Fan Jing waited outside the valley. When Jiang Hanyuan emerged, he approached her. “The wedding envoys have arrived—Palace Attendant He Cong.”
This official position was typically served within the palace as an imperial attendant, providing internal counsel and responses, while externally, often accompanying the emperor on journeys. Those who held such close relationships were usually trusted ministers or imperial relatives whom the emperor favored.
“Must we leave now?” Jiang Hanyuan asked.
“Setting out from Yanmen, if we travel with the main party by day and rest by night, it will take over a month to reach the capital. Moreover, the journey from here to Yanmen alone requires several days. Attendant: He says the wedding date is an auspicious day selected by the Grand Astrologer through celestial observations and star charts, so it would be best if…” He stopped.
Jiang Hanyuan had already nodded. “I understand.”
She turned her head, gazing toward the distant northwest.
Fan Jing followed her line of sight. There stood a stone mountain carved by millennia of wind, its walls riddled with caves large and small like a honeycomb, with cliff inscriptions above. At this dusk hour, those cliff carvings lay quietly bathed in the slanting rays of the setting sun, appearing as a stretch of orange light from afar.
“You all return to the city first. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet and depart together.”
Fan Jing glanced once more at that cliff inscription, the mountain bathed in sunset, seeming to understand something, yet said nothing. He simply looked at the female general with complex eyes, acknowledged her words, turned around, and left with his men.
The last trace of sunset fell behind the mountain peak, darkness descended suddenly, and dusk crows cawed noisily around the bare rocks atop the mountain. At the foot of the mountain was a crude stone path leading upward. At the path’s end was a cave carved into the mountain by some practitioner from an unknown dynasty. At this moment, outside that stone cave, a father and son from the city were bowing, expressing their gratitude to the person before them.
That was a young monk, draped in hemp robes and wearing straw sandals. His leanness made his eye sockets appear slightly sunken, but his gaze became all the more piercing because of it. He smiled, pressing his palms together, returning the salute to the father and son. After the son expressed endless gratitude, he took the herbal medicine and helped his father down the side path. They needed to return to the city before dark. Suddenly seeing Jiang Hanyuan standing to one side, they recognized her and hurried over to pay their respects.
Jiang Hanyuan knew this father and son must have come from Yunluo City seeking medical treatment, so she nodded, indicating they need not be overly ceremonious.
The monk watched the father and son depart, then turned back toward the stone cave. Just as he was about to enter, he suddenly seemed to sense something, hesitated, stopped, and turned around.
Jiang Hanyuan stood at the bottom of those ladder-like stone steps. Dusk gathered around her from all sides. She smiled slightly at the monk, then stepped forward and walked up the stone steps.
“Wu Sheng, I’ve come again,” she said.
The monk named Wu Sheng watched her and also smiled, pressing his palms together. “This humble monk has been waiting for the general for quite some time.”
This monk, who lived alone in the cliff cave, had once had a hidden past unknown to others. He was originally born into a fallen royal family, the youngest son of an emperor, intelligent and precocious, able to recite anything upon seeing it once. When he was six years old, his kingdom was destroyed by the Great Wei. He survived by chance and formed a connection with Buddhist monks, becoming the direct disciple of a high monk from Tianzhu. From then on, he severed all worldly ties, changed his name to Wu Sheng, taking the meaning of the truth of no birth and no death. Many years later, when the high monk passed away, Wu Sheng, though still young, had already inherited the Buddhist teachings and robes, was proficient in Sanskrit, possessed profound knowledge, and gained wide renown. The Huguo Temple in Chang’an also heard of his reputation and sent envoys to invite him to preside over sutra lectures. However, he abandoned everything and embarked on the path of ascetic practice that his predecessor had once walked, enduring wind and sand, traveling westward.
Three years ago, he finally returned east with the sutras he had obtained, traveling with a merchant caravan. Unexpectedly, when passing through this area, they encountered a raid by the Beidi cavalry. His companions were killed one after another. The Beidi saw he was a monk and temporarily spared his life, but subjected him to wanton humiliation. At this critical moment of life and death, Jiang Hanyuan arrived with soldiers like divine troops descending from heaven, rescued him, and brought him to this place. After his injuries healed, he stopped his journey and settled in this cliff cave left by some unknown predecessor, continuing his practice while translating sutras. This monk, who lived alone in the cliff cave outside the city, was not only proficient in Sanskrit but also knowledgeable in medicine. Over time, word spread among the surrounding people, and they often came here seeking his medical treatment. He never refused, and later even set aside a corner of the stone cave specifically for storing various herbal medicines he had gathered from mountains and rivers and prepared himself. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, three years had already passed.
The furnishings inside the cave were exactly as Jiang Hanyuan had seen them on her last visit, unchanged in the slightest. Apart from those medicines, there was only a table, a lamp, writing materials, and a stone bed with a thin hemp blanket, plus an old rattan box. Outside the cave was a crude fire pit for cooking and boiling water, with several bags of grain stored nearby.
This was everything—the most primitive supply of necessities for sustaining a human life.
The only abundance in this place was those stacks of Sanskrit sutras, arranged neatly and spotlessly clean, showing the degree of care their owner took with them daily.
Jiang Hanyuan had once asked her uncle to send supplies periodically, but Wu Sheng politely declined, telling her not to worry about such matters. His diet was simple; when he entered meditation, he could go seven days and nights without food or drink. He smiled and said that even without his labor and gathering, just relying on the food and provisions occasionally brought by the simple townspeople who had received his medical treatment was sufficient to satisfy his hunger.
Jiang Hanyuan knew his heart was pure and empty, protected by heavenly dragons, and what he sought was not these material possessions of ordinary people. Later, she never mentioned it again.
Wu Sheng sat cross-legged behind the desk in the stone cave, translating sutras by the azure lamp. Jiang Hanyuan leaned against the edge of the cliff cave, gazing at that trace of remaining daylight atop the distant snowy mountains. When darkness completely descended and the snow-capped peaks disappeared, she too was enveloped in the night.
“Wu Sheng, do you know? I’m going to be married,” she suddenly said.
Wu Sheng’s hand holding the brush paused slightly on the paper scroll, and a drop of ink fell from the brush tip. He looked up, glancing at that azure figure sitting at the cave entrance, then slowly lowered his head and continued writing from where that ink drop had fallen. The ink spot disappeared.
“Is that so?” he responded.
“Yes. I’ve seen that person before. When I was thirteen years old. He was young then, too, and I saw that he seemed to love laughing.”
“Wu Sheng, have you ever seen on a clear day how wind from the snowy mountains ripples Mirror Lake, causing the water to show layer upon layer of ripples? That’s what it feels like when he smiles.”
The monk stopped writing again and pondered for a moment.
“This humble monk has never seen such a sight,” he said in a deep voice.
“When you have time, you could go and see it. The lake is very beautiful. Of course, he must have long forgotten that he ever saw me. Actually, not just him—even I, if not for his request to marry me to my father this time, would have forgotten long ago. After all, that was such a distant past event. Who would always remember such insignificant little things from before, don’t you think?”
“The general speaks truly.”
Wu Sheng continued translating sutras behind her with his head lowered. The dim light of the oil lamp flickered slightly.
“Wu Sheng, do you know why he’s marrying me?” her leisurely voice came again.
“Presumably, he has his reasons,” Wu Sheng replied.
“Yes. He takes the world as his chessboard, with grand schemes and great enterprises above. I am a chess piece on his board. But I am willing to be his vanguard, completely willing. Wu Sheng, do you know why?”
The monk stopped writing once more and pondered.
“Regardless of the reason, he is a fortunate man,” he finally said.
That azure figure seemed to laugh because of Wu Sheng’s words.
“Wu Sheng, you have a lamp of wisdom in your heart, and usually, you are always right. But this time, you are wrong. He has paid a great price for this, losing his life’s love. How can one speak of fortune?”
“To seek benevolence and obtain benevolence is also a blessed fate,” Wu Sheng replied from behind her.
She laughed softly again at these words.
“I had once planned to speak with him face to face, because I truly was unwilling to simply accept arrangements I did not desire. But after I met him, I changed my mind. How ruthless his character is, how firm his disposition. A person like him, to achieve his goals, can sever human desires, can split mountains, can cleave seas. Wu Sheng, do you believe it? I was convinced by such a person. I cannot fail to fulfill what he wishes, because what he wishes is what I wish, so I changed my mind—”
She stopped and seemed to laugh at herself for the third time. This time, it was a self-mocking laugh.
“Forget it, I’ve talked too much today. Let’s not speak of these things anymore—you wouldn’t understand anyway. Wu Sheng, your world is too distant from the mundane world. You were born different from ordinary people, high above, lowering your brows in compassion. Your mission is to spread Buddhist teachings, save all beings, and become a great person like Shakyamuni in the future, to receive the worship and prostration of the world. I shouldn’t tell you these things, disturbing your tranquility.”
“You can. Whatever you wish to say, it’s all acceptable,” came the reply from behind.
Jiang Hanyuan turned her face and saw, in the depths of the cliff cave, the dim oil lamp casting a hazy silhouette. Wu Sheng was not looking at her, still keeping his head lowered, continuing to write his sutras while conversing with her.
She watched for a moment, surveying this stone cave that was desolate to the extreme, and shook her head.
“Sometimes I don’t quite understand why you don’t leave, insisting on staying in this desolate place.”
He stopped writing, slowly raised his head, and in the dim lamplight, gazed toward her from afar.
“This is this humble monk’s cultivation,” he replied. “Translating sutras will also be this humble monk’s great responsibility in this life. As long as there are brush and ink, no matter where one is—whether on lotus terraces in precious realms or in the wilds of nine desolations—to this humble monk, it is all the same.”
Having said this, he put down his brush.
“General, I can chant sutras for you to hear. Would you still like to listen?”
She had once said that his voice, when chanting sutras, was extremely good. Although she couldn’t understand what he was chanting, it didn’t matter—she liked listening to his voice when he chanted sutras.
Jiang Hanyuan nodded. “Yes.”
“Then let me chant the sutra I have at hand, which discusses the heavenly path of transformation. The Buddha proclaimed the achievement of ten kinds of Buddhist discourse, thereby subduing all heavenly demons and heterodox theories, destroying all sentient beings’ afflictions that are as solid as vajra, cutting off all obstacles.”
In the faint bitter fragrance of herbal medicine and Wu Sheng’s unhurried, calm voice chanting sutras, Jiang Hanyuan leaned against the rock at the cave entrance and slowly closed her eyes.
He continued chanting until she had completely fallen into deep sleep, then stopped, rose, took the hemp blanket from the stone bed, and walked to her side.
He bent down, gazing at her sleeping face, and gently covered her shoulders with the hemp blanket.
He walked back, sat cross-legged on a nearby stone platform, closed his eyes, and meditated.
The night passed. At dawn, when the first ray of sunlight shone on the cliff wall outside the cliff cave entrance, he slowly opened his eyes.
At the cave entrance, that azure figure who had listened to his sutra chanting the night before had already left. Now that place was empty, leaving not a trace. The blanket that had covered and warmed her was also folded neatly and placed back on the stone bed.
She had slept peacefully through the night, awakening at the fifth watch before dawn. Wu Sheng’s spiritual consciousness was clear; he was aware of her quiet departure but did not speak out to bid her farewell.
There was no need for farewells.
If one day she wanted to hear his voice chanting sutras again, she would naturally return.
And if one day she encountered another voice that could replace his sutra chanting, and beside that voice she could also obtain peaceful sleep, she would naturally not return.
At that time, he, too, could leave this place.
His cultivation would also reach completion.