by Lydia Kwa
“That was of a different form of reality altogether. A sublime one. Yes, it was in accordance with the Dao. The great philosopher Zhuangzi said, ‘South of Chu there is a caterpillar which counts five hundred years as one spring and five hundred years as one autumn.’”
“So there are things that happen outside of natural laws?”
“Outside of what most people consider as natural laws. Note the difference.” Qilan raised a finger and continued. “Certain phenomena exist according to other laws. The Dao flows through us, Ling. We aren’t separate from Earth and Heaven. We choose—we always choose whether to live in accord with the Dao or against it.”
“And some people, like you, can do … unusual things, but they are still natural.”
“Yes.”
Ling was dumbfounded. She clasped the sides of her head and bent forward so that her head was almost between her knees. She felt the blood rush down to her head, then straightened up quickly and felt a spell of dizziness. When it passed, Ling stood up from the stool, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “My parents are gone. Why did I survive?”
“I don’t have the answer. Some day, you will answer your own questions. Besides, your parents aren’t gone.”
“What?”
“Their physical bodies are no more, but they aren’t gone.”
Once again, Ling felt her whole body start to tremble with the enormity of what Qilan told her. Life and death were not separate? Death wasn’t the end of life?
“Evolution of forms is infinitely occurring,” added the nun.
Ling didn’t know how she felt about such a fancy comment. In truth, she felt puzzled as well as angry.
Ling squinted her eyes at Qilan. “Can you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Transform like that caterpillar. I mean, not just an illusion. I mean really change.”
Qilan smiled. “It could be done. But I couldn’t hold it for too long, otherwise I might not be able to return in this form.”
“Will you show me how to do it?”
“Maybe. Ask me in a few years’ time.”
“You promised me you would take me back to Huazhou some day so I can search for my parents’ murderer.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I will train you how to fight. In a few years’ time, when you are ready to face the killer, we will go in search of him.”
Ling nodded, feeling slightly calmer. That was something to look forward to. She would train her mind and body, prepare for that day, when she could slay Shan Hu. She must avenge her parents—her spirit couldn’t completely be at rest until she accomplished that.
THE VICE HAMLET, EAST CENTRAL CHANG’AN
Gui liked to leave Xie’s body at the beginning of the wugeng fifth watch. Late night romps were necessary. Halfway between midnight and sunrise was the time of grief for humans, when all energies in the ether were soaked in the ache of being mortal.
Comforting, Gui thought as it sniffed the damp air. The inebriated took solace in shadows, in the recesses of alleys, while the occasional thief lurked about, hoping for an easy victim. A handful of women trolled the streets in desperation. Gui paid no mind to these. Instead, with its extraordinary sense of smell, it ferreted out the pregnant women sequestered in dimmed interiors, in the midst of labour pains.
This particular night, as it crawled along the roof, spying on the brothel quarters below, Gui detected the salty scent of an imminent birth. The water had already broken, and the rusty tang of fresh blood and tissue rose up to its nostrils. The demon assumed a vaporous state and stole in between the slats of the walls, swirling along the floors.
The woman lay on the kang, legs splayed, the head of the newborn half-emerged. A midwife cupped the tiny head firmly and urged, “Just a bit more. Come on, one big push. Another one, yes …”
The demon drew close but hovered in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. It sprung forward just when the infant emerged from the sanctuary of the womb, reached past the midwife’s hands, tapped the top of the newborn’s head, opening a hole into its crown, and sucked the precious hun cloud-soul away.
All the midwife saw was a fast-moving mist dart between her and the infant. One moment, the newborn was warm and alive; the next, cold and dead, a vapid, blue shell. She shrieked, causing the mother, still in a stupor, to raise her sweat-drenched head up to look.
Just as the women raised the alarm with their screams, Gui escaped through a gap in the ceiling and was back on the roof. It then made a quick tour of the city’s small gardens and wooded sections, where it collected all of the spiders, snakes, frogs, lice, and centipedes it could find.
Returning to Rogues’ Mansion, the demon went to the garden in the northwest corner and flung its collection of tiny creatures into a large glazed urn. A heavy iron lid kept the victims from escaping. Gui snickered with glee as it listened to the biggest snake devour the others. When the time was right, the gu poison that it would extract from the dead snake would come in handy.
It had been a fruitful outing tonight. Gui heaved with satisfaction and emitted a single long belch.
DA FA TEMPLE, WEST CENTRAL CHANG’AN
Qilan walked to the southeast corner of the tiny courtyard outside her study where a cast iron claw-footed vessel sat. It was filled to the brim with water. The moon above was just past full, partially hidden by clouds. Qilan looked down at the surface of the water. She could see the stern expression she wore as she studied the movement of the clouds in the reflection.
When the moon was no longer obscured, she cupped her hands together and blew into her palms. The tiny clouds formed by her breath coalesced into a swirling sphere that she released into the water. The water’s surface became taut. The reflection of the moon and clouds disappeared. In their place was an image of Xie’s lifeless form propped up on the kang.
Qilan mumbled a few words into the first two fingers of her right hand and pointed them at the water’s surface. She shut her eyes tightly, and her mind entered Xie’s room while her body still stood at the urn in a trance. She drew near to Xie who lay limp like a person in deep sleep. She scanned his body with her eyes. His soul was missing, as it had been all the other times. Seeing Xie like this never failed to disturb her.
Whenever Gui left on one of its expeditions, it always took Xie’s soul. She used to wonder if she would be able to recover her father’s soul, but with each visit, her hope wore away.
There was a change in the air. Her ears pricked up and her nose detected the unmistakable scent. She exited just in time. Back in her body at the urn, Qilan watched the scene displayed on the water’s surface.
Gui entered Xie’s bedroom, its body glowing a bluish-green. The protuberances on its jaws bulged and throbbed as it climbed up on to the kang and re-entered Xie from the top of his head. The lifeless shell gradually became enlivened. Xie stretched his arms and legs out. He yawned, as if just waking up, blinked rapidly several times, then gave the room a cold stare.
Qilan sighed. Her father’s physical form had changed so much. He had become exceedingly handsome and alluring. The illusory man looked even younger than her father had been. His skin was elastic, his whole being seemed youthful and radiant. On the water’s surface, she watched as Xie’s expression darkened.
He looked around and growled, “Who’s been here?”
Qilan withdrew the spell from the water’s surface and stood looking up at the moon to calm herself.
Liqiu Jieqi,
Start of Autumn,
beginning of Seventh Lunar Month
DA CI’EN MONASTERY, SOUTHEASTERN CHANG’AN
Harelip awoke long before the monastery bell sounded for morning ablutions and prayers. He was anxious about having to examine Xuanzang. Last night, tense with anticipation, he drifted between wakefulness and a light rest, skirting just below the surface of awareness, and tossed back and forth on his straw mat, wishing for more sleep.
He was not going to have his way. The bell tower in their ward sound
ed the approach of dawn. He groaned and forced himself to get up. Glancing around in the dim pre-dawn light, he noted that his neighbour to the right wasn’t in his bed. Trust him to be so industrious. Not even the head cook was up at this hour.
The first thing he did when he reached the apothecary was light the candles and burn incense on the small altar. He took out his mala and said mantras, tapping out the rhythm with a short stick on the wooden frog. After three rounds of the mala, he stopped and made buckwheat tea. Inhaling its mellow earthy aroma, he felt grateful.
Harelip surveyed the interior of the apothecary with satisfaction. It had taken considerable work to clean up this long-abandoned storeroom, but he was content with what he’d accomplished so far. On the shelves that ran along two sides of the room were ceramic jars and pine boxes labelled with the names of herbs. Beneath the tables were wooden boxes of herbs, also neatly labelled. On his long table, below the room’s one window, were two mortar and pestle sets, a measuring scale, several wooden spoons of various sizes, and a sharp slicing instrument mounted on a sturdy box.
Harelip closed his eyes and hummed softly between sips of the tea. He sat perfectly upright on his high stool, his body becoming more relaxed by the moment, and swayed rhythmically back and forth ever so slightly as if moved by a force from within. By the time the young novice came to summon him, he was absolutely calm. He collected his satchel, stuffed it with a few essentials, and followed behind the apprentice at an unhurried pace.
Xuanzang’s rooms were in the western wing of the monastery. There was a private library-study, a bedchamber, and a modest-sized reception hall where he received disciples and distinguished visitors. Harelip had never entered the Venerable Master’s private rooms before. The room was faintly lit by a single candle. Now, as he approached the monk, he could smell a slight body odour. Xuanzang reclined on the divan, still wearing his night clothes. He looked very pale and tired and had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Why hadn’t he detected the odour that morning in the Translation Hall? He was puzzled. Perhaps the incense in the hall had masked the smell. Harelip tried to sniff inconspicuously. It made him think of radishes left out in the heat too long.
Harelip bowed low and waited.
“Come.” Xuanzang’s voice wavered, betraying a vulnerability that startled Harelip.
Harelip approached the divan, carefully pulled a stool next to it, and sat down.
“May I take your pulses, Venerable Master?”
Xuanzang nodded, but Harelip made sure he didn’t rush. He took several deep breaths before he reached into his satchel and brought out his tiny pulse cushion. He gently took Xuanzang’s right hand and positioned it on the cushion. He waited. Nothing materialized. The pulse was empty. As he took Xuanzang’s left hand, he lowered his gaze to conceal his expression. When he felt the strong emotion pass, he raised his head and motioned to Xuanzang to open his mouth. “Show me your tongue.”
It was pale.
“I’ve been feeling so weary lately. And having heart palpitations.”
“Night sweats?”
“Yes. Sometimes, even during the day, I suddenly break out in a sweat. I feel very nervous. Dizzy.”
Harelip thought to himself, Kidney Yang deficiency, now becoming long-term qi stagnation in the chest. “Have you taken herbs for your condition?”
“Of course I have, dear boy! Many kinds, over the years. Sometimes they have helped, sometimes not. Your teacher treated me, when you were a mere sprite, when you were off in some other part of this ridiculously huge monastery, training, learning, whatever you were doing.”
“Yes, Venerable Master. I also served at another monastery for some years before I entered Da Ci’en.” Harelip answered minimally; he concentrated on taking Xuanzang’s pulses.
“Seems that nothing is helping me much these days. I’m easily tired. Terrible toll to sit all morning in the Translation Hall. It’s as if my mind is mired in mud. What mud! And I’m cranky all the time, as you can judge for yourself.”
Harelip withdrew his hands and placed them in his lap. He needed to be quiet for a few moments. Surely the other healers had suspected what he was finding as well. He stared down at the floor between his feet.
“Tell me the truth! How serious is it? The Imperial physician never tells me the whole truth.”
“Your qi is very low, your pulses weak. It would be helpful if …” Harelip wasn’t sure how to put it.
“Go on.”
“It would help if you took a long period of rest from your strenuous work. How would you wish to spend the next few years? No one can ever predict how long … but …”
Xuanzang gasped. “You—you dare to be honest with me. Finally, someone …” He stopped speaking in mid-sentence, a faraway look in his eyes. “Sometimes I feel well. But then I suffer setbacks.”
Harelip checked Xuanzang’s pulses again. Two of them had turned wiry, like the tight strings of an erhu. “Do you feel pain anywhere?”
“Yes, but the pain doesn’t stay in one place; it travels—my lower back, my knees, sometimes, or the balls of my feet. I had an attack of this burning pain two days ago.”
“Do you feel cold sometimes?”
Xuanzang sighed. “All the time. Would you believe it, looking at me now, that I used to be a hardy one?”
“Yes, I believe you, Venerable Master. How else could you have endured all those years of travelling and such tremendous physical exertions?”
“I haven’t been well ever since we crossed the Tian Shan range on the way back from India. Horrific doesn’t even begin to describe it. Biting winds, blizzards, ice on our faces, snow all around us. Three out of ten frozen to death. That trip almost killed me. Well, it’s been slowly killing me, hasn’t it?”
Xuanzang fell back onto the cushions behind him. His eyelids fluttered and he sighed softly several times. His breath grew shallow. “How have I managed to tolerate it? Work distracts me, at the very least. What’s the point of complaining?”
Harelip spared no time in pulling out his needles and sticking them into Heart and Lung points on either side of the Master’s wrists and halfway up the inside of his forearms. A few miao later, Xuanzang began to breathe more easily.
“I can’t stop,” Xuanzang said, not so much addressing Harelip as himself. “I went all the way to India to get those precious sutras, all six hundred and fifty-seven of them. No time to rest. Do you understand?”
Harelip nodded. It must be hard, he thought, to be so driven.
“So don’t tell me to work less. Though I appreciate your honesty.”
Harelip wasn’t going to argue with Xuanzang. He concentrated on periodically twisting the needles and paying attention to the sick man’s breathing, the feel of his skin, changes in the various pulses he took. Only when Xuanzang’s pulses stabilized and he fell asleep, starting to snore, did Harelip get up from his stool. He studied a hanging scroll on the opposite wall. The calligraphy was beautiful.
It was a stanza from a poem called “Return to Gardens and Fields,” attributed to Tao Yuanming, a poet who lived more than two hundred years before their time.
Since my youth I have loved hills and mountains,
Never was my nature suited for this world of men.
Mistakenly entangled in this dusty web,
Thirteen years now.
A fettered bird pines for ancient forest,
Fish in the pond recalls its original pool.
Harelip liked how the poet used his name, yuan, in reference to the pool. How clever of him to allude to the homonym, , which meant “origin.” He sighed, thinking of his parents and his brother.
Xuanzang stirred awake, mumbling as he did so, “Find that section quickly.” Harelip turned around and caught sight of a small silk drawing on the table to the left of Xuanzang’s daybed, slightly behind it. The drawing sat next to palm leaf pages of the Mahaprajnaparamita Sutra. It depicted a creature that looked like a turtle but without a shell. An unrecognizabl
e script adorned the inside of the creature’s body and the space around it.
“Caught your attention, hasn’t it?” wheezed Xuanzang again, coughing a bit. “It’s something I obtained on my pilgrimage.”
“What kind of script is that?”
“It’s a magical charm. I’ve had it all these years. Now …” Xuanzang stopped talking.
Harelip drew closer to the diagram and peered at it more carefully.
“Beautiful drawing. Did you, uh—may I ask?—obtain this in India?”
“No. When I was delayed in Khotan.”
“Curious.” Harelip ventured. His head was filled with questions. He returned to the stool next to Xuanzang and took the pulses again. Slight improvement. But only temporary, he reminded himself. He removed the needles, sticking them into a small pincushion. He thought fondly of his mother who had made it for him many years ago.
Xuanzang launched into a story about having to linger in Khotan for eight months, waiting for replacement scrolls to be sent to him for the ones he had lost while crossing the Indus. Harelip could tell that Xuanzang relished telling the story—the storm, the calamity of fifty manuscripts falling into the river. The King of Kapisa had chided him for including the seeds of many kinds of flowers in his cargo. Xuanzang hadn’t been aware of the curse—every boat that had attempted to cross that river with flower seeds in years past was subjected to similar misfortunes. Even a river could be cursed or be subjected to some kind of a spell. Xuanzang’s face grew quite animated while a film of sweat formed on his forehead.
“So this was true of anyone trying to cross the Indus with flower seeds?”
“It seemed so. King Kapisa met me on the other side of the river at Hund and was surprised I hadn’t known of the legend. Imagine the cost of my ignorance!” Xuanzang slapped his scalp loudly with the palm of his hand, causing a slight reddening of the skin.
Quite the storyteller, thought Harelip, he has skilfully diverted our conversation away from the turtle diagram.
“Venerable Master, I hope you don’t mind my curiosity. I’m always full of questions.”
Xuanzang nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Exceptionally observant for a young one. Reminds me of myself when I was young.”
