The fifteenth year of the Zhenguan reign of the Great Tang, the second month of spring. Central Tianzhu, outside Kanyakubja, on the southern bank of the Ganges River.

The first hour of the day, morning. The morning sun rose east over the Ganges, and forests, temples, city walls, and dwellings were all enveloped in the shimmering light of the river’s glow. The distant sound of bells for morning devotions drifted over, carried on the rippling water’s sound — a scene of sunrise mist and bell tones like a Buddhist Pure Land.

At this time, along the southern bank of the Ganges, temporary structures had been erected in an unbroken stretch — dwelling houses, Buddha halls, elevated platforms, military camps — occupying an area of several tens of li in radius, with countless elephant soldiers and cavalry patrolling back and forth on the perimeter, their iron armor ringing, blades and spears glittering; even on the Ganges River, several hundred vessels were sailing to and fro, nearly sealing off the surrounding area entirely. A grand doctrinal debate assembly that all of Tianzhu was watching was about to take place, gathering twenty kings from the five regions of Tianzhu, three thousand monks, more than three thousand Brahmins and followers of other heterodox schools, and tens of thousands of people from various places who had come upon hearing the news.

It was the thirty-sixth year of King Harsha’s reign. Since ascending the throne, Harsha had launched expedition after expedition to the east and west, conquering kingdom after kingdom, the elephants never unyoked, the men never setting down their armor. Aside from the Deccan Plateau, which he had not managed to subjugate, he had brought three out of the five regions of Tianzhu under his sway, with more than fifty kingdoms submitting as vassals, rebuilding the unified dynasty that had crumbled since the Gupta Empire’s collapse. From this point, the entire empire had gone twenty years without the sound of war, entering its most glorious and powerful age.

Harsha had begun preparing for this doctrinal debate half a year in advance, constructing a magnificent temple on the southern bank of the Ganges to serve as the main venue. To the east of the temple, two great thatched halls were built, each capable of accommodating a thousand people; to the west of the temple, a temporary palace was constructed; and directly facing the temple, a hundred-foot-high platform was built to enshrine a golden Buddha statue equal in height to Harsha himself.

At the second hour of the day, a dull horn sounded in the distance, and then the earth shook like muffled thunder. The surrounding trees, buildings, and even the ground undulated like ripples on water — visible to the naked eye.

Looking far into the distance, one could see a column of elephant soldiers coming from the direction of Kanyakubja — a full three hundred elephants. On the backs of the first hundred elephants sat three warriors each; one held a flag, and two blew horns, the mournful sound shaking the heavens and earth. On the backs of the middle hundred elephants were dancing girls, singing and dancing atop the elephants; on the backs of the last hundred elephants were a hundred orchestras, playing music.

After the elephant soldiers came a single great white elephant, on whose back was borne an enormous golden Buddha statue. Harsha, fifty years old, was dressed as Indra, holding a fly-whisk and attending to the right side of the Buddha statue. Kumara Raja, whose power ranked second only to Harsha, was dressed as Brahma, holding a jeweled canopy and walking on the left side. Directly behind came eighteen kings, all uniformly dressed as attendants. According to the Buddhist scriptures, when the Buddha ascended to heaven to expound the Dharma for his mother and then returned to the human world, the two dharma-guardian deities Indra and Brahma received him with precisely this ceremony.

On a great elephant further behind sat Xuanzang, a monk from the Great Tang Empire. Behind Xuanzang followed three hundred more elephants, carrying the high monks, ministers, and leading figures of the various heterodox schools from the participating nations. When the procession reached the assembly grounds, the Buddha statue was first brought down and borne on Harsha’s back as he climbed the hundred-foot platform and reverently set it in place.

Harsha stood at the edge of the platform and called out in a loud voice: “We have heard that once the sun has risen, the light of fireflies and candles grows dim; once heaven’s thunder rolls, the sound of axes and chisels is heard no more. Today the Great Tang Master Xuanzang has composed the Treatise on Overcoming Erroneous Views, which shatters all the discordant voices under heaven. We feel as though, in the boundless darkness of night, we have found a luminous tower, one that opens all five of our aggregates and brings us sudden, clear understanding. Yet the principles of this world are ten thousand in number, and disputes of interpretation are many and varied — and so We have specially assembled the talented and virtuous men of the realm to debate the Dharma with the Master. We request that Master Xuanzang set forth his thesis.”

Xuanzang walked up to the platform and stood at Harsha’s side. It had already been twelve years since Xuanzang journeyed west to Tianzhu, and he was now forty-two years old. The stubble of his hair showed faint streaks of white; his complexion was slightly dark, and his gaze was deep and calm. His dress was entirely in the Tianzhu style — he wore the patchwork three-part robe, and the upper seven-strip robe, following Tianzhu custom, was passed under the armpit and draped horizontally over the left shoulder, baring the right shoulder, open on the left and closed on the right, its length reaching the waist.

Since entering Tianzhu, Xuanzang had first spent five years studying at Nalanda Monastery, then traveled throughout the five regions of Tianzhu, journeying through more than a hundred nations and cities, traversing snowy mountains, rainforests, deserts, marshlands, and plateaus, taking in countless living beings with his eyes, imprinting countless appearances upon his mind. Along the road he had engaged in doctrinal questioning and debate, refuting heterodox schools without ever suffering defeat; he had already become one of the ten Great Masters of Nalanda Monastery, receiving Nalanda’s highest level of support, with Brahmin attendants in his dwelling and elephant palanquins when traveling, moving among the nations in a manner befitting a king or prince.

This doctrinal debate had originated in a challenge. Over the years, Nalanda Monastery — as the sacred site of Mahayana Buddhism — had been suppressed to the point of being unable to raise its head by a high monk of Hinayana Buddhism named Prajnagupta. Prajnagupta was the preceptor of three successive generations of emperors in a great southern kingdom, and he had composed a carefully crafted work that refuted all of the Mahayana teachings; for several years Nalanda Monastery had been unable to find a method of rebuttal. After Xuanzang studied it, he composed the Treatise on Overcoming Erroneous Views, which refuted Prajnagupta until he had not a leg to stand on. Upon reading it, Harsha expressed great admiration and immediately arranged for the two men to debate — but Prajnagupta offered excuses and declined to appear. Harsha himself believed in Brahmanism; he had a red mole on his earlobe, and later someone said it was a Buddha-mole, which sparked Harsha’s interest. In his later years he had gradually leaned toward Mahayana Buddhism. Upon witnessing Xuanzang’s learning and talent, his confidence grew greatly, and he wished to have Xuanzang challenge the foremost debaters of all Tianzhu — hence this Dharma assembly.

Xuanzang ascended the platform, paid his respects to Harsha, and then announced his thesis:

Proposition: That which is ultimately established as form in the absolute sense is not separate from eye-consciousness; Reason: Because it is self-admittedly included in the first three, yet not encompassed by the eye; Analogy: Like eye-consciousness itself.

Proposition, grounds, analogy. This was a syllogism based on hetuvidya logic. Once the thesis was proclaimed, there was some commotion among the crowd below, everyone putting their heads together in low-voiced discussion of this logical argument.

After announcing the thesis, following the conventions of doctrinal debate, Xuanzang had to set the stakes. Xuanzang looked at the crowd with a placid gaze, raised his right hand like a blade and drew it across his own neck: “If there is anyone who can refute even one word of this, I offer my head as forfeit.”

The crowd instantly erupted in an uproar — this was staking one’s life. In Tianzhu, doctrinal debates sometimes involved staking one’s life, but since both sides in a debate were typically great masters of their respective schools, it was rare that anyone actually demanded the other’s life — though if someone truly demanded it, one could not refuse at all. Especially at a large-scale assembly of this magnitude, which had shaken all five regions of Tianzhu, the stakes, once set, had to be honored — otherwise one’s reputation would be utterly destroyed. From this one could see Xuanzang’s confidence.

The assembled participants all drew sharp breaths, studying this logical thesis even more carefully — yet the more carefully they studied it, the more astonished they became. The entire structure of the thesis was rigorous, the argumentation meticulous, with no theoretical opening whatsoever.

A full day passed, with the crowd still studying and discussing, yet not a single person came forward with a challenge. Harsha was greatly pleased — but on the second day, the debaters again remained silent, and silence continued for five full days. The atmosphere gradually grew strange, as though a dark undercurrent were stirring beneath the surface. Xuanzang perceived it keenly. After much deliberation, he decided to bring this doctrinal debate to a close, and so requested leave of Harsha: “Your Majesty, this humble monk believes that this assembly has already manifested the unshakeable ultimate truth of the Great Vehicle, and may now be concluded.”

Harsha smiled: “There is no need to be hasty, Master. We have invited you to watch a fine performance.”

Xuanzang did not understand — and then he realized that what Harsha had invited him to watch was truly a theatrical performance. A stage had been erected outside the Buddha hall, and Harsha invited the assembled debaters and the kings and ministers of the various nations to sit inside the Buddha hall and watch the play, which was a drama Harsha himself had authored — The Joy of the Dragon.

This play was adapted by Harsha from a Buddhist story. It mainly told of how Prince Yunsheng of the Kingdom of Chiming happened to encounter Princess Molayebodi of the Kingdom of Siduo in the mountains, and the two fell in love with each other, yet neither knew the other’s identity, nor knew that the other loved them. On one occasion the Princess happened to catch sight of Prince Yunsheng and overheard him describing the woman he loved — and her heart was consumed with sorrow. At this point, the Princess’s brother intended to marry her to Prince Yunsheng. The Prince, not knowing she was the very woman he was pining for, straightforwardly declined. The Princess, believing the Prince had another love, despaired and wished to take her own life — but Prince Yunsheng rescued her. Only then did the two of them understand the truth, and they were joyfully joined in wedlock.

One day after their marriage, Prince Yunsheng was strolling along the seashore and observed that the Garuda bird ate a dragon every day, and the bones of dragons had piled up into a mountain. The Prince was moved to pity and grief. At this moment, the Dragon Palace’s Crown Prince Spiralknot came of his own accord to serve as the Garuda’s sacrifice. Prince Yunsheng witnessed the heartbreaking scene of Spiralknot parting from his mother, and so he put on red ceremonial robes matching Spiralknot’s and lay down on the sacrificial rock, intending to die in the dragon’s place.

When the Garuda came flying down and seized Prince Yunsheng in its beak, it flew to the mountaintop. But the Prince’s jeweled crown fell into the garden of Princess Molayebodi. The Princess learned the truth and chased after him all the way to the mountaintop — but only Prince Yunsheng’s blood and white bones remained. Everyone was moved to grief and sorrow. At this moment, the goddess Kali descended from the heavens holding a ritual vessel and used amrita to restore Prince Yunsheng to life. Countless dragons who had died before were simultaneously restored to life. The Garuda swore never again to take life, and the dragons rejoiced beyond measure.

On the stage, the leader of the theatrical troupe first sang a benediction: “Today is a great and festive occasion. The vassal lords under the lotus feet of Emperor Priya, the kings of the eight wildernesses and ten thousand nations who come to court, have all gathered in one place and graciously invited me here, saying: ‘We have heard that Emperor Priya took up the imperial brush himself and wrote a drama entitled The Joy of the Dragon, whose story is drawn from the Jataka tales of Vidyadhara. Out of reverence for Emperor Priya, we humbly ask you to perform it.’ And so, I have come to fulfill everyone’s wishes. Prepare to take your places!”

Prince Yunsheng, wearing a golden mask, and his jester Adili, wearing a wooden mask, took the stage.

Prince Yunsheng: I understand that youth is the source of desire’s arising, and I am not unaware that it is nothing but a passing cloud. All men understand that it hinders the discernment of good and ill affinities — yet alas, they cannot suppress the entanglements of this stinking bag of skin. I do enjoy it nonetheless — for in youth I served both my parents with piety, at peace and content.

Adili: Hey, friend! Haven’t you suffered enough? Living in the forest, keeping company with two people practically at death’s door — how tiresome! Find something fun to do — stop being so single-mindedly devoted to your old father and mother. Enjoy the blessings of being an emperor, truly having your every wish fulfilled, doing just as you please!

As the two bantered back and forth, Princess Molayebodi, wearing a silver mask, and her clever maidservant Lingli, wearing a mask of grass-leaves, took the stage.

The Princess sang to the accompaniment of a konghou harp: Ah, divine Kali, your golden countenance is as brilliant as the bloom of an open lotus flower. I only beseech your great compassion to grant my wish…

The Joy of the Dragon had five acts in total — the full performance would take several hours. When approximately two acts had been performed and the Princess was hanging herself from a sorrowless tree — just as the audience’s emotions were at their most tense — Harsha suddenly sighed to Xuanzang: “Master, do you know why I enjoy watching plays?”

Xuanzang shook his head.

Harsha said: “I composed this play ten years ago, and this troupe, these actors — from beginning to present — has performed only this one play. They have performed it for ten years. Look at these actors: the Prince is handsome and benevolent, full of dignity — is there any prince in this world who looks more like a prince? Look at the Princess, beautiful and perceptive — is there any princess who looks more like a princess? Why? Because over ten years of playing these roles, the characters have penetrated to the very depths of their hearts and bones. They have already fused with their roles and can no longer distinguish between themselves and their characters. And so I often use this to reflect upon the question: between what is true and what is false in human life, what is the difference? Is my throne and empire also a play? Are the subjects and armies below the stage also roles in that play?”

Xuanzang considered for a moment, then shook his head: “Your Majesty, this humble monk never sets the true against the false.”

“Oh?” Harsha asked. “What should the true be set against?”

“The illusory,” Xuanzang said. “What Buddhism speaks of as the true is what is non-inverted, non-erroneous, unshakeable, and eternally valid. Yet this eternal quality is also within constant arising and ceasing — all phenomena are like bubbles and shadows. This is the illusory. The true and the illusory are a difference in levels of life. Your Majesty, look at that nest of ants beneath the sala tree.”

Harsha looked — beside the stage, beneath the sala tree, there was indeed a nest of ants.

“The queen ant sits upon the throne of her kingdom, watching the ant-citizens of her realm toil and labor to feed her, and she naturally considers this to be real and not illusory.” Xuanzang smiled. “If one day she were reborn into a human body and stood beneath that tree looking down at this ant colony, looking at the queen ant on her throne — if that person were to recall her former life, would it be truth or illusion?”

Harsha fell into contemplative thought.

“Your Majesty, the difference in levels of life means that what is seen as true becomes illusory, and what is seen as illusory again becomes true,” Xuanzang said. “That you are able to entertain such thoughts means you have already touched the edge of the Great Way.”

Harsha, both delighted and astonished, said: “Master, truly you have refreshed my mind like ghee poured over the head! Then Master, if I are reborn, can I be born in Tushita Heaven?”

Just as Xuanzang was about to answer, a wave of smoke suddenly drifted over. The two of them turned around in surprise to find thick smoke pouring from within the Buddha hall. At first both men assumed incense was being burned inside the hall, but in the time it took them to startle and look, open flames riding the wind came roaring out, engulfing half the Buddha hall in smoke and fire!

The crowd was thrown into alarm. Thousands upon thousands of people were gathered around the Buddha hall; some cried out to fight the fire, some fled in all directions, and the entire crowd pressed together in a seething mass, shoving and trampling each other. Fortunately the open space around the Buddha hall was broad, with nothing blocking the way, and the crowd dispersed relatively quickly.

Harsha’s guards and soldiers rushed to fight the fire; even Harsha himself personally carried a bucket of water to help extinguish it. Xuanzang charged into the Buddha hall and carried out a Buddha statue, but Harsha ordered the guards to drag him out and place him under close protection.

Xuanzang said: “Your Majesty, the Buddha hall is burning — this humble monk ought to lend his strength.”

Harsha’s face was set like iron as he surveyed the surroundings and said: “Master, what has caught fire now is not merely a great blaze, but the greed of living beings. This matter is not so simple. Protect the Master well — anyone who approaches is to be cut down without mercy!”

Xuanzang was greatly shocked. He followed the guards to the foot of that sala tree, and the guards formed a circle around him, drawing their blades in readiness. Xuanzang looked up and knew that the fire in the Buddha hall was already beyond control. Harsha also clearly understood as much, and after futile efforts he withdrew to one side under his guards’ protection. His entire face bore the marks of scorching smoke and flame, and he watched with a darkened expression. At this moment, Harsha’s cousin, the Prime Minister Bani, quietly drew close and whispered something in his ear. Harsha considered briefly and shook his head. Xuanzang faintly heard Harsha say in a low voice: “Since they wish to play, let us play something grand!”

Bani fell silent. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder and watched until the entire Buddha hall was devoured by the raging fire. Harsha then turned back and addressed the crowd: “We have one question — this Buddha hall, for six months, workers and craftsmen labored day and night. It is also Us — it is our empire, it is the place where the empire’s subjects poured out their heart’s blood. Some people have actually burned it to ashes with a single fire. What exactly are they trying to do?”

Harsha’s expression and voice were severe, and the crowd bowed their heads one by one.

An old man murmured: “Perhaps it may have been a natural disaster.”

“A natural disaster?” Harsha gave a cold laugh. “We believe it to be a man-made calamity! Do you not believe it?”

The old man dared say nothing more. Harsha turned and left.

The following day, Harsha moved the doctrinal debate to his temporary palace and invited Xuanzang to begin lecturing on the scriptures. Although still no one challenged, the various Great Masters lecturing and discussing the Dharma found it most enjoyable among themselves. For a full eighteen days, Xuanzang’s thesis was posted at the entrance of the assembly grounds, and not a single person issued a challenge. Harsha invited Xuanzang to ascend the platform and publicly declared that Xuanzang had won this doctrinal debate assembly. According to the rules, an honorific title was to be fixed and conferred upon the winner. Nalanda Monastery fixed the honorific title: Great Vehicle Heaven!

The assembly grounds instantly erupted in music and drums, and tens of thousands of people offered their congratulations together. Dozens of young women with flower baskets circled the platform scattering flowers; Harsha personally led Xuanzang down from the platform, and countless people surged forward cheering. But at just this moment, an extraordinary change erupted — a white shadow suddenly shot out from within the crowd, and the short blade in its hand became a streak of light, flying toward Harsha who walked in front!

Harsha had spent many years in military campaigns; though past fifty, his martial prowess was no less than in his prime. With a great shout, his body abruptly leaned backward, and by a hair’s breadth he avoided the short blade and toppled backward down the stone steps. Xuanzang, right behind him, quickly helped him up and dragged him running back up the steps.

The short blade struck the wall and rebounded, rolling down along the stone steps. The assassin performed a somersault onto the steps, retrieved the short blade, and came chasing up the steps to kill. At this point, the surrounding crowd finally came to their senses; the Prime Minister Bani roared: “Quickly! Protect His Majesty!”

But the guards and soldiers were all on the outer edge of the crowd, and with the crowd in chaos, it was even harder for them to press through. The assassin was clearly experienced, having calculated all of this in advance — even the fact that Harsha would have no escape route and could only run up the steps was part of his reckoning. He raised the short blade and ascended the steps in pursuit. Harsha hurled the flowers arranged along the steps’ parapets at the assassin all at once. The assassin showed a mocking smile, waved his blade to deflect them, and then his legs gave a fierce thrust, leaping atop the parapet wall; from there he launched himself into the air, the short blade in his hand chopping down toward Harsha.

Harsha was empty-handed and in a panic when Xuanzang, having already reached the top of the platform, pulled out a bronze candle-stick shaft over three feet long and as thick as a thumb, and tossed it to Harsha: “Your Majesty, catch!”

Harsha scrambled up a few more steps, caught the bronze shaft, and stabbed it outward. The assassin was in mid-air with nowhere to borrow force from; his short blade deflected, but still a step too late — with a thud, the shaft pierced his shoulder. The assassin erupted in fury, wielding the short blade and twisting his body, hacking forward like a spinning wheel. Harsha wielded the bronze shaft like a long sword — parrying, thrusting, the two of them fighting fiercely.

In the midst of the intense fighting, with a clang the bronze shaft was hacked apart. The assassin was overjoyed — but then Xuanzang pulled out another bronze shaft and tossed it over: “Your Majesty, catch!”

Harsha caught it, and after only a few exchanges, the bronze shaft was again hacked apart. At this point Xuanzang called out again: “Your Majesty, catch!”

Xuanzang threw something else over. Harsha assumed it was another bronze shaft and reached out to catch it — nearly breaking his wrist. He hastily braced it with both hands and shoved it forward. The assassin also assumed it was a bronze shaft and slashed out with his blade — but with a tremendous clang the sound hit like cold water over his head. Before the assassin had worked out what was happening, a massive shadow appeared before his eyes, and with a thud it smashed into his forehead. The assassin flipped over and fell, losing consciousness.

The object had been clanging and clattering as it rolled down the steps — it turned out to be a bronze basin used for the ceremonial bathing of the Buddha. The thing weighed well over twenty catties; no one could figure out how Xuanzang had managed to carry it over. Harsha, his shock just subsiding, took the short blade from the assassin’s hand and said with a rueful smile: “Master, for the first time We feel that weapons are not as useful as Buddhist implements.”

Xuanzang could not help but give a wry laugh as well. At this point, Bani led the guards and pressed through the crowd. Harsha instructed: “Take him to the assembly grounds, wake him. We will interrogate him personally.”

At the assembly grounds, before the burned-out Buddha hall, the assassin was trussed up and kneeling in the open space, a great lump rising on his forehead, looking extraordinarily fearsome. The royal palace guards went on full alert all around — bows strung and blades drawn — isolating the assassin from the crowd.

After Harsha bathed and changed his clothes again, he brought Xuanzang and the kings, chief ministers, and distinguished figures of the various nations to the assembly grounds and ascended the throne. The others also took their seats. Harsha looked at the assassin with a dark expression: “Why did you attempt to assassinate Us?”

The assassin bowed his head and said nothing.

Harsha said: “Is it that Our conduct has been lacking, or that you bear a private grievance against Us? Say it plainly. Today, before all the kings and Great Masters, so long as there is anything in which We have wronged you, We guarantee you justice!”

The assassin was somewhat moved and said in a low voice: “Your Majesty treats the people equally and without discrimination, and the empire up and down has received your grace — you have not wronged me.”

“Then why did you attempt to assassinate Us?” Harsha said.

The assassin was silent for a moment: “It is because this humble one was foolish and arrogant, and listened to the bewitchment of the heterodox schools. I took their money and goods, and came to assassinate Your Majesty.”

The onlookers immediately erupted in an uproar. Everyone knew that a storm was now unavoidable. An assassination attempt on the most powerful ruler in Tianzhu was bound to cause rivers of blood to flow.

Harsha continued: “Why would the heterodox schools want to assassinate Us?”

The assassin said: “Because Your Majesty assembled the kings, ministers, and high monks and Great Masters of the various nations, depleted the national treasury to support monks, and had Buddha statues cast. The heterodox schools are full of grievances and all believe that you have completely abandoned them. Recently the Persians have been raiding the Land of Five Rivers, and the border is unstable. The heterodox schools believed the moment had arrived — they first set fire to the Buddha hall, making the common people believe that you were no longer under the protection of the gods, then sent me to assassinate you…”

The entire crowd was thunderstruck with shock. The matter was more serious than anyone had anticipated — if this were truly the case, it would mean a massive purge throughout the entire Harsha Empire. For this matter was no longer simply a struggle for power, but involved foreign peoples and war. Tianzhu had since ancient times repeatedly suffered invasion by foreign peoples. Two thousand years ago, the Aryans invaded as far as the Ganges basin and completely fused into it, establishing the caste system; even Harsha and the other kings were actually descendants of the Aryans. Fifteen hundred years ago, the Persians and then the Macedonians successively invaded. After the Kushan Empire rose, it also crossed the Land of Five Rivers and occupied the Ganges basin. Just over a hundred years ago, after the Hephthalites established their empire, they too invaded Tianzhu, crossing the Indus River and occupying the Punjab. Harsha’s own father, King Prabhakara, had once fought against the Hephthalites. Tianzhu people were therefore extremely sensitive to foreign invasion. Since this matter now involved the Persians, Harsha undoubtedly occupied the high moral ground — however great a storm he wished to stir up was entirely up to his own will.

While the hearts of those present were filled with trepidation, Harsha asked: “Then who are these heterodox people? Name them, and We will pardon you.”

Everyone’s hearts instantly leapt into their mouths. All knew that the moment the assassin pointed to anyone at random, no one could say how many would lose their heads or see their nations destroyed. Even among the nineteen kings present, no one could know how many would be able to return alive.

The assassin was just about to speak when Kumara Raja suddenly stood up: “Your Majesty, this king has a few words — I do not know whether I should speak them or not.”

Harsha looked at him with a faint smile: “You are my most loyal comrade-in-arms — naturally there is nothing you cannot say.”

In truth, Kumara Raja was most unwilling to oppose Harsha on such an occasion. Kumara Raja had been Harsha’s ally from the beginning. Thirty years ago, it was with Kumara Raja’s help that the young Harsha had defeated his long-standing enemy King Sasanka and laid the foundation for unifying Tianzhu. Harsha’s reward in return was to make Kumara Raja the most powerful king in all of Tianzhu after himself. The alliance between the two men was the very cornerstone of the Harsha Empire’s stability. But if he did not step forward now, once Harsha’s fury erupted and the sword swung, the situation would be difficult to contain.

Kumara Raja bowed deeply: “Your Majesty suffered an assassination attempt — the people of the five regions of Tianzhu are all indignant and hope the masterminds will be brought to justice. But this matter involves too many parties. Would it not be better to ask Your Majesty and the eighteen kings to retire to the inner hall, so that we may deliberate together before making a decision?”

The eighteen kings and the assembled ministers all voiced their agreement in unison: “Indeed, indeed — Kumara Raja speaks with great wisdom. Please retire to the inner hall, Your Majesty.”

“Very well — bring this assassin along as well.” Harsha gave a cold smile, rose, and walked straight out. The various kings rustled along behind him. The guards escorted the assassin and followed at the rear.

No one left the surrounding area of the assembly grounds. Everyone was filled with anxiety, as though a storm of thunder were poised above their heads. Xuanzang and the various Great Masters also did not leave; everyone sat in silence, waiting for these kings to reach a verdict.

After more than two hours, when the mood of the crowd had been suppressed to its utmost, Harsha, Kumara Raja, and the assembled kings returned. Each and every face was unpleasant to look at — only Harsha was radiant and high-spirited, walking straight to the throne and sitting down. Prime Minister Bani cradled a roll of palm-leaf text and stood at his side.

The guards pushed the assassin before Harsha and forced him to kneel.

Harsha said: “We govern the nation with benevolence and virtue, and in all state affairs never place personal grudges above all else. Today this assassin was bewitched by others, took their money and goods, and attempted to assassinate Us. By rights, he should be severely punished without leniency. But since We said We would pardon him, We cannot go back on Our word. Let him go!”

The guards came forward and cut his bonds. The assassin knocked his head to the ground in repeated kowtows, expressing a thousand thanks and ten thousand gratitudes, then dove into the crowd and disappeared without a trace.

“But —” Harsha ground his teeth in fury: “A foolish brute, We can pardon. But the ringleaders who conspired behind the scenes to bring chaos to the nation and usher Persian invaders into Tianzhu — those We cannot pardon! Just now, We and the various kings interrogated the assassin together, and the assassin confessed a list of names. We will track them down one by one and dig out the seditious conspirators.”

Harsha waved his hand. Bani unrolled the palm-leaf text and began reading out names. Each time a name was called, a guard stepped forward, pulled that person from the crowd, and pressed them to the ground on their knees. In an instant, more than a hundred people were kneeling in the center of the assembly grounds — each and every one of them a figure of power and renown that had once commanded attention throughout their respective kingdoms of the Harsha Empire!

The onlookers all changed expression one by one. The syllables issuing from Bani’s lips were like a death summons, seemingly endless no matter how long they continued. Those present were immediately arrested; for those not present, the moment their name was spoken, surrounding cavalry riders immediately galloped off in all directions, bearing the royal order to arrest them in their respective kingdoms. On this palm-leaf text of Bani’s were recorded a full five hundred names! At the assembly grounds, over two hundred people were directly seized and shackled — even beside Xuanzang, some of the heterodox Great Masters were arrested.

These two hundred and more persons were ashen-faced. One by one they called out their grievances in sorrow, until the sounds of crying and pleading rose into a continuous clamor. The guards went over with leather whips and beat them soundly at random, and only then did these people fall silent, not daring to speak further. The assembled kings and Kumara Raja all understood that this was a deal they had struck with Harsha, and could only swallow the bitterness, but on their faces they all displayed expressions of righteous indignation, vehemently demanding that Harsha punish these people with the utmost severity — execute them all, and reduce their family members to the lowest caste.

Harsha’s face showed great reluctance: “Though We suffered an assassination attempt, the greater pain is in Our heart! You are all persons of high virtue and dignity — the empire has treated you generously. The five regions of Tianzhu are even more the land where you were born and raised. That you would attempt to assassinate Us — We can accept that. But why would you collude with the Persians and usher foreign peoples to invade our homeland and soil?”

The prisoners all cried out their innocence. Harsha wore an expression of sorrow for all living beings, shaking his head and sighing: “In recent years We have earnestly believed in the Dharma, and Buddhist compassion is also unwilling to create excessive killing. You are all people of standing. To strip you of your caste and reduce your family members to the lowest caste — We find it hard to bear as well in Our heart. Bani — the first five names on the list are to be executed on the spot. The rest, together with their family members, are to be expelled from the territory. Leave this land, and We hope you will think clearly about what a nation is and what a homeland is!”

The prisoners began crying their innocence again, and one by one they pleaded with their respective kings. The kings all turned their faces away and pretended not to see. How this list would be handled had been negotiated and settled by all parties earlier — what was there to go back on now?

Bani roared: “Any further cries of innocence, and they will be thrown into the water prison, slowly interrogated until their every accomplice is thoroughly unearthed!”

The prisoners were momentarily startled, then looked at one another in silence. Some among them truly felt extreme injustice in their hearts, yet also understood that their own kings had abandoned them. Once they were separately dragged into the water prison for interrogation, the outcome would likely be even more terrible. Upon grasping this point, they each became ashen-faced and slumped on the ground — not a single one dared cry out their innocence again. They were immediately escorted away by the guards, expelled from the territory together with their families. The remaining five were taken outside the assembly grounds and executed on the spot.

The eighteen-day doctrinal debate assembly came to its close amid this conspiracy and bloodshed.

That evening, Xuanzang lodged at Harsha’s temporary palace. The palace grounds were quite extensive, and Xuanzang had a courtyard to himself. Though it was a temporary palace, it was built with great magnificence. The walls of the houses were woven of bamboo and wood, coated with lime and carved with exquisite Buddhist murals; the doors and windows were all painted with colorful designs of various patterns. The roof was laid with thatch, then covered with bricks and wooden planks. As for the floor, it was carefully smeared smooth with cow dung, then strewn all over with fresh flowers. Tianzhu people believed this was the most hygienic way.

Pushing open the door woven of grass and leaves, one stepped out to the blue-gray Ganges. The bright moon illuminated brilliantly and the Ganges flowed on; waves of light and moonlight fell on Xuanzang’s face, cold to the touch. Xuanzang sat in meditation beneath the moonlight on the Ganges, his thoughts churning.

At the first hour of the night, the sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the courtyard, with the occasional clang of metal striking metal. Xuanzang opened his eyes from deep meditation and heard Harsha giving low instructions: “All of you remain here — We will go see the Master alone.”

Xuanzang rose quickly and pushed open the courtyard gate. Harsha had just arrived at the gate with a group of guards.

Harsha smiled: “We thought We might be disturbing the Master’s peaceful slumber, yet the Master is not resting at all.”

Xuanzang also smiled: “The moonlight on the Ganges, when read carefully, is like a scroll of scripture. How could one bear to sleep?”

Harsha laughed heartily, walked into the room with Xuanzang, and sat down on a rope bed. Xuanzang poured him a cup of sugarcane juice. Harsha was somewhat unsettled in spirit; he held the tin cup and hesitated, as though about to speak but stopping himself.

“Has Your Majesty come to speak of today’s matter?” Xuanzang simply brought it into the open.

Harsha was startled: “The Master could guess?”

“Your Majesty said: since they wish to play, let us play something grand.” Xuanzang nodded quietly. “This humble monk was also just thinking — if Your Majesty did not come to explain, I might perhaps bury this matter in my heart forever.”

“So you heard it.” Harsha sighed helplessly. “Indeed. The Master’s heavenly eye and penetrating perception can discern the finest details of the ten directions of the world — how could you not see through this small stratagem of Ours? Moreover, when the assassin attacked, the Master was at Our side. We had never intended to conceal it from you; only today the matters were many, and only now do We have a moment’s respite. We ask for the Master’s understanding.”

“I dare not presume,” Xuanzang quickly said. “This is a matter of state — this humble monk, a mere monastic, ought not to know of it in the first place. How could I dare trouble Your Majesty to come personally to explain?”

Harsha smiled ruefully: “Very well. Since We are here, let Us explain the circumstances of the matter. The Master also knows that at the end of last year’s tenth month, Yazdegerd III, the Emperor of Sasanian Persia, led several hundred thousand Persians in flight to Gandhara. He was driven away by the Arabs, and his greatest dream is to cross east through the Land of Five Rivers and seek refuge in Tianzhu.”

Xuanzang nodded: “The Persians entering Tianzhu — for the Persians it is an escape from disaster, but for Tianzhu it is a disaster itself.”

“Who would say otherwise!” Harsha sighed. “Several hundred thousand Persians are scattered throughout Gandhara, peering east at Tianzhu from across the Indus River. Though Yazdegerd III dares not openly force a river crossing and attack, with such a large mass of foreigners encamped on the border, the Land of Five Rivers region is already unsettled. Last winter, We led an imperial campaign in person and consecutively suppressed two rebellions — the Persians were behind all of it, inciting trouble.”

“That point this humble monk naturally understands. But this humble monk does not understand —” Xuanzang hesitated for a moment, choosing his words with some care: “Why today did Your Majesty put on that performance and have those people killed?”

Harsha’s expression grew grave and he continued: “We mention the Persians, and today’s matter is naturally connected to the Persians. Though those two rebellions have been pacified, ambition is difficult to fully satisfy. Our empire has been at peace for twenty years now, and the ambitions of the various kings have also been suppressed for twenty years. The kings who competed with Us to dominate Tianzhu in those early years have all grown old. For them, the choice is either to submit until they die of old age, or to settle an old regret before dying. And some kings are naturally unwilling to simply submit until death.”

Xuanzang understood at once: “The Persian disturbances on the border, combined with political instability, ignited the desires in certain kings’ hearts. And so, using this doctrinal debate assembly as cover, they first burned the Buddha hall — on one hand, creating the illusion that Your Majesty had fallen into internal troubles and external threats; on the other hand, hinting to the common people that because the temple had been burned, it signified that you were no longer under Brahma’s protection.”

Harsha looked at the monk with appreciation: “The Master speaks well — continue.”

“At the time, Your Majesty had already guessed these people’s intentions, yet could not pursue and identify the arsonists,” Xuanzang said, choosing each word with great care. “For if you wished to establish your authority, you had to use swift and decisive measures to identify the arsonists and give an accounting to the common people. Yet the inside workings of this matter were complex, the arsonists had acted with great care and deliberation, and they could not be identified in a short time. This was exactly what the arsonists were counting on. You could not be led around by them — and so you chose to ‘play something grand,’ arranging the dangerous scene of an assassination attempt against yourself.”

“Wonderful, wonderful! Not only laying bare the event thread by thread, but even reading Our thoughts without a hair’s difference!” Harsha was not in the least angered at being seen through, but was rather excited: “Please, Master, continue.”

Since matters had already reached this point, Xuanzang could only reason through it step by step, for he sensed that Harsha seemed to have another purpose in mind — as though he were testing him. Xuanzang said: “In the eyes of the common people, the assassin’s attempt on your life would naturally be seen as the arsonists, having failed in one scheme, trying yet another, determined to kill you before they were satisfied. Once you had displayed your divine prowess, personally capturing the assassin…”

Harsha’s old face reddened: “Well arranged as it was, We had truly not anticipated that We have genuinely aged, and our physical condition is much weaker than before. Fortunately the Master’s assistance allowed this performance to be played out with a degree of convincingness.”

Xuanzang smiled: “At the time, although this humble monk saw through it, he did not know what Your Majesty’s purpose was. Since you wished to perform, this humble monk naturally had an unavoidable responsibility to play one of the roles.”

Harsha laughed freely and heartily.

Xuanzang continued: “With the assassin’s confession, not only were the arson and the assassination linked together, but the arsonists were also nailed to the pillar of shame for colluding with the Persians and selling out all of Tianzhu — stirring everyone’s indignation. In this way, you occupied the moral high ground: you were set on fire because you were resisting foreign aggression, you were nearly assassinated because of it. You could direct the assassin to implicate anyone, and crush them with ease, like uprooting withered weeds.”

“Exactly.” Harsha said. “We have nurtured the empire for twenty years; they had truly forgotten that We were born from blood and fire. And so We let them relive the moment they were conquered twenty years ago. In truth We also understand that the human heart is hard to satisfy, and ambition is a bottomless pit. These kings We know well — some have been harboring hidden intentions, some were instigated by ministers around them. And so We let the assassin stand before them — see if they would submit or not! If any refused to submit, We are no toothless old tiger; the next moment their name would come out of the assassin’s mouth, and We would dispatch the elephant cavalry to destroy their kingdom. Hmph — with righteousness at the fore, who would dare oppose? However, though We grow old, Our ability to judge the human heart has not been lost. Not a single one of these kings was a resolute character — they all yielded. Since they yielded, we negotiated: what price would you pay to extinguish Our anger?”

“The price Your Majesty desired was the elimination of those who had been goading them?” Xuanzang asked. “That is, those five hundred high officials and distinguished figures?”

Harsha smiled: “Those goading them behind the scenes could never number that many. These five hundred people are those within the various kingdoms who bear hostility toward Us. Those who opposed Us, those who slandered Us, those who goaded the kings to betray Us, those who damaged Our interests — using this opportunity, We swept them all up in one net.”

Though Xuanzang was reluctant, he also understood that in this kind of political struggle, it was either you who died or I. Harsha had played a higher game — directing a staged assassination, sweeping up all the empire’s opponents in one net. Though the scheming and deception were not particularly honorable, to use five heads to strangle an imperial internal crisis in its cradle was also a great good. At the same time, he was genuinely moved by the ruthless sharpness of Harsha’s strategy — this king who had inherited his father’s and brother’s legacy, raised troops as a youth, and in just over a decade swept through Tianzhu, was truly not to be underestimated.

Seeing Xuanzang silent, Harsha’s excitement subsided somewhat: “Master, some matters are truly helpless — if one wishes to be a sage, one must first be a butcher. This is the sorrow of being a king.”

“This humble monk naturally understands,” Xuanzang nodded.

“Good.” Harsha breathed a sigh of relief. His expression actually grew somewhat grave: “Master, the reason We came to you this evening to explain the inside circumstances is that We hope the Master will understand Our difficulties. Unless absolutely necessary, We have no wish to resort to weapons.”

“Your Majesty is compassionate,” Xuanzang said matter-of-factly. He knew Harsha had something more to say, and waited quietly.

Harsha had not anticipated Xuanzang being so calm and unruffled, and felt rather exasperated. Facing this monk, his strategic intelligence seemed utterly useless. The other party sat unmoved as a mountain, composed as a pine, no matter what kind of breeze — gentle, strong, or violent — came his way.

Just at this moment, an aged laugh arose in the courtyard: “Your Majesty, does this old monk’s disciple meet the standard?”

Xuanzang was startled. He immediately leapt off the rope bed and flew into the courtyard. In the shimmering light of the river’s waves and moon, two elderly monks stood smiling at him. One of the aged monks was none other than Xuanzang’s own teacher — the leader of Mahayana Buddhism throughout the five regions of Tianzhu, and the abbot of Nalanda Monastery, Master Jiexian. The man beside him was also a high monk of Nalanda Monastery — Shizi Yin.

Master Jiexian was already one hundred and thirteen years old that year; his bones were still sturdy and his spirits good, though he suffered from severe gout, and for his daily movements required a palanquin — as a result, he had not left Nalanda Monastery for more than ten years. Whatever Xuanzang might have imagined, he could never have anticipated that his teacher had actually rushed to Kanyakubja deep in the night, to his own courtyard. His heart sank; he knew something of great importance must have occurred. He stepped forward and paid his respects with full reverence, pressing his palms together at his chest, then bowing. This was the fourth of the nine forms of salutation, and also the everyday salutation between him and Master Jiexian.

“Teacher, how have you come to Kanyakubja at this hour? With all the jolting of the journey, can your body bear it?” Xuanzang was quite worried.

At this point Harsha walked out from inside the room, looking somewhat abashed: “It was We who invited the Master.”

Master Jiexian said: “Ten years without leaving Nalanda Monastery — looking at the scenery of the Ganges along the way, my state of mind is somewhat better than before. All along the road, the emissaries dispatched by Emperor Harsha made careful arrangements. I am well — you need not worry.”

Two attendants lifted the palanquin and carried Master Jiexian into the room; the others followed inside. The two attendants withdrew and closed the door.

“Teacher, what has happened?” Xuanzang asked. “How is it that even you have left Nalanda?”

Master Jiexian sighed: “I left Nalanda naturally to come and find you. Half a month ago, His Majesty dispatched an emissary to Nalanda, wishing me to commission you to handle a great matter. This matter is of immeasurable merit to the Buddhist teaching — far more than building a seven-story pagoda. But I also know deeply how dangerous it is within, and had to come and deliberate with you, hear your thoughts, before my heart could be at ease.”

Xuanzang nodded: “This disciple understands. May I ask, Teacher — what matter is it exactly?”

“Let His Majesty speak!” Master Jiexian said.

“Very well!” Harsha dispensed with circling around the point and said directly: “We began preparing for this matter since last winter, and could find no one capable of carrying it out. Since meeting the Master, We have been convinced that you and you alone can help Us. But the matter is far too dangerous — and so We invited Master Jiexian, asking the Master to consider it carefully.”

“Oh?” Xuanzang was genuinely curious: “This humble monk is a mere monastic — what burden could I possibly lift for Your Majesty?”

“We wish to ask the Master to go and recover a nation!”