Ding Jun shifted the travel bag onto his shoulder, pressed his palms together, and returned the greeting. “Thank you, little master. Please lead the way.”

The monk led him along a gravel path that curved to the right around the monastery and continued toward the rear. From within the walls came the mingled scents of butter tea and sandalwood, along with the low chanting of monks and the rhythmic sounds of various ritual instruments.

Toling Monastery stands on the bank of the Xiangquan River, northwest of Zhada County in the Ngari region of the Tibet Autonomous Region. Toling is a Tibetan transliteration meaning to fly in the sky and never fall. Its location is nearly at the far edge of Tibet, so of course it cannot have as many visitors and pilgrims as the great monasteries in the Lhasa and Shigatse regions.

Soon the monk led Ding Jun through a small side gate into the residential quarters behind the temple.

A little farther on, the monk pushed open a fence gate at the entrance to a small courtyard, stood beside it, and said with a smile, “Mr. Shi is inside. Please.”

Ding Jun entered the yard. Before he had even stepped up the threshold to the house, the ancient wooden door creaked open, and a young woman in her early twenties came out to meet him. She glanced at him with a pair of bright, expressive eyes, smiled faintly without speaking, then half-turned and extended an arm in a gesture of invitation.

She was about five feet five, with fair skin and a straight nose, and her well-defined cherry lips wore only the faintest touch of lipstick. In a single glance, she left a deep impression on Ding Jun.

This delicately featured young woman wore a plain black leather trench coat, simply cut and tailored close to her body. A narrow leather belt of the same color, no more than an inch wide, traced the graceful curve of her slender waist.

“Thank you.” Ding Jun nodded, then stepped up the stone stair, crossed the one-foot-high threshold of ancient wood, and entered the room.

The furnishings inside were old-fashioned and simple: only a long table with a traditional design, about ten feet long and six feet wide, surrounded by chairs, square stools, and benches of varying heights.

At the table sat a thin-faced middle-aged man, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and bent over a book.

“Uncle Shi?” Ding Jun stood still and asked quietly.

The middle-aged man lifted his head, removed his glasses, brushed back the gray-white hair falling over his forehead, and fixed his gaze on Ding Jun.

Ding Jun bowed deeply. “Uncle Shi, I’m Shi Hai’s comrade, Ding Jun. I should have come to see you long ago, but I was delayed by various matters. Please forgive me.”

The middle-aged man rose, came around the table, and patted Ding Jun’s shoulder. “Xiao Ding, it’s enough that you came. It’s enough. To make you bring Xiao Hai’s belongings such a long way... I truly feel awful about it.”

Ding Jun set the travel bag on the table. The middle-aged man’s sparse, long eyebrows trembled, and tears suddenly welled in his eyes.

Steeling himself, Ding Jun opened the bag and lifted out a square paper box. He opened the box, removed the layers of cloth, sponge, and shock-absorbing foam packed inside, and brought out a black ceramic urn.

“Shi Hai, you’re home. I kept my promise to you at last.” Ding Jun spoke softly as he offered the urn to the middle-aged man. Before coming here from Hong Kong, he had already contacted Shi Miaoshou. This was the father of his fallen comrade Shi Hai; it was only natural that the pain in the other man’s heart would be beyond imagining. But some things had to be faced. A short pain is better than a long one.

“Thank you, thank you...” Tears streamed down Shi Miaoshou’s face as he patted the urn gently. “Xiao Hai is home. Good child, your father has been waiting for you for so long...”

This was the most agonizing moment of all. Though Ding Jun had prepared himself, he still felt as if his heart were being cut open.

The girl silently brought over two cups of tea, then took the urn from Shi Miaoshou and placed it on a small table in the corner.

“Sit down, Xiao Ding. I was overwhelmed with grief for a moment and made a spectacle of myself.” Shi Miaoshou said.

Ding Jun sat. From his travel bag he took out another bundle wrapped in more than a dozen layers of plastic, lowered his head, and pushed it toward Shi Miaoshou, saying in a strained voice, “Uncle Shi, these are the photographs taken at the scene where Shi Hai was killed in action. I should not have taken pictures of such a tragic sight for you, but before he went out on that mission, he told me that if anything happened to him, no matter how bloody the scene was, I had to photograph it, have the pictures developed, and bring them to you. That was his instruction. A favor entrusted to me is a duty I must honor. I could not fail to do it.”

Shi Miaoshou stretched out his gaunt right hand and pressed down on the package, frowning in silence.

“Uncle Shi, are you all right?” Ding Jun worried that Shi Miaoshou might be so overcome with grief that something else would happen to him.

Shi Miaoshou shook his head. “I’m fine, Xiao Ding. Thank you for bringing Xiao Hai’s belongings back. Now, have a cup of tea, and while it’s still early, head straight back to Zhada County.”

Ding Jun had expected the other man to ask in detail about the whole sequence of events surrounding Shi Hai’s death, and he had not expected to be sent away with tea this quickly. Suspicion stirred in his mind. What was more, when he had spoken with Shi Miaoshou by phone in Hong Kong, the other man had repeatedly said that once they met, they would have to talk through the entire night, and that he should stay in Zhada County for a long while, treated like Shi Hai himself, as though he were a son of the house.

“Uncle Shi, I’m not in a hurry. As for the burial of the ashes, if there is anything I can help with—”

Shi Miaoshou shook his head again. “I have enough people here. There’s no need to trouble you with minor matters.”

The girl standing in the corner suddenly spoke in a low voice. “Uncle Shi.”

Shi Miaoshou looked a little tense and turned at once. “Miss Fang Qing, what is it you want to say?”

“Xiao Ding is a guest from far away, and he isn’t familiar with the terrain around Toling Monastery. I’m afraid that once night falls, he won’t find his way back.” The girl gave a soft sigh, clasped her hands together, and after a few seconds’ hesitation said, “Uncle Shi, the more friends we have, the more strength we have, don’t we? This matter concerns whether the Shi family line can be safely carried on. What could be more important than that? Mr. Ding is Brother Shi Hai’s comrade and has the richest experience in battlefield emergencies. We need talent like him.”

Ding Jun stood between them and listened quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the book Shi Miaoshou had been reading earlier was now closed, but a few papers within it still showed a corner.

He sharply concluded that Shi Miaoshou had not been reading the book at all, but looking at those papers.

Shi Miaoshou shook his head a third time. “Xiao Ding has nothing to do with this. This is my family’s own affair. I cannot drag the innocent into it.”

Ding Jun bent down and lifted the book. At once, three blue-green sheets of paper, each no bigger than a palm, came into view. On each sheet was drawn a strange figure.

“Xiao Ding, it’s nothing. Don’t concern yourself with us. Finish your tea and leave,” Shi Miaoshou said in a dejected voice.

The girl came over, pointed at the three sheets, and looked up at Ding Jun. “Mr. Ding, you’ve been through many battles and seen a great deal. Surely you know what these mean?”

Ding Jun took the top sheet and studied it closely. It turned out to be a Buddha image. The Buddha wore a jeweled crown, had a single head and four arms, each hand holding a ritual object, and sat cross-legged upon a beast-backed lotus throne. The lines in the drawing gleamed in the lamplight as if painted with liquid gold. Most astonishing of all, the Buddha’s face had three eyes, and the middle one was a vertical eye, the so-called vertical gaze. The color of the three eyes differed from the rest of the lines; they had evidently been brushed with liquid silver, shining bright and dazzling to the extreme.

“I know,” he answered with only those two words.

The girl drew a deep breath and asked again, “Mr. Ding, what do you think is strange about it?”

Ding Jun answered slowly, “They say that the third eye always bears someone’s name, namely the name of the person who receives such a picture. Whoever receives it is marked for death. Strange indeed—why does this one have no name?”

The girl’s hands trembled, as if she were struggling to suppress the anger in her heart. “Because this one was meant for an unborn baby. The baby has not yet been born and therefore has no name, so the person who sent the picture naturally could not write one. But even that child, not yet brought into the world, has already been placed on the blacklist of the Gugesilver Eye Death Warrant...”

“Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking!” Shi Miaoshou roared.

The name of that kind of picture was indeed the Gugesilver Eye Death Warrant, and it came from some place deep in the most remote reaches of the Tibetan highlands.

The Gugesilver Eye was a unique technique used in the ancient Kingdom of Guge in western Tibet for making Buddha images. Its hallmark was the setting of silver into the eyes of copper statues, giving the pupils a look of living presence. Archaeologists from the mainland had once unearthed a splendid copper statue known as the Gugesilver Eye at the Duke Hall of the Piyang site in the summer of 1997, identical to the Buddha image in this drawing.

A death warrant was, in effect, a notice of death that arrived ahead of time. The only thing left for the recipient to do was close his eyes and await the end, because from ancient times to the present, no one had ever been able to resist its power to claim a life.