by Greg Ripley
“Please. It is called the Shengxia yuan, the Hall of Ascension, or the Qianhua yuan, the Hall of Transformation,” the Abbot said.
They stepped inside where they were able to get a better view of the statue which had caught her eye as they passed. It was an image of a Daoist in seated meditation—like a Buddha statue—but with one unusual exception. Its left hand pointed into the sky above.
“Why is he pointing to the sky like that?” she asked.
“The Hall of Ascension is where monks and nuns come who are preparing to leave their bodies. You might think of it like a spiritual hospice,” the Abbot explained. “The monk is pointing to the sky in a gesture known as ‘ascending to emptiness,’ indicating that he is returning to the source, returning to the Dao. The building next door is the Hall of Incense where we hold funerals and memorial services.”
“It looks like he is pointing to the stars,” Rohini said.
“That could be the case,” the Abbot said, pointing above himself. “Look.” There on the ceiling was a diagram of the Big Dipper. “The Immortal realms are sometimes said to be located in the Stars of the Northern Dipper where Doumu, the Cosmic Mother, rules over the Nine Heavens, represented by the nine stars of the dipper.”
“Nine stars? I thought there were only seven stars in the dipper?” Jimmie said.
“There are two hidden stars, along the handle of the dipper, called ‘the Attendents,’” Guangming added.
“The Stars of the Northern Dipper are like a string of pearls in the night sky,” the Abbot said. “As it turns throughout the year it always points to Beiji, the Polestar. It serves as a reminder that one should always maintain an awareness of the Dao’s presence at the center of our being.”
“I can’t help thinking of the Elders,” Rohini said, as she looked at the constellation. “I wonder where their world is?”
40
Green Dragon Mountains
The Elders’ World
The next morning when Dayan awoke, he rolled over and propped himself onto an elbow. Zhongkui was already up, practicing with his sword in the small meadow in which they’d camped the night before. It had been a fascinating evening. Zhongkui had been quite a surprise. While Dayan had expected a gruff barbarian, from the stories he’d heard, the man had been quite different.
Dayan suspected that Zhongkui might have lived up to his reputation had he met him a thousand years ago. Perhaps that’s the impression he gave when he initially came to our world. Of course, all Earthlings seemed a bit barbaric to Dayan. Despite his apparent mellowing, there was still an intense quality to Zhongkui which most would probably find intimidating. Being honest with himself, Dayan had to admit that he did as well, especially after Zhongkui’s trick with the fire. But he was also intrigued. What other tricks does he have up his sleeve?
“Ah, you’re awake. Greetings, Dayan. May the sun shine upon you,” Jianhu said.
“And may it shine upon you, Jianhu. Has he been at it long?” he said, nodding toward Zhongkui.
“He was up before the sun, I think. Certainly before I was,” Jianhu said.
Before long, Zhongkui had finished his practice and Dayan had returned from his morning ablutions at the nearby creek. They shared a simple meal of nuts and dried fruit. Zhongkui prepared tea for them all and Dayan had to admit, this beverage was growing on him. While the plant Zhongkui used was from the Elders’ world, it wasn’t a plant they had traditionally used in this way. Dayan enjoyed the subtle energizing effect it carried, and its warmth was certainly a welcome addition in the cool morning air.
While the Elders would build a fire for cooking or warmth, their culture didn’t really drink warm beverages, at least not since the Great War. Before that time parts of their world had been much colder, especially the far northern and southern climes near the poles. Much of the lands of the lost continents had been covered in ice and snow, or so the histories said. Hard to imagine, Dayan thought.
Once the icecaps and glaciers had all melted, and the oceans had risen, those lands were soon forgotten. For his entire lifetime the Elders’ world had been green and lush, with a mild climate. Neither too hot, nor too cold. The planet had cooled somewhat over his lifetime, but not enough to change things much. It might take thousands of years for the glaciers to be seen again, if they ever returned. Unless we are forced to leave. There may be no one left to see that day if the Others do return.
After breakfast they packed up their things and set off, nearing the capital by mid-afternoon. Dayan had always enjoyed that first glimpse of the capitol city from a distance. Unlike the ancient cities of their world which had been built in a haphazard fashion, most of which were now sleeping quietly on the ocean floor, the New Capitol had been built after the Great War, its design consciously planned to reflect the new-found harmony of Elder society.
The heart of the capitol was made up of the council buildings, which included the council chambers themselves, as well as the living quarters of the Guide and the council members representing the twelve clans. They were arrayed in a circle around a courtyard where the grand ceremonies which marked the changing of the seasons were held throughout the year.
As they came down out of the mountains, they passed between the two foothills known as the Legs of the Dragon. The Northern Ridge was home to the House of Warriors, where Zhongkui had once been Master. Generations had studied the way of the fist, honing their martial skills, and refining themselves through the body. The Southern Ridge held the House of Scholars. Here students followed the way of the heart, practicing meditation and studying the sacred texts passed down through the generations.
“Do you miss it, master?” Jianhu asked as they passed the fork in the trail which led up to the Northern Ridge.
“I don’t miss the formality or the bureaucracy, but I do miss teaching. It was a joy to watch our students’ progress over time,” Zhongkui replied.
“You must have spent time studying the way of the fist, Dayan. How did you find your time there?” Zhongkui.
“Yes, I spent time training in both Houses, as is customary for service to the council. I must say I preferred my time in the House of Scholars. Of course, my time in the Houses was during your absence as Master. Had you still been there perhaps my experience would have been different,” Dayan replied.
“I’d wager you’d have liked it even less,” Jianhu said, smiling. “Master Zhongkui is a truly gifted teacher, yet his training can leave one feeling like a sword in the forge. I’d never really felt the truth of the ancient saying ‘caught between the hammer and the anvil’ until I’d experienced Master Zhongkui’s instruction. Yet, like a finely crafted blade, I came out of the process both stronger and more flexible. I will forever be grateful for the experience.”
“True transformation is never an easy process,” Zhongkui said. “Simple, yes, but never easy.”
Dayan had not grown up in the capital himself. He had been raised in the village of the Horse Clan in the South. Many of his clan had a reputation for their skill in communications and negotiations, and were sometimes derided as silver-tongued devils by the other clans. There had been many Speakers from the Horse Clan over the years. Dayan had only come to the capitol when he entered the Houses to prepare for service to the council.
They entered the city and made their way around the Central District of the council buildings which could only be entered from the east, passing into the Trade District. It had been ten years since Zhongkui had been immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city.
Traders hawked their wares in the marketplace as Elders from all twelve clans strolled among the stalls, identified by the different totem animals they wore either embroidered on their clothing or as jewelry. Barring that, the color of their cloaks often told of their clan affiliation. The smells of fresh fish and street food filled his nostrils, reminding him of the distant past and the first time he had accompani
ed his father to a city market in the China of his childhood. It still amazed him that he could be visited by such a vivid memory after more than a millennium walking through two different worlds.
“Ah, good. She’s still here. I must make a quick stop before we go to the council,” Zhongkui said. Walking past a few more stalls he stopped at the next, where a woman was selling small skewers of roasted mushrooms of various kinds. Mushrooms had been a staple of the Elders’ diet since the Great War. The woman wore a dark yellow cloak, and a silver ring dangling from her septum further identified her as a member of the Ox Clan.
“Master Zhongkui,” the woman said, her eyes lighting up. “It has been too long.”
“Indeed, it has, Chushi. I’m glad to see you are still here.” Zhongkui said. Turning to his companions he said, “Chushi’s mushroom skewers have always reminded me of the flavors of my youth. I could smell them a mile away.”
They purchased several skewers for each of them and began to eat, standing at the counter attached to Chushi’s stall. “I can see why you are so fond of these,” Dayan said after he’d finished his skewers. “These are quite extraordinary, and I dare say I could drink a mug of this sauce.”
“I’m honored by your words, Speaker,” Chushi said. “That can certainly be arranged,” she said, with a gentle laugh.
“Perhaps another time, Chushi. I’m afraid we’re expected by the council,” Dayan said. “Master Zhongkui, we really should be on our way.”
“Very well. Until such time, Chushi,” Zhongkui said.
“Until such time, Master Zhongkui. Speaker. Guardian,” she said, bidding the three goodbye.
41
Qilian Mountains
Gansu Province, China
Rohini, Jimmie, and Guangming returned to their quarters to retrieve Jane and get their gear together for the hike to the Abode of the Guanzi, in the peaks above. Jane had finished her call with President Powers when they returned, and told them about the most recent attack. Fortunately, it was nothing as dramatic or deadly as the bombing of the Lincoln Memorial. An attack had been carried out on the energy sector—they had bombed a community solar project in Nebraska. No one was killed in the attack, except the bomber, but a five-hundred-kilowatt solar installation was completely destroyed.
“That seems kind of random, doesn’t it?” Rohini said. “I mean, why solar panels of all things?”
“It’s a strange choice,” Jane said. “Then again, it’s definitely a soft target. Facilities like that have virtually no security. Maybe it was simply a target of opportunity? But, you’re right, it seems especially random coming from the SOC. They’ve traditionally gone in for more deadly attacks. The bombing of the Lincoln Memorial was much more their style. This seems out of place.”
“We’ll have to leave that to someone else to figure out for now,” Guangming said. “We’d better get going.”
“I’m all set,” Jane said.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Jimmie said.
“Oh, Jimmie, sorry,” Guangming said. “I forgot to mention it earlier after hearing about the SOC men, but the Guanzi only summoned the three of us. You’ll have to wait here.”
“Oh, OK. Only the green-eyed devils, huh?” Jimmie joked. “That’s OK. I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, attempting to downplay his disappointment.
He and Rohini shared a long meaningful look as they left. He’d walked them out to the gate, then waved until they reached the orchards, at which point Rohini lost sight of him. Just as things might be going somewhere between them, they would be put on hold. It’s probably for the best, she thought. A little distance might give her some perspective; a little time to think things over before she got too swept up in this budding romance.
It didn’t take them long to make it back down the valley to the fork in the trail—perhaps an hour—and only about twenty minutes to cross the bridge over the river near the waterwheel and make it up to the ridgeline. She could see the trail more clearly from this higher vantage point, and could make out more of the path ahead than the previous day. Had it really only been a day? It felt like they had been there much longer.
The traverse along the ridgeline took a couple more hours. It was mostly easy going, the trail gaining in elevation very gradually, with the exception of a narrow pass about halfway along the ridge which required them to scramble over some boulders and squeeze through a tight gap. At the far end of the ridge they climbed through another narrow pass. It wasn’t as tight a squeeze, but Rohini found it fascinating. The rocky walls on either side were streaked in veins of jade. Once through the pass, they found themselves among the peaks which rose to form the southern end of the mountain. They had been shrouded in mist the previous day, but the clouds had blown away overnight. She could make out nine peaks rising above. The trail, which was well marked and easy to follow, led them between the peaks to a central summit which appeared to be the highest of the nine. It was also the location of the Abode of the Guanzi.
As they neared the central peak, the trail ahead began to climb, turning into a series of steps cut into the rocky slope. The mossy steps appeared quite ancient, showing signs of weathering and wear from the many feet which had trod this path before. They wound around a few blind turns until the view ahead opened up to reveal a small valley which led to what appeared to be a cave at the far end. As they grew closer, they could make out a doorframe built into the cave, which had been hidden in shadow. The door opened as they approached and at the entrance was a woman dressed in Daoist robes holding a small lantern.
“Welcome,” she said, greeting them. “I am Jingyi, the Guanzi’s attendant. Please, follow me and I’ll take you to her.”
As they passed inside, the cave went a short distance before widening into a large central cavern with several doors along two sides. While the cavern itself appeared naturally occurring, it was clear that the doorways had been carved out, as well as the many niches which lined the walls. Some held beeswax candles, while others held small statues of various saints, sages, and Immortals. There was a large table here as well, with benches on either side and at the far end of the cavern was an altar much like the ones Rohini had seen at the monastery.
There were two large statues here which appeared to have been carved from the cave wall itself, a fierce-looking male figure with a sword, and a more feminine figure holding a vase and a lotus flower. Above were three small figures of bearded men sitting on thrones, and below was a table which held offerings.
“These must be Zhongkui and Guanyin,” Rohini said. “But who are the three figures above?”
“Those are the Three Pure Ones,” Guangming explained. “They represent many different things—the three main groups of scriptures in the Daoist Canon and the three main energy centers in the human body, for instance.”
“You may leave your things in these rooms,” the woman said, pointing them towards the doors. “Then I will take you to the Guanzi.”
After stowing their packs, they followed the Guanzi’s attendant through the last doorway on the right. It led down a short passageway, then up a flight of stone steps, circling to the left as they ascended. Being in the cave, it was hard to tell how far around they had circled, but Rohini guessed they were probably somewhere above the main cavern. Reaching the top of the steps, they came to a curtain outside, where the attendant paused briefly, as though listening, before pulling back the curtain for the three of them.
“The Guanzi will see you now.”
They entered the next chamber, which was similar in shape to the cavern below, though smaller. Its walls were lined with wooden cabinets and a few open shelves full of books and scrolls. On a low dais at the far end sat an old woman in Daoist robes on a small meditation cushion, holding what looked like a cane across her lap. Her gray hair was in a topknot, secured with a jade hairpin. Her eyes twinkled behind her crow’s feet. Though she appeared quite old, she looked heal
thy and vigorous. She exuded an air of peace and calm. On the floor in front of the dais were three cushions on a long rug which covered most of the floor of the chamber. There were no candles lit in the room, yet natural light seemed to be coming in from behind the Guanzi somewhere. There must be a window of some kind, Rohini thought.
The three approached, following Guangming’s lead. He bowed like he had to the Abbot, Long Daozhang, the previous day, but he sank onto his knees and bowed all the way to the floor, before rising again. Jane and Rohini simply bowed from the waist.
“Please, have a seat,” the Guanzi said in a warm voice.
“I am so pleased you could come to us,” she said, smiling. “This is a very special time. I assume Guangming has told you some of the history of our society?”
“Yes,” Guangming replied. “At least what little I know.”
“He is much too modest. Guangming is actually quite bright,” the Guanzi said, bursting into laughter.
Her laughter was contagious and soon the three of them joined her, before Guangming explained the joke, ‘bright’ being the meaning of his name.
“We have much to discuss,” the Guanzi said. “But first, we must have some tea.”
As soon as she spoke, her attendant returned with a tray and five cups of tea. She handed one to the Guanzi before passing the others out, leaving one for herself. She set the tray down before taking a seat on an empty cushion to one side of the Guanzi. The Guanzi began by recounting a brief history of the society. It was similar to what Guangming had told them in DC, but the Guanzi filled in some of the gaps, being privy to more of the story. What the Abbot had told them was correct, Zhongkui had indeed become the Daoist recluse known as Tianyinzi, the Master of Heavenly Seclusion, and lived in the cave in the valley below.
The story passed down in the society was that one day, during his meditation, Zhongkui had a vision of Guanyin who led him to this very cave which was now known as the Abode of the Guanzi. The cave was actually a complex, containing several other chambers besides the ones they had seen so far.
