The 7th year of the Wude reign of the Great Tang. Longquan Temple, Zhengzhou.

That year, Xuanzang was twenty-five years old. He had traveled through Jing and Chu, engaged in debates across Wu and Yue, and then journeyed north along the Grand Canal — opened fifteen years prior — toward Zhaozhou.

On this particular day, Xuanzang stopped in Zhengzhou and spent the night at Longquan Temple. That evening, the prefectural military affairs adjutant and a courier arrived and handed him an official document from the Bureau of Rites and Mysteries of the Court of State Ceremonial, summoning him to the Great Xingshan Temple in Chang’an by the seventh day of the ninth month.

Xuanzang could not help but be puzzled. “How did the Bureau of Rites and Mysteries know that this humble monk would arrive at Longquan Temple tonight?”

The military affairs adjutant smiled ruefully. “This courier is an official from the Postal Division of the Ministry of War. He arrived in Zhengzhou seven days ago to search for the monk Xuanzang. He only knew that the Dharma Master was traveling north along the Grand Canal, but had no idea of your exact whereabouts. After checking the travel permits at various locations, he determined that you had not yet arrived, so the Prefectural Governor’s Office deployed men to stand watch at nearly every temple along both banks of the canal — all simply to await your arrival.”

The courier produced a silver tablet and handed it to Xuanzang. The tablet was an inch and a half wide and five inches long, with a line of clerical script engraved upon it: Imperial Decree — Silver Tablet for Swift Riders. This was a pass for the highest-tier use of the official postal relay system, issued by the Chancellery.

The courier said urgently, “Dharma Master, today is already the fourth day of the ninth month. Zhengzhou is nine hundred li from Chang’an. We must travel ten relay stations per day to arrive in Chang’an within three days. Please rest briefly — we must set out at once!”

Xuanzang was deeply shaken. He was merely a fledgling monk with no connections to the court whatsoever — so why had such an enormous effort been mobilized to find him? This single summons had involved the Chancellery, the Ministry of War, the Court of State Ceremonial, and the local prefectural governor’s office. Most remarkable of all was the order to travel ten relay stations per day — that is, three hundred li per day — which, in the hierarchy of urgency within the Great Tang’s postal system, was second only to the five-hundred-li-per-day imperial pardons and military dispatches bearing feathered arrows.

Utterly bewildered, yet not daring to delay, Xuanzang immediately gathered his things and set off with the courier.

Relay horses had already been prepared in the temple’s rear courtyard. The two men departed in the dead of night, riding hard toward Chang’an.

The postal road from Zhengzhou and Bian westward to Chang’an was the most convenient route. With a relay station every thirty li, the two men changed horses at each one. According to imperial law, ten stations per day was the maximum, and no resting at stations along the way was permitted. Thus, covering three hundred li a day, the two men simply tied themselves to their horses’ backs.

At noon on the seventh day of the ninth month, Xuanzang and the courier arrived at the Changle Relay Station outside Chang’an’s Tonghua Gate, only fifteen li from the city. Xuanzang was covered in dust, his entire body stiff and aching, his skin cracked, and the insides of his thighs rubbed raw and bloody from the saddle. Several relay workers came forward to untie the ropes and lifted Xuanzang down from his horse, carrying him directly to a carriage that had been prepared inside the station.

No sooner had he settled into the carriage than the driver cracked the whip and the wheels began to roll.

Xuanzang lay in the carriage compartment, aching all over. Fortunately, whoever was orchestrating all this had thought ahead and arranged for a physician inside. The physician first fed Xuanzang a bowl of ginseng broth, then tended to his cracked skin and abrasions and massaged his muscles to ease their fatigue. Gradually, Xuanzang’s body began to relax.

Entering Chang’an through the Yanchang Gate, they traveled through four residential wards before arriving at the Great Xingshan Temple in Jingshan Ward. The carriage stopped before the temple’s main gate. The physician helped Xuanzang down from the carriage. Xuanzang gazed up at the magnificent gate before him and felt a sudden daze, as though he had been dreaming the night before — as though he had missed a step off a canal boat and found himself already standing within the great city of Chang’an.

Just then, a group of monks came hurrying out to greet him. Leading them was the abbot of Dajue Temple, the Dharma Master Dao Yue.

Xuanzang quickly pressed his palms together in greeting. Dao Yue grabbed hold of his arm. “Xuanzang — can your body hold up?”

Xuanzang smiled. “I am all right.”

Dao Yue let out a breath of relief. “Good, then. When Zhi Yan in Yangzhou wrote to say you had left Yangzhou on the third day of the eighth month and were traveling along the canal toward Zhaozhou, Advisor Xiao calculated the days and sent men to intercept you in Zhengzhou. To think it still took this long — truly, you have suffered.” He paused. “Come, follow me quickly. Advisor Xiao has been waiting a long time.”

Now Xuanzang understood. No wonder the Court of State Ceremonial had been able to track his movements. Among the officials of the Great Tang, only a chief minister could be addressed as “Advisor.” And of all the chief ministers, only one bore the surname Xiao — the Duke of Song and Secretary of the Secretariat, Xiao Yu. But why would Xiao Yu go so far as to employ the instruments of the state to summon an obscure monk from a thousand li away?

Xuanzang’s expression grew serious. Clearly, something momentous had occurred at court.

The Great Xingshan Temple was the grandest Buddhist temple in Chang’an, occupying an entire ward. As Dao Yue led Xuanzang at a brisk pace through its layered halls, towers, and pavilions, he explained the situation. Even Xuanzang, whose years of meditation practice had rendered him as unshakeable as a mountain, could not help the color draining from his face as he listened.

It turned out that in the sixth month of that year, the Imperial Astronomer Fu Yi had made his move once again.

In the fourth year of Wude, Fu Yi had submitted his Memorial Requesting the Abolition of Buddhism, causing an enormous uproar. But at that time, the court was locked in fierce battles against Wang Shichong and Dou Jiande for control of the Central Plains, and with the realm not yet pacified, the matter had quietly faded away.

This spring, the Great Tang had eliminated the last rebel kings within its borders — Gao Kaidao and Fu Gongzhe — and unified the realm. The focus of government had shifted to domestic governance and the people’s welfare. Fu Yi judged that the moment had come and once again submitted his Memorial Requesting the Removal of Buddhism, petitioning the Emperor to ban the Buddhist faith. Secretary of the Secretariat Xiao Yu countered sharply, and the two engaged in fierce debate. Emperor Li Yuan ordered all officials to weigh in, and Xiao Yu and Fu Yi each rallied their supporters, igniting a sweeping three-way debate between the Confucian, Daoist, and Buddhist schools that engulfed the entire court and capital.

The two sides had been holding their own — until the eighth day of the eighth month, when a young man, invited by Fu Yi, came to the Great Xingshan Temple and opened a debate arena in the Hall of Guanyin. Over ten days and ten nights, he refuted seventeen eminent monks, and his fame shook all of Chang’an. Xiao Yu and his allies were left humiliated, with no one daring to challenge him.

The young man then took up residence in the main hall, declaring that he would challenge the greatest Buddhist debaters in the land and hold the floor for a full month.

Xiao Yu and his allies were at a loss — until Dao Yue received a letter from Zhi Yan. In it, Zhi Yan sang the praises of the young monk Xuanzang, calling him a once-in-a-generation talent of the Buddhist faith whose skill in debate and argumentation was without peer. Xiao Yu and the Senior Counselor Pei Ji were both devout Buddhists; the two chief ministers joined forces, instructing the Court of State Ceremonial to issue a formal summons and the Ministry of War’s Postal Division to dispatch a messenger, calling Xuanzang to the capital.

“Today is already the seventh day of the ninth month,” Xuanzang asked. “What has become of that man?”

Dao Yue smiled wryly. “He is still sitting in the main hall of the Hall of Guanyin.”

“Who exactly is this person? What is his background?”

Dao Yue’s expression turned grave. “He is the top examinee of the Great Tang’s very first imperial examination — and not just one exam, but the top graduate of both the Superior Scholar examination and the Presented Scholar examination: Lv Sheng. He originally studied Confucianism, but later entered the Louguantai school of Daoism. In the fourth year of Wude, Fu Yi recommended him to the Imperial Medical Bureau, where he was appointed as a minor official of the ninth rank, lower grade. In the sixth year of Wude, the imperial examinations were held for the first time, covering six subjects: Superior Scholar, Classics Scholar, Presented Scholar, Legal Scholar, Calligraphy Scholar, and Mathematics Scholar. The Superior Scholar examination was the highest grade, awarding the rank of eighth grade, upper. Lv Sheng passed it and took first place. Then came the Presented Scholar examination, which awarded the ninth rank, upper grade — and what did he do? He abandoned his eighth-rank position and sat for the Presented Scholar examination as well. He took first place again.”

Xuanzang was astonished. “Why… why would he do such a thing?”

Dao Yue continued, “At the time, not only the Ministry of Rites but even His Majesty did not know how to assign him a rank, and personally sent someone to ask him. Can you guess what Lv Sheng said?”

Xuanzang shook his head.

A look of admiration appeared on Dao Yue’s face. “Lv Sheng said: ‘What a pity that the Classics Scholar examination and the Superior Scholar examination were held on the same day.'”

Xuanzang murmured, “This man had intended to sweep all three top places in a single sitting!”

Dao Yue sighed. “Precisely! Over the past year, Lv Sheng’s name has shaken Chang’an. A poet once called him: The peerless scholar of the Great Tang — the foremost man of Wude! And this man is sitting even now in that main hall — he has been there a full month. Xuanzang, you must defeat him!”

The two fell silent and walked the rest of the way into the Hall of Guanyin without another word. In the central courtyard, ancient cypresses soared into the sky. More than thirty people waited on the stone steps: monks in dark robes, court officials of various ranks, and no small number of Daoist priests in yellow caps.

Secretary of the Secretariat Xiao Yu came hurrying over and opened with: “You are Xuanzang? Can you beat him?”

Xuanzang was quiet for a moment. “I dare not speak of victory or defeat.”

Xiao Yu was furious. “Zhi Yan said you are a once-in-a-generation talent of the Buddhist faith, without equal in debate and argument — and now you shrink away in fear? That provincial upstart has been sitting in the main hall for thirty days, and today is the last day. If you lose again, we will have utterly lost the three-schools debate!”

Xuanzang said nothing. He pressed his palms together in a bow, then walked calmly up the bluestone steps toward the Hall of Guanyin.

Xiao Yu stood frozen for a moment, then a look of anticipation spread across his face. The crowd in the courtyard fell completely silent, watching.

Xuanzang pushed open the weather-worn doors of the Hall of Guanyin. In the dim interior, a young man of striking appearance sat kneeling on a meditation cushion, eyes closed in contemplation. Xuanzang said nothing, and seated himself cross-legged on the cushion opposite him.

Lv Sheng opened his eyes and smiled faintly. “You have come?”

“You knew this poor monk was coming?” Xuanzang asked.

Lv Sheng studied him. “It was known ten days ago, when Advisor Xiao sent men to Zhengzhou. To travel nine hundred li in three days, Dharma Master — it is like running headlong into the afflictions that obstruct enlightenment, like rushing to meet the edge of a blade. You must be exhausted. Would you like to rest a moment?”

Xuanzang replied, “This stinking sack of skin is of no consequence — cast it aside and there is nothing to cling to. Within a great furnace of roaring flames, the bright moon and clear breeze remain.”

Lv Sheng’s gaze sharpened. “A fine monk — it was worth waiting ten days for you! Dharma Master, during all these days, I have posed one question to every person who has entered this main hall.”

“Please ask,” Xuanzang said.

“In the fifth year of the Daye reign of the Sui dynasty,” Lv Sheng said, “how many households were there in the realm? How many people?”

Xuanzang hesitated briefly. “It should be nine million households, and forty-six million people.”

Lv Sheng exclaimed with appreciation, “A fine monk indeed!”

He paused, then continued: “To be precise: eight million, nine hundred and seven thousand, five hundred and thirty-six households, and forty-six million, one hundred and nineteen thousand, nine hundred and fifty-six persons.”

Xuanzang remained composed. “A fine memory.”

Lv Sheng said with a cold smile, “I have another question.”

Xuanzang smiled. “Do you ask every person who enters this hall two questions?”

Lv Sheng laughed despite himself. “The Dharma Master’s tongue is truly unhindered! In truth, this is only because no one has been able to answer the first question.”

Xuanzang smiled. “Please ask.”

Lv Sheng asked, “In the sixth year of Wude, how many households were there in the realm? How many people?”

Xuanzang shook his head in silence. “That is a classified matter of the Ministry of Revenue — this poor monk would not dare inquire.”

“No matter,” said Lv Sheng, “that is not my second question. At the beginning of this year, the Ministry of Revenue tallied its accounts: two million, thirty-seven thousand, six hundred and seventy-five households, and nine million, one hundred and thirty-three thousand, eight hundred and fifty-six people. Dharma Master, do you know why?”

Xuanzang drew a sharp breath. “The chaos at the end of the Sui — so many people died in the wars?”

Lv Sheng spoke slowly, one word at a time: “From the collapse of the seventh year of Daye to the sixth year of Wude — twelve years — thirty-six million people perished. Eight out of every ten. Dharma Master, we both walked out of the mountains of corpses and seas of blood at the end of the Sui: rival warlords fighting over the countryside, slaughtering until the fields ran with the dead; rival warlords fighting over the cities, slaughtering until the cities ran with the dead. The common people dug up clay to make cakes, traded their children to eat. Did those people have even the slightest reverence for Heaven’s way, for the Buddha, for moral order? I have waited ten days for you, Dharma Master, for precisely this one question: today, as we debate which of the three teachings — Confucianism, Daoism, or Buddhism — ranks first, does any of it hold the slightest meaning?”

Xuanzang was silent for a long time. “In your view, Examinee Lv, what should we do today that would hold meaning?”

Lv Sheng looked at Xuanzang’s weary and haggard face. “This body of yours must be exhausted, Dharma Master. The ancient temple is peaceful, and the sunlight is fine. Why don’t the two of us sleep soundly?”

Xuanzang considered this. “Let me ask you something first.”

Lv Sheng nodded. “Please ask.”

“Why did you abandon your Superior Scholar rank of eighth grade, upper, to sit for the Presented Scholar examination, which only awards ninth grade, upper?”

Lv Sheng fixed his gaze on him. “I have heard that you once slipped out of Sichuan through a pass without authorization?”

Xuanzang smiled bitterly. “That is true.”

“Unauthorized passage through a border checkpoint,” said Lv Sheng, “carries the penalty of exile under court law. Why did you take that risk?”

Xuanzang said, “Simply to seek the great truth within my heart.”

“And I have heard that your reputation in Jing, Chu, Wu, and Yue is illustrious,” Lv Sheng continued. “Yet why then travel north to Zhaozhou?”

“The Dharma Master Dao Shen of Zhaozhou is deeply versed in the Chengshi Treatise,” Xuanzang replied. “I wished to seek the great truth within my heart.”

Lv Sheng smiled. “I am the same, Dharma Master. There is a certain thing — the Buddhists call it the Buddha, the Daoists call it the Dao, rulers call it the Law, scholars call it Confucianism, and the common people call it a dream. It can make people hold one another in reverence; it can make nations preserve peace with one another; it can let the common people live and work in peace and contentment, so that the world will have no more war, no more famine, no more suffering. This thing cannot be touched and seen, cannot be grasped, cannot be spoken of, cannot be set down in writing. The Great Tang established the imperial examinations — asking nothing of birth or ancestry, breaking through the nine-grade system of the Wei and Jin eras at a single stroke, so that scholars of humble origin might also have a path to advance. Some say the examinations are that thing. I did not believe it, and so I went to test it for myself. It is a pity I could not sweep all six subjects — a deep regret!”

Xuanzang looked at him in silence. Neither of them spoke.

Xuanzang yawned, and tilted sideways to lie down on the meditation cushion. “In that case, let us sleep soundly!”

Lv Sheng burst into laughter and tilted sideways as well.

In the deep stillness of the ancient hall, the afternoon dust motes and slanting light fell across both their faces, inducing a drowsy languor. Xuanzang had been utterly exhausted for days; his thoughts quickly grew hazy.

Just as he was drifting off, Lv Sheng’s voice reached him through the fog: “I hear you are from Luoyang, Dharma Master. Do you still have family there?”

Xuanzang murmured softly, “My parents died young. My elder sister married long ago. My second brother entered monastic life. Only my eldest brother remains at home, farming. And you, Examinee Lv?”

Lv Sheng’s voice was low and heavy. “I am from Bozhou in Shandong. My father was an old soldier — he followed Han Qinhu into battle during the former Sui dynasty, and then followed Xue Shixiong in the campaign against Goguryeo. In the end he was left with a body full of wounds. I had three elder brothers, all of whom enlisted during the Daye years. My eldest brother died in Goguryeo. My second brother died at Yanmen Commandery. My third brother died at Yangzhou.”

Xuanzang sighed softly. “Those who have gone grow ever more distant; those who come grow ever more near. Walking out through the city gate and looking straight ahead, one sees only mounds and graves. Twelve years of chaos — you and I are both people adrift.”

Lv Sheng said, “The Dharma Master speaks truly. My old father fought his whole life, yet came home to find his family broken, three sons dead. When he brought me back to our old home in Bozhou — truly: rabbits crept in through the dog’s hole; pheasants flew across the beams. Looking upon the old homestead from afar — only pine trees by the grave mounds stood in rows. From then on, I grew up reading books among that family home and those grave mounds.”

The afternoon sunlight shone down as the two talked, their voices growing softer and softer, as if coming from far across the sky — the winds and clouds telling a tale, the annals of history whispering in the ear. Xuanzang finally fell asleep.

He did not know how long he slept. The morning bell of the temple reached him, and Xuanzang drifted slowly awake. Lv Sheng was watching him with a warm smile. Xuanzang looked out in bewilderment — it was already the hour of Mao, the first light of dawn, and the windows of the Buddha hall had grown pale with morning. He had slept an entire night.

Lv Sheng said with a smile, “Dharma Master, this sleep of yours has utterly convinced me. I concede this debate — I have lost!”

Xuanzang did not understand. “How so?”

Lv Sheng answered candidly, “I have held the floor for twenty-nine days with nothing to worry about. You are different — you were summoned here by two chief ministers, carrying upon your shoulders the honor and disgrace of the entire Buddhist faith. That you dared to sleep — that in itself means I have lost.”

Xuanzang was silent for a moment. “Was what we spoke of merely a wager in a game?”

Lv Sheng’s expression turned grave. He bowed deeply and solemnly. “It was the wager of our entire lives. Since this thing cannot be touched and seen, cannot be grasped, cannot be spoken of, cannot be set down in writing — then let us devote our whole lives to seeking it!”

Xuanzang smiled and nodded. The two looked at each other, and together they pushed open the doors of the Hall of Guanyin. Before them lay the layered halls and pavilions, the resplendent city of Chang’an — and it seemed as though a surging, vital energy was awakening from the bones of thirty-six million souls.