Zhai Wen was stunned speechless, staring blankly at Lv Sheng.

Lv Sheng — Kui Mu Lang let out a sinister laugh, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. Dark, vicious, even his voice had changed: “Well, monk! How did you see through the ruse?”

“Although this humble one is a disciple of Master Yuan Tiangang, Master Yuan has never been involved in the Curse-Prohibition Division’s affairs. The Curse-Prohibition Division was established by the True Person Sun Simiao, and it is his legacy that has been passed down.”

Li Chunfeng said coldly, “Lv Sheng once served at the Imperial Medical Bureau and was perfectly clear on all of this — yet you… though you know a great deal about him, you were unaware of these details, weren’t you?”

“Furthermore, when this humble monk was at Yumen Pass, he asked about it — Lv Sheng had long forgotten the identity of the enemy who framed him, yet you knew clearly that it was Linghu Demeng.”

Xuanzang said.

“And besides, the Thirteen Ghost Acupoints Chant is the celebrated secret technique that made the True Person’s name — how could Lv Sheng not know that it was a system of acupuncture?”

Li Chunfeng said with a smile.

“You… you knew all along that he was an impostor?”

Zhai Wen was still in shock, murmuring, “I… why didn’t I see through it?”

“No — we did genuinely come to treat Lv Sheng.”

Xuanzang said gently.

As it turned out, that afternoon Xuanzang had arranged to meet Li Chunfeng, with the original intention of expelling Kui Mu Lang’s spiritual body from Lv Sheng. However, Li Chunfeng had raised a question: what if Kui Mu Lang awakened during the treatment? Li Chunfeng suggested arranging a contingency — if Kui Mu Lang awakened, they would first use acupuncture to briefly immobilize him, then lay down a Tiangang Formation to trap him and forcibly apply the needles.

Xuanzang agreed wholeheartedly. The two of them arrived at Wuli Pavilion two hours early and laid the formation inside and outside the pavilion. Neither of them had expected, however, that the one who came would be an impostor. Fortunately, both men were sharp — having noticed something amiss, Li Chunfeng moved first, immobilizing Kui Mu Lang.

“You mortals — truly devious.”

Kui Mu Lang roared with laughter, then suddenly gave his body a violent shake. The flames on the obsidian needles abruptly extinguished and shattered.

Kui Mu Lang stepped forward and seized Xuanzang by the throat with one hand, lifting him off the ground. “This lord came specifically to kill you. Knowing Li Chunfeng was here, how could I not have been prepared against his arts?”

Li Chunfeng started, formed a hand seal and shouted: “Suppress!”

The pavilion remained utterly still. Li Chunfeng stared in bewilderment, formed another seal, and flicked a talisman from his hand — the talisman had barely caught a spark before it extinguished. Li Chunfeng’s expression turned deeply unsettled.

Kui Mu Lang laughed uproariously, tightening his grip. Xuanzang’s neck cracked and groaned, his face swelling. Just as death seemed imminent, Kui Mu Lang’s hand relaxed slightly, and he said with a smile: “You, this monk — I do not dare gamble on whether you might refine into a Heavenly Robe after death.”

With a flick of his hand, he flung Xuanzang away. Xuanzang crashed heavily against one of the pavilion’s pillars and, struggling, could not rise.

“As for you —”

Kui Mu Lang looked at Li Chunfeng. “You may die now.”

Kui Mu Lang swept his arm, claws suddenly sprouting from between his fingers, slashing toward Li Chunfeng’s throat with lightning speed.

Though Li Chunfeng was well versed in arcane arts, his physical ability was not even that of an ordinary able-bodied man — he had no way to dodge. Smiling bitterly, he closed his eyes and waited for the claws to tear open the vessels and muscle of his neck.

Suddenly, there came a sharp “snap” of a bowstring, and an arrow shot through a gap in the broken window lattice. Kui Mu Lang’s body flickered away in an instant — with a “thud,” the arrow shaft grazed Li Chunfeng’s shoulder and embedded itself into the pillar. The shaft quivered violently.

Li Chunfeng opened his dazed eyes and murmured: “Master, you had also arranged a lifesaving contingency…”

Before he could finish speaking, from all four directions came a relentless “snap snap snap snap” of bowstrings, and countless arrows came shooting into Wuli Pavilion. Everyone threw themselves to the ground. Even Kui Mu Lang, grimacing through the pain, grabbed Zhai Wen, and the two pressed flat against the floor and took cover in a corner of the pavilion. In an instant, the floor and wooden walls of the pavilion were bristling with arrows.

The already-dilapidated window lattices around the pavilion shattered one after another, collapsing with a thunderous crash onto those inside. Kui Mu Lang shielded Zhai Wen and sheltered opposite Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng. In the center of the pavilion stood two rotted wooden stumps now riddled with arrows. Kui Mu Lang and Xuanzang locked eyes, and together they each kicked one rotted stump across to the other — at least offering some cover.

The bow fire paused. Outside Wuli Pavilion, tree shadows swayed and moonlight danced. Xuanzang pressed flat against the ground and peered out through a gap in the broken wooden wall — but could see nothing at all.

Two voices spoke from within the forest, in accents that were not from the Central Plains.

“What are they saying?”

Li Chunfeng asked.

“That is Turkic,” said Xuanzang with a bitter smile. “They say… switch to fire arrows.”

Li Chunfeng froze, then groaned in dismay.

At that moment, flames flared among the tree shadows — at least a dozen spots igniting — and then bowstrings snapped again. A dozen fire arrows streaked from all directions like shooting stars into Wuli Pavilion. The front sections of the shafts were wrapped in hemp cloth soaked in thick black tar, burning fiercely and giving off a choking stench. The pavilion’s wooden lattice and timbers caught fire in an instant, and Wuli Pavilion blazed furiously, sending Zhai Wen into a coughing fit.

Kui Mu Lang erupted in fury. With a long howl, his fangs shot out, his body swelled in an instant, and with a “boom” he smashed through the wooden wall and bounded out.

Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng craned to look outside. They saw a massive silver wolf dashing through the moonlight between the trees, vanishing in the blink of an eye. Then from the forest came shouts and cries in various languages — a thud, and a human figure dropped from the treetops, body twisted into an unnatural shape, blood gurgling from the throat.

Screams rang out again and again in the forest, carrying a quality of extreme terror — then, like dumplings dropped into a pot, figure after figure plummeted from the trees, all motionless, clearly slaughtered before they fell.

Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng worked together, kicking through the broken wooden wall to make a large hole. Xuanzang grabbed Zhai Wen by the sleeve, pulled her to the opening, and shoved her out; he and Li Chunfeng squeezed through after her.

The moment the three of them emerged, Wuli Pavilion collapsed with a tremendous crash.

The three lay on the ground and drew long, deep breaths of fresh air, all with a sense of having survived a catastrophe.

Zhai Wen said quietly: “Master, you should both leave quickly.”

Xuanzang stood. In the moonlight and the glow of the still-burning fire, five or six corpses lay on the path — by their features, all were foreigners, most Sogdians and Turks.

Li Chunfeng checked the pulse of each corpse in turn and suddenly said: “This one still has a breath in him.”

Xuanzang hurried over. A middle-aged man with a full beard lay face-down on the ground — the blood at his neck had already congealed, and even his breathing had ceased. Xuanzang shot Li Chunfeng a skeptical glance, but Li Chunfeng had already produced his needle case and drawn an obsidian needle from the leather sheath, pinching it between his fingers. He exhaled sharply, and a talisman shot from his mouth, igniting the moment it met the air. Li Chunfeng used the needle’s tip to catch the flame, and in an instant the tip was alight.

Li Chunfeng intoned: “One needle stills the ghost palace at the philtrum — insert on the left, exit on the right.”

The ghost palace — the philtrum — was where the dark, slender needle plunged, sinking three fen into the flesh. The flame on the needle extinguished, as though a thread of fire slipped into the man’s body.

The man heaved a sudden gasp, eyes flying wide open — yet he did not move.

“Who are you people?”

Li Chunfeng said gravely. “Who sent you?”

The man stared with empty, unfocused eyes and murmured: “The Constabulary… Wang… Jun Ke…”

Then his head lolled to the side, and he died completely.

Li Chunfeng put his needle away and exchanged a long, silent look with Xuanzang.

“What are the Constabulary?”

Zhai Wen asked.

“The Constabulary is not people — it is an organization.”

Li Chunfeng said. “The court conscripts those with criminal records to serve as petty officers for surveillance and arrests. Because these individuals are not from respectable families, they are called the Constabulary. Their offices are located within the Imperial City, and their chief is called the Constabulary Commander. They primarily monitor the movements of foreign peoples, so a large number of foreigners are recruited among them. His Majesty once issued an order for frontier prefectures to recommend those of foreign origin with special talents to Chang’an. These men were most likely intercepted and kept by Wang Junke for his own private use.”

Xuanzang murmured: “It seems our troubles have grown considerably.”

“Wang Junke wants to kill us!”

Li Chunfeng said bitterly. “Where on earth did we leak the information?”

“I fear the young lord is under surveillance,”

Xuanzang said somberly. “Whether Wang Lize can get word to Guazhou is far from certain now.”

At that moment, an eerie stillness fell around them, and Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng immediately went on alert, seized by a creeping sense of dread.

“Go quickly!”

Zhai Wen said in a low voice.

Neither man dared linger further. Both knew Zhai Wen would not be in danger, so they offered her their thanks on the spot and slipped into the trees under cover of darkness.

No sooner had the two men left than Kui Mu Lang appeared in human form at the far end of the dirt road — drenched in blood, carrying a severed head. Seeing Zhai Wen standing alone beside the collapsed, burning pavilion, he dropped the head and walked over with a darkened expression.

Zhai Wen was terrified and backed away step by step.

Kui Mu Lang walked a few paces, then suddenly swayed and crumpled to the ground. He panted for a moment, then threw back his head and let out a long, desolate howl — a howl suffused with boundless melancholy and bitter resentment, carrying far into the night.

Kui Mu Lang struggled to his feet and sat down on the pavilion steps — the only part not yet set ablaze. The roaring fire at his back cast his face in ever deeper shadow and gloom.

“Are you afraid of me now?”

Kui Mu Lang asked.

Zhai Wen shook her head nervously, saying nothing.

“I regret coming to this mortal world now,”

Kui Mu Lang murmured. “It is the same as the Heavenly Court — lonely, solitary. Every person is like a star, with vast oceans and dark abysses between them. Though the stars appear thick as countless points of light, they can only gaze at one another from afar, never to be touched.”

“You can kill me.”

Zhai Wen said.

“Divine beings possess an endless lifespan — they do not age, they do not die. It is utterly tedious,”

Kui Mu Lang stared at her with a complicated expression. “And so for a divine being, the future holds little change — the more vivid things are always memories of the past. In the midst of loneliness, a divine being can drift through thousands of years on a single recollection. You want me to spend my endless life reliving a love that ended in defeat, over and over again?”

“And yet you cannot win.”

Zhai Wen said plainly.

Kui Mu Lang grew somewhat sorrowful and sat on the steps without another word. The two of them stared at the raging fire before them as it devoured the stars, sweeping them into the air where they rose, swirled, and fell — just like gazing at a rain of stars from the road alongside the Heavenly Court.

Dunhuang’s Inner City. The rear quarters of the Prefect’s residence.

At the hour of Mao, as the first light of dawn broke but the morning sun had not yet risen, the opening drum rumbled from the drum tower. In the rear quarters of the Prefect’s residence, too, a thunderous rumbling rattled the ears.

Wang Junke and Wang Junsheng hurried into the rear quarters. Preparations for Yuzao’s wedding were underway — colored lanterns were being made, the wedding gown was being sewn and mended, dozens upon dozens of bolts of silk in every color were being cut and used to adorn every corner, the whole place alive with festivity.

Yet the two men wore expressions of worry. They reached the room where Yuzao lived, stood outside the door, and listened with their ears — from inside came the thudding of a fall, the cracking and splintering of furniture, and even the clashing of blades, all in an unbroken stream.

Wang Junke grimaced and asked quietly: “How did it come to a fight?”

“I have no idea!”

Wang Junsheng smiled bitterly. “Just after the hour of Mao, the young lord arrived and said he wanted to see the twelfth young lady. You had instructed that he and the twelfth young lady should spend more time together to cultivate their affection, so I didn’t stop him and showed him into the inner quarters. For some reason I can’t fathom, barely a few words were exchanged before it turned physical!”

“Oh no, what is to be done!”

Wang Junke groaned in vexation.

“Truly outrageous!”

Wang Junsheng said with an indignant expression. “How dare he lay hands on our young mistress — this is simply unacceptable!”

“What nonsense are you saying? I’m worried the young lord might get hurt.”

Wang Junke said.

Wang Junsheng opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment’s thought, he had to admit this was indeed the greater concern, and could not help feeling a little anxious: “Then… what should we do? The wedding hasn’t even happened yet.”

At that moment a maid came running up in a hurry, just about to speak when Wang Junke raised a finger to his lips. The maid took the hint and lowered her voice: “The guest has arrived.”

Wang Junke let out a breath and said softly: “It’s done!”

Wang Junke turned and walked away. Wang Junsheng hurried after him: “Should I step in to stop things on this end?”

“No need. The young lord should be able to take a beating!”

Wang Junke shook his head, though inwardly he was a little uneasy.

Inside the room, the furniture and fittings lay smashed in every direction. Li Chan lay on the floor, face swollen and bruised. Yuzao had her knee pressed into his chest, a broadsword at his throat. Li Chan spread his arms wide in surrender, not daring to breathe.

Yuzao listened carefully to the sounds outside: “They’ve gone!”

“Can you let me up now?”

Li Chan gasped, in too much pain to breathe evenly.

Yuzao laughed coldly: “You slandered my father as a rebel! This much pain is nothing like enough for you. Keep talking!”

Li Chan pointed to his own chest. Yuzao rose. Li Chan struggled to sit up and breathed in great gulps of air.

As it turned out, the previous night, after Xuanzang had left, the curfew drums had just fallen silent. Li Chan’s head was consumed by the news that Wang Junke was planning a rebellion, and for a time his mind was in turmoil. He sat on the steps of a wine shop in Changning Ward and stared blankly until dawn. The moment the opening drums of the Mao hour sounded, he ran to the Prefect’s residence to find Yuzao — and had barely finished laying out Xuanzang’s reasoning when he received a thorough beating.

“This is not me slandering anyone — this is my master’s deduction. I can hardly believe it myself, which is exactly why I came to talk it over with you.”

Li Chan immediately threw his master under the carriage.

“That monk Xuanzang is a complete simpleton!”

Yuzao laughed coldly. “Let me ask you — why would my father rebel? What benefit would it bring him?”

Li Chan had spent the entire night unable to work this out: “Perhaps… he wants to carve out the Western Sandy Prefectures as his own territory and declare himself king?”

“Nonsense!”

Yuzao furiously struck him flat with the flat of her blade. Li Chan let out a cry of anguish.

“How large are the Western Sandy Prefectures? No more than two county towns, a population of under thirty thousand, isolated in the desert. Even if the garrison troops and frontier forces could be conscripted to seven thousand men — how would they withstand a joint campaign by your father and Niu Jinda of Suzhou?”

Yuzao pointed at him with her sword tip and berated him furiously: “Has your brain been eaten by dogs…”

“It is my master’s deduction!”

Li Chan hastily restated.

“I do not insult monks,”

Yuzao continued, “but if it is your master’s deduction — it is still your brain that has been eaten by dogs! My father is only a posted official; he has no roots in Dunhuang. The Dunhuang gentry clans hold enormous power here — how could he control them into joining a rebellion?”

“It is my master’s deduction!”

Li Chan dared not contradict a single word and only repeated the phrase.

“Where is your master?”

Yuzao kicked him in frustration.

“Last night, master went to find Kui Mu Lang. He said that Kui Mu Lang is colluding with your father in secret, and that he had brought a physician to treat Kui Mu Lang,”

Li Chan said, getting up. “From the looks of it, his intention was to seek verification of the truth from Kui Mu Lang.”

Yuzao was stunned for a moment, then suddenly flew into a rage: “He went last night — why did you only come to find me this morning?”

Li Chan reacted swiftly, leapt back with a swoosh, and put a safe distance between himself and Yuzao: “I intended to come last night, but the ward gates were closed!”

“The ward gates were closed…”

Yuzao was so infuriated she was momentarily speechless. “Can you not climb over the wall? For something this important, what does it matter if the night patrol catches you?”

“I’m not afraid of the night patrol — but climbing the wall… it would compromise your reputation!”

Li Chan protested. Seeing that Yuzao had been provoked to the point of reaching for her blade again, he quickly added: “And besides, master also entrusted me to verify something.”

“What thing? Speak!”

Yuzao ground her teeth and brandished her blade.

“Master said, if your father were to —”

Li Chan didn’t dare say it. He muttered several syllables under his breath, his voice too low to hear.

“Rebel!”

Yuzao said loudly. “Stop hemming and hawing and dithering about!”

“Right — master said that if your father intended to rebel, he would first have to seize military command of the Ziting Garrison and the Purple Gold Outpost, because he would never allow his main army to march forward while the Dunhuang gentry clans stabbed at his back.”

Li Chan said. “So master asked me to confirm this. If Zhai Shu and Song Kai can retain their military authority, it means his judgment is mistaken; if the two families’ military power is stripped away, then your father does indeed have that intention.”

“That is a reasonable argument.”

Yuzao mulled it over.

The frontier prefectures had always been unstable, and the court had given deep consideration to the distribution of military power — how much the local generals held, how much the outside posted officials held, how much the gentry clans held, how much the commoners held, who cooperated with whom, who balanced whom against whom: all of it had been carefully weighed.

Every powerful regional official understood these unwritten rules full well.

In the three garrisons and four fortified posts of the Western Sandy Prefectures, if Wang Junke made a slight adjustment here and there to consolidate his power, the court would take no notice. But the moment he attempted to seize control of all military authority — that would be a clear sign of treacherous intent.

Because he was a posted official.

“Come with me!”

Yuzao rushed over, grabbed Li Chan by the arm, and dragged him out the door.

The two of them had just been fighting, so the maids had all retreated to a distance. The rear quarters were deserted. Yuzao led Li Chan to the back door of the main hall and the two quietly hid at the doorway.

The main hall was separated from the back door by a folding screen. Wang Junke was inside receiving guests. Through the gaps between the eight panels of the screen, the silhouettes of several figures were dimly visible, though their faces could not be made out.

“Master Zhang,”

Wang Junke’s voice came, laughing. “In that case, let our two families seal the betrothal today — I will send someone to your door to present the betrothal gifts today.”

An aged voice replied: “Present the betrothal gifts today? The Six Rites require納采 — presentation of gifts, inquiry of name, declaration of auspiciousness, presentation of betrothal gifts, fixing of the date, and welcoming the bride — at minimum half a year is needed for preparations. Is it not too hasty to proceed directly to the betrothal gifts? Our two families are both distinguished houses of Dunhuang — such haste would only invite mockery.”

Yuzao and Li Chan exchanged a glance. From the voice, this elder was none other than Zhang Bi! Could the Zhang family have actually submitted?

Both were thrown into stunned uncertainty.

“Ha ha —”

Wang Junke laughed heartily. “Master Zhang, when our two families join hands and reconcile, the people of Dunhuang will only rejoice — who would dare mock us?”

Beside him, Zhai Chang’s voice rose: “Master Zhang, extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures. The presentation of gifts, the inquiry of name, the declaration of auspiciousness — these are mere formalities. It is only after the betrothal gifts are presented that the match between our two families is truly settled. There is no hurry for the remaining steps of fixing the date and welcoming the bride.”

“This —”

Zhang Bi still hesitated.

Linghu Demao’s voice broke in: “Master Zhang, Kui Mu Lang has already fled to Dunhuang — at this moment we most urgently need to join forces with the Prefect to kill the wolf together. What you face now is only a matter of ceremony. Yet back then, Lord Hongye gave up his own blood daughter, in flesh and bone.”

The gathering fell silent for a moment.

Zhang Bi seemed to rise and bow toward Zhai Chang: “Lord Hongye’s noble sacrifice — I am deeply ashamed. Very well then — let it be settled! I only require one promise from the Prefect: Kui Mu Lang must die today!”

Wang Junke slapped the table: “Agreed! You have three days to prepare the twenty thousand bolts of silk and cloth. Only hand over military command of the Ziting Garrison and the Purple Gold Outpost today, and I will personally slay Kui Mu Lang! Do Lords Zhai and Song have any objection?”

Zhai Chang said coolly: “No objection.”

Song Chengtao, head of the Song family, who was also evidently present, gave a muffled grunt: “No objection.”

Behind the main hall, Yuzao felt as though she had been struck by a bolt of lightning, and sat down on the ground in a stupor. Li Chan quickly crept to her side and called softly in her ear: “Twelfth young lady —”

“Where is… where is Kui Mu Lang right now?”

Yuzao murmured.

“I heard master say he was going to the Western Grottoes to kill someone.”

Li Chan said.

“Let’s go…”

Yuzao’s face drained of all color. She rose unsteadily. “We are going to the Western Grottoes!”

A horse-drawn carriage bearing a black palanquin rolled out of Qili Town and moved into the vast Gobi Desert.

Qili Town lay to the southwest of Dunhuang’s prefectural city, seven li distant from it. Once one left Qili Town, one left Dunhuang’s oasis and entered the ancient desert road through the sand and gravel wilderness. Following this road southwest for seventy li brought one to the Western Thousand-Buddha Grottoes — known as the Western Grottoes because of their location to the west of Dunhuang city; the Mogao Grottoes, naturally, were the Eastern Grottoes.

From the Western Grottoes, another sixty li to the west lay Yangguan. Later ages would know the verse: “I urge you to drink one more cup of wine — once you pass Yangguan heading west, there are no friends to be found.”

Beyond Yangguan stretched the vast Western Regions. Walking fifteen hundred li through a desert where above there were no birds in the sky and below there were no animals on the ground, one could reach Shanshan and Khotan. Together with Yumen Pass, it formed the Southern Route of the Western Regions — the difference being that the road through Yumen Pass went north of the Lop Nur desert, while the road through Yangguan went south of it.

The most flourishing trade route from Dunhuang ran to Yangguan, for it not only connected to Shanshan and other Western Regions kingdoms, but at the bend in the Ganquan River to the east of the Western Grottoes, a southern track also passed through a Qilian mountain pass leading to Tuyuhun. The major relay station on the Yumen Pass trade route, the city of Loulan, had long been abandoned, with the desert road impassable, and so most travelers now used the Yangguan route. This road was well-traveled by merchants and pilgrims alike.

The black palanquin rolled along. Kui Yi and Kui Liu had exchanged their gleaming armor for plain everyday clothes, carrying bows and arrows and broadswords at their sides, guarding the palanquin left and right. Behind the palanquin came ten wolf soldiers from Yumen Pass along with Prefectural Deputy Zheng, Zhao Fu, and others, as well as hired servants driving two oxcarts laden with armor, weapons, food, and clothing — to any observer, they looked like a prosperous household heading to the Western Grottoes to pay Buddhist homage.

Inside the palanquin, Lv Sheng had wrapped a felt blanket around Zhai Wen and held her in his arms. Through the blanket, the two of them rested forehead to forehead, swaying gently to and fro with the motion of the carriage.

This Lv Sheng’s eyes were clear and bright — carrying a trace of sorrow, yet his bearing was dignified and noble. Unmistakably, this was the real Lv Sheng.

As it turned out, the fierce battle the previous night — though Kui Mu Lang had slaughtered all the Constabulary agents — had left him struck by Li Chunfeng’s six Ghost Acupoints needles. The Thirteen Ghost Acupoints needles handed down from Sun Simiao were no ordinary technique; they were specifically designed to break evil spiritual possession and expel demons. Though Kui Mu Lang’s spiritual body was that of a divine being, his physical vessel was only a mortal’s, and once the needle force entered the body, it hampered his control over the vessel at every turn, as if sinking into mud.

Kui Mu Lang had no choice but to temporarily relinquish control of the physical body, retreating the divine soul inward to refine away the needle’s influence. And so Lv Sheng unexpectedly regained control of the vessel. Zhai Wen was overcome with joy — for them, even a stolen moment of happiness was priceless. Even more surprisingly overjoyed was Zhao Fu. After Kui Mu Lang returned to the Li Temple he had originally ordered Zhao Fu’s execution, but had barely issued the command before he was forced into slumber — and Lv Sheng promptly ordered his release.

Zhao Fu had snatched his life back from the jaws of death, and now ran about before and behind them with extra diligence.

Prefectural Deputy Zheng was a devoted follower of Kui Mu Lang, and the star generals carried out orders mechanically. On small matters they were willing to defer, but in the great undertaking of going to the Western Grottoes to kill Linghu Demeng, Lv Sheng had no say at all — including the dispatch of Kui San, Kui Wu, Kui Qi, and Kui Twelve, each leading a squad to pursue and kill Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng. Lv Sheng could not interfere. And so, though Lv Sheng and Zhai Wen were reunited, they were utterly without freedom — swept along by Prefectural Deputy Zheng and the star generals toward the Thousand-Buddha Grottoes.

From the western side of the prefectural city to the Western Thousand-Buddha Grottoes, the route was essentially against the current of the Duxiang Canal. Dunhuang’s irrigation canals all drew water from the Ganquan River; from upstream to downstream, the main channels were three in number — the Yiqiu Canal, the Duxiang Canal, and the Mengshou Canal. From these three great channels, countless branch canals spread out in every direction, irrigating the innumerable fertile fields to the west of the prefectural city.

Upon reaching Qili Town, they happened to encounter Kui Wu. He was covered in blood and looking rather wretched; of the squad he had led, only two soldiers remained.

As it turned out, from the previous night through to that noon, the star generals had launched a large-scale search for Xuanzang — encircling, hunting, pursuing. Xuanzang and his companion had made their way steadily to the southwest, engaging in fierce clashes along the way, leaving three wolf soldiers dead.

Lv Sheng was astonished: “How did Master and Li Chunfeng become such formidable fighters?”

“Xuanzang lured Kui Wu and his men into a beacon tower and engaged the garrison soldiers in battle.”

Prefectural Deputy Zheng’s expression was grim.

Zhao Fu said with ill-concealed glee: “Though Master Xuanzang is no fighter, when it comes to dealing with a big dumb brute like Kui Wu, a hundred of them wouldn’t be a match for him.”

Prefectural Deputy Zheng flew into a rage and was about to speak when Lv Sheng stopped him: “If Master Xuanzang knew you were heading to the Western Grottoes to hunt down and kill Linghu Demeng — why would he flee to the southwest?”

Prefectural Deputy Zheng said sulkily: “He probably figures that heading east means running into Wang Junke’s net in the prefectural city; heading west is nothing but vast desert with no route through; heading north leads only to the countryside with nowhere to go. If Xuanzang comes to the Western Grottoes, so much the better — once Linghu Demeng is killed, we can capture him there at the same time!”

Lv Sheng said scornfully: “The Western Grottoes has hundreds and thousands of cave shrines. Linghu Demeng has deliberately hidden himself — it will not be so easy to find him!”

Prefectural Deputy Zheng said coolly: “The honored lord need not trouble himself — the divine Kui has already made his arrangements. Men, move out!”

Lv Sheng boarded the ox-cart. Zhao Fu eagerly lifted the curtain for him. Lv Sheng entered the palanquin. The group set off under escort, leaving Qili Town and moving out onto the ancient desert road.

Zhai Wen, who had evidently heard the exchange just now from inside the carriage, asked anxiously: “Fourth Lord, why would Master Xuanzang go to the Western Grottoes when he could simply escape?”

“He goes for my sake.”

Lv Sheng said with bitterness.

“For your sake?”

Zhai Wen did not understand.

Lv Sheng said: “Master is determined to uncover the secrets of my past and solve the mystery of Kui Mu Lang’s possession. And Kui Mu Lang is set on killing Linghu Demeng — there must be a great conspiracy hidden within this. Since Linghu Demeng has taken refuge in the Western Grottoes, naturally the Master will spare no hardship to make the journey there.”

“Master Xuanzang’s deep friendship — how are we as husband and wife ever to repay it!”

Zhai Wen sighed, then said: “Fourth Lord, I am very afraid of going to the Western Grottoes. As for the reason… I cannot quite say — I simply feel that this place fills me with a foreboding dread.”

“Do not worry — I am here.”

Lv Sheng stroked her shoulder in comfort.

“Fourth Lord, let us run away!”

Zhai Wen grasped his hand through the blanket and pleaded.

“Run to where?”

Lv Sheng was stunned for a moment, then murmured: “Kui Mu Lang is within me — even if I walked to the ends of the earth, I could never be free of him. Wen, I am now a walking corpse, with no memory left me and only twenty days’ worth of life remaining. There is very little time left for us in this mortal world.”

Zhai Wen suddenly burst into loud sobbing. Lv Sheng held her close, his expression sorrowful.

“Weep no more, weep no more.”

Lv Sheng comforted her. “Did we not already know this outcome six months ago? My body has been ravaged to this state — this end was to be expected. The only thing I cannot let go of now, apart from uncovering the story of my past, is you. Wen, I cannot bear to part from you, cannot bear to leave you alone in this dusty world.”

“If you die, how could I go on living?”

Zhai Wen tilted her face up, weeping.

Lv Sheng’s expression grew stern: “Did we not swear an oath long ago? If I die, you are to live on! I do not wish to be like Jiao Zhongqing — I do not wish to be like the Hegemon-King of Chu. When a man dies, the woman must keep living — and she must live richly and in full color, in a way that commands the world’s respect!”

“Where the rain falls incessantly, where the river runs deep and wide, when the sun rises, hold it against your heart.”

Zhai Wen recited softly.

Lv Sheng started, and something in him grew dim. With his learning, he naturally recognized what Zhai Wen was reciting — a verse from the wife of Han Ping.

In Gan Bao’s In Search of the Supernatural of the Eastern Jin dynasty, there is a story: During the Warring States period, Han Ping, a retainer of King Kang of Song, took a wife named He Shi. He Shi was beautiful, and King Kang took her for himself. Han Ping harbored resentment, so King Kang imprisoned him and condemned him to the labor of Chengdan — a punishment second only to death, consisting of building city walls as forced labor.

He Shi sent a secret letter to Han Ping, and in it were these very lines.

King Kang obtained the letter but could not decipher its meaning. One of his ministers explained: “‘Where the rain falls incessantly’ — speaks of sorrow and longing; ‘where the river runs deep and wide’ — we cannot come and go to one another; ‘when the sun rises, hold it against your heart’ — the heart holds the resolve to die.”

Not long after, Han Ping took his own life.

He Shi secretly allowed her garments to rot. One day, King Kang and she climbed a high platform together, and He Shi threw herself from it. Those beside her grabbed at her clothes, but the cloth had long since rotted — He Shi fell and died. She had left a final letter: “The king desires life; I desire death. I beg that my bones be given to Han Ping for burial together!”

King Kang flew into a rage and had the two buried separately, their graves set far apart yet visible to one another. Yet after a single night, two great catalpa trees grew up from the two graves — their trunks intertwined, their roots interwoven. The people of Song called them the Lovesick Trees.

Lv Sheng and Zhai Wen had shared hardships for many years and understood each other’s hearts. Zhai Wen needed no words — that single verse was enough for Lv Sheng to understand everything she meant.

Lv Sheng stared at her in a daze, his eyes slowly reddening: “O Yu Ji, Yu Ji — what is to become of you! Only now do I truly understand the Hegemon-King of Chu’s anguish. He could not bear for Yu Ji to die, yet could not endure seeing her live in humiliation. But I am not the Hegemon-King of Chu — what he could not do, I can! Wen, after I die, I will ensure that you live on — that you live brilliantly and in full color, respected by all the world!”

“No matter how fine this world may be — without you, what flavor does it hold?”

Zhai Wen wept.

“I have already tasted every flavor the world has to offer,”

Lv Sheng murmured. “Perhaps Kui Mu Lang is right — this mortal world is just another Heavenly Court. Seen from the ground, the stars crowd thick and press shoulder to shoulder — but they themselves know that between one another lie vast star-seas and abysses, a hundred million li. When he and the披香 Hall attendant stood on the celestial road watching the stars rise and fall — were they truly side by side? So then, Wen — after I die, between you and me there is only the divide of the living and the dead to separate us.”

Zhai Wen wept bitterly without end.

Just then, a rumble of hoofbeats like muffled thunder approached. Lv Sheng lifted the curtain to look out — and it was Kui Twelve, who had been sent to pursue Xuanzang, returning from ahead with his squad.

Lv Sheng’s heart sank. He called out: “Can it be that you have captured Master Xuanzang?”

Zhao Fu hurried forward to inquire. In a moment, Kui Twelve rode up to the side of the carriage. As always, the star generals were none too sharp-witted, and their speech was halting and muddled: “Reporting… honored… lord — Xuanzang was… was not… captured.”

“Then why have you returned?”

Lv Sheng asked.

Kui Twelve said: “This subordinate… has learned that… Xuanzang boarded a boat… at the canal mouth… and took the water route to… the Western Grottoes!”

Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng, fleeing for their lives, had ultimately taken the water route to the Western Grottoes.

At first Li Chunfeng had objected, arguing that the water route would slow their progress. Xuanzang told him: “From Qili Town to the Western Grottoes, if we take the desert road, we must pass through three beacon towers — Baishan Beacon, Pojiangtai Station, and Shanque Beacon — and Shanque Beacon in particular is heavily garrisoned by the Ziting Frontier Forces. Since Wang Junke wants to kill us, who knows how many of these beacon towers have his trusted men — they will have laid their nets and be waiting for us!”

Li Chunfeng thought it over and had to agree. He nodded: “That is true. If we take the water route, those star generals can hardly come chasing us on horseback!”

Because carving caves and constructing images at the Western Grottoes required large quantities of timber, and the local mountains were called Stone Mountains with no vegetation, all timber had to be transported by human labor from Dunhuang or from Shouchang County.

However, the desert terrain made overland transport over great distances difficult, and since the cave shrines were carved into cliff faces above the Gobi, hoisting timber up was extremely awkward. Thus a method arose of shipping timber by barge along the canals, loading it onto boats that then moved upstream along the Duxiang Canal and the Beitu Canal through sluice gates into the Ganquan River, then continuing upstream along the Ganquan River to below the grottoes. Although the boats still required horses and oxen to tow them by rope, the transport difficulty was considerably less than human portage.

The sluice gate of the Duxiang Canal was one of Dunhuang’s five great sluices, not far from Qili Town — only three to five li away. Beside it stood a water management office, where a canal intendant and water-level supervisors were stationed to oversee the sluice and the canal’s irrigation and maintenance.

Neither of them had been here before. They climbed up the embankment and arrived at the sluice gate, and could not help but exclaim in wonder. The Ganquan River swept grandly away to the northwest, and at its very center, a great weir divided the river in two — the greater part continued down the riverway, while a smaller portion was diverted into the Duxiang Canal.

There in the Duxiang Canal, more than a dozen boats were moving upstream against the current, passing through the sluice. On the towpath along the bank, more than a dozen mules were arranged four abreast, hauling the towropes with laborious steps. The Ganquan River’s water was not very deep — ordinary boats carrying passengers and goods fared well enough — but the timber was too heavy; rafts were used instead, round logs stacked on flat boats sitting very deep in the water.

At the sluice gate there was an administrative office; the canal intendant was absent, with only a few water-level petty officers on duty. Xuanzang begged to hitch a ride by boat. The officers had seen plenty of monks coming to the Western Grottoes, and were immediately full of attentiveness — personally leading them to the canal bank, they hailed a vegetable-transport boat and invited the two to board.

Once past the sluice gate, the current in the Ganquan River grew far gentler. The dozen or so mules pulling the towropes moved at what seemed a slow pace, but were in fact quite swift — almost the same pace as walking on level ground. Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng stood at the bow. After traveling more than ten li, they gradually entered a gorge in the stone mountains, where sheer cliffs rose on either side like walls, and atop those cliffs lay the great Gobi Desert and the ancient Dunhuang road. The Ganquan River was in truth a vast ravine carved by meltwater flowing down from the Qilian Mountains, cutting through the desert gravel.

Another ten-some li along the Ganquan River, and they entered the precincts of the Western Grottoes. Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng took in the scene before them and were instantly dumbstruck.

At this hour the river bed of the Ganquan had not yet been silted up by drifting sand; the canyon drop was tremendous — a full thousand chi or more. It was now the last portion of the hour of Shen, and the fierce sun was tilting westward. Sunlight shone at an angle into the gorge but could not reach the valley floor, carving the eastern cliff face into a clear division of light and shadow — the upper half of the cliffs blazing with golden brilliance.

On the cliff faces on both sides, hundreds and thousands of cave shrines of every size had been carved — dense as a honeycomb, they covered the escarpments and stretched four to five li in an unbroken line. Each cave shrine had elaborately carved eaves of painted beams and columns, linked by walkways beneath the eaves, one tier upon another, plastered against the cliff walls. The cave shrines on the south cliff were lit by the sun, resplendent as a sacred realm on a numinous mountain; the north cliff lay in shadow and had already lit its scattered Buddhist lamps, their golden radiance shimmering through the last of the daylight, making one feel as though stepping into the land of the Buddha.

Most striking of all was the moment they entered the cave precincts — the riverway narrowed, the cliffs pressed in on both sides, and from each cliff face a great niche had been carved, each containing one enormous Buddha statue. In the south cliff stood the Lamp-Lighting Buddha; in the north cliff, the Buddha Amitabha. Each was tens of zhang tall, the niche tops nearly reaching the cliff summits, and the lotus pedestals beneath the Buddhas’ feet almost level with the river surface below. Boats and travelers passed beneath the lotus pedestals; from below, a person was no larger than a Buddha’s toenail. Looking up, the Buddha’s face seemed to hover in the depths of the blue sky and white clouds, gazing down upon all living beings in compassion.

The labor required to construct these two Buddha statues was simply staggering. Here was desert terrain — gravel and rock strata pressed very dense, yet not as solid as true stone — so the statues were not carved from the cliff face itself. Instead, niches were first carved out, then the Buddha’s form was modeled in timber, red willow, reeds, and the like bound with clay, then meticulously carved and painted over the armature. Supporting such an enormous body and keeping it from collapsing for centuries required extraordinary craft. In truth, each of these great bodies was not fashioned as a single unit — the entire cliff face was divided into sections, with separate niches carved out for each, and the forms built up within each section. In this way not only was the labor greatly reduced, but the sections of the cliff supported one another, making the whole far more stable, and once the outer layer of painted plaster was applied, the joins became invisible.

The moment he saw these two great Buddhas, Xuanzang’s face was bathed in tears and he collapsed at the bow in loud, wrenching sobs. He did not know why he wept — perhaps overwhelmed by the grandeur and magnificence of what he saw, or perhaps dimly sensing that he had come to the destination his present life had always been seeking.

Beside him, the boatman said with feeling: “Is this your first time at the Western Grottoes, Master? Every monk, without exception, weeps like this upon seeing it for the first time. This place began to have niches carved and statues made since the time of Former Liang — even older than the Mogao Grottoes. The great Buddha on the north cliff was made by Former Liang’s founding ancestor Zhang Gui; the great one on the south cliff was made by Western Liang’s Martial and Brilliant King Li Gao. Each consumed the labor of several generations — fathers died and sons took over, sons died and grandsons carried on. They say the north cliff great Buddha was begun while Zhang Gui was still alive and was not completed until the reign of his great-grandson, Former Liang’s Huan King Zhang Zhonghua. A pity — not long after the great Buddha was completed, Zhang Zhonghua died. More than twenty years after his death, Former Liang was destroyed by the barbarians.”

Li Chunfeng gazed up at the enormous Buddha overhead, his heart stirred beyond measure: “Boatman, it seems there are walkways and corridors spiraling upward on both sides of this great Buddha — is it truly possible to climb all the way to the top of the Buddha’s head?”

“Of course.”

The boatman said. “Though this north cliff great Buddha niche is no longer private property of the Zhang family, the Zhang clan maintains resident monk-guardians within, known as the Cave-Dwelling Zen Masters. Each year at Buddhist festivals, the entire Zhang clan comes to pay its respects. You can see the south cliff great Buddha over there — it is maintained by the Li clan. Not only those two, but a little further on you will see even more magnificent sights. All of Dunhuang’s great gentry clans — the Linghu clan, the Zhai clan, the Yin clan, the Suo clan, the Fan clan, and the Song clan — all have their family grottoes here. Of course, the Zhang and Li clans once held imperial power and built their niches with the resources of an entire realm — the family grottoes of the other clans are not quite so grand, but each has its own splendor.”

Xuanzang quickly asked: “Where is the Linghu family’s grotto?”

“Proceed another two li and I guarantee the Master will feel the journey has been worthwhile!”

The boatman smiled, then called to the shore: “Shitou, drive the mules faster! Take this Master to the Linghu Grotto!”

The mules on the shore immediately quickened their pace; the boat cut through the waves and moved swiftly forward. The Ganquan River bent slightly at the great Buddhas, and as the boat rounded the bend, Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng were stunned once more. Between the towering cliffs of the gorge, a magnificent arch bridge appeared spanning the Ganquan River between the two banks — a full hundred zhang above the water surface, a timber mortise-and-tenon arch structure like a rainbow flung across a chasm. Three Buddha niches were carved through the openwork on each side of the arch bridge, each housing a Buddha image. The bridge was so high and the distance still a little far that the faces of the statues could not be made out clearly. Both ends of the arch bridge were embedded into the cliff faces on either side, and at its south cliff end stood a seven-tiered Buddhist pagoda.

The pagoda was also some hundred zhang in height, yet only a third of it protruded beyond the cliff face — it seemed set into the mountain wall itself. The pagoda was quite tall; one of the purposes of the arch bridge was clearly to provide support for the pagoda.

Even Li Chunfeng — to say nothing of Xuanzang — was so awestruck by the sight that he could not speak for a long while. At last he murmured: “Heavens — this single pagoda and single bridge, not even in Chang’an is there architecture of such magnificence. Dunhuang, a mere frontier prefecture of scarcely ten thousand households — and it has produced such a wonder!”

“Though there are only ten thousand households, the people of Dunhuang have lived here generation after generation, without end — and over hundreds and thousands of years, were each family only to raise one building, together they could pluck the very stars from the sky.”

The boatman smiled.

“And yet how much has been wrung from the people to build all this!”

Li Chunfeng, being a practitioner of the Dao, was somewhat skeptical.

“Sir, you do not understand. To us, the desolation of the great desert is more fearsome than hunger or cold.”

The boatman sighed. “Dunhuang lies in the midst of the great Gobi, with vast wastes spreading in every direction. I once heard someone recite a poem: ‘West past the Great Wall, along the frontier’s edge; among yellow sands and gravel, men till their fields. Han soldiers are serenaded by the hujia’s call — past Dunhuang, not a soul is to be found.'”

Xuanzang’s heart stirred — he remembered that when he first entered Dunhuang, traveling the ancient Gua-Sha road, he had heard the performing storyteller Liu Shilao recite this poem.

“In my prime I once followed a caravan beyond Yangguan and traveled through the far Western Regions — the farthest I reached was Cherchen. We left the Yangguan oasis and entered fifteen hundred li of sandy desert wasteland, without a person to be seen, without a bird in the sky above, without water or grass below. Along the way, one could only follow the bones of men and camels to find one’s path, and no one knew when one might oneself become another set of bones in the sand, pointing the way for those who came after.”

The boatman seemed to sink into memories of those distant years. “That kind of desolation, that kind of loneliness — it is truly beyond imagination. A full year later, having by fortune returned with the caravan and traveled fifteen hundred li of desert once more, I entered Yangguan and saw this Dunhuang oasis again. Do you know what we all felt?”

“Overwhelming joy.”

Li Chunfeng said.

“No — every one of us fell to our knees and wept aloud.”

The boatman said. “We were grateful for this land of Dunhuang, grateful for these grottoes and their images. In those days almost every one of us had left Dunhuang carrying a Buddhist image, for without the solace and protection of the Buddha, almost none of us could have survived alone between sky and earth. Livestock need only be fed and kept warm — human beings are different.”

Li Chunfeng suddenly began to understand. He gazed silently at this miracle above him and said no more.

“Old uncle, please bring the boat to shore immediately!”

Xuanzang suddenly said in a grave tone.

Li Chunfeng looked up following his gaze and was also startled — a raft was coming swiftly downstream at tremendous speed.

The raft had been stripped of its cargo and was extremely light, cutting a fast wake through the water and crashing recklessly through the moored vessels, leaving those aboard scrambling frantically to steer clear. Some boats had no time to turn away and were rammed directly, sending people tumbling into the water. Many voices erupted in curses.

On the raft, unmistakably, stood two star generals and ten wolf soldiers — it was Kui San and Kui Qi, who had been in pursuit all along!

The memory of last night’s terrifying ordeal sent prickles across Li Chunfeng’s scalp. He shouted urgently: “Quickly! To shore!”

The boatman had already spotted the raft upstream and, fearing being rammed, hurriedly directed the sailors to make for the bank. Before they had even reached the bank, Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng leapt off the boat into the water. The water only came up to their thighs; the two of them waded ashore and disappeared into the crowd.

Kui San and Kui Qi stood on the bamboo raft, scanning in every direction. There were not many boats on the water. The two then ordered the raft to shore and led their men to search along the riverbank. Xuanzang and Li Chunfeng hurried up a walkway, reached the third level, and carefully passed over the heads of Kui San and the others.

Looking down from the walkway, the view was excellent. The riverbank here was a little wider and sat on higher ground, with a dense grove of trees, and within the grove stood a Buddhist temple — the Great Cloud Temple. Outside the mountain gate was a spacious plaza of considerable size. Though it was not a festival day, the worshippers who had come to view the Buddhas and make offerings were not few in number. Nearby, the carving of new cave shrines was still under way, with large numbers of craftsmen and laborers living here permanently. The road between the riverbank and the clifftop was only about ten zhang wide; once carts, pack animals, and pedestrians crowded in, it felt quite congested. Only on the plaza did it open up — crowds milled about, there were acrobats and performing storytellers, and foreigners demonstrating feats of magic.

Suddenly Xuanzang gave a start — in that crowd, he spotted someone he recognized. It was none other than the popular storyteller Liu Shilao — and beside him, his female disciple Yanniang!

Beside the mountain gate of the Great Cloud Temple, a three-chi-high wooden stage had been set up, spread with felt rugs. Liu Shilao sat on the stage reciting his story while Yanniang held a pipa, softly plucking and strumming, singing in a low and gentle voice.

The distance was too great for Xuanzang to make out what Liu Shilao was reciting, yet he was surprised to notice that in the crowd, four powerfully built men were silently pressing forward. These men wore broadswords at their waists, their eyes darting about; as they drew close, their hands quietly moved toward their sword hilts!