The bond between Xuanzang and Prabhakaramitra could be said to be unbreakable. His achievements in this lifetime came entirely because of Prabhakaramitra. In the eighth year of Wude, Prabhakaramitra had come to the Great Tang from India and been received with great honor by Emperor Gaozu, expounding the canonical scriptures of Nalanda Monastery. The twenty-six-year-old Xuanzang at that time had made a special journey from Zhaozhou to Chang’an to hear Prabhakaramitra’s teachings, and from that moment developed an overwhelming yearning for Nalanda Monastery and Dharma Master Silabhadra — which ultimately led him to steal across the border and make his westward journey to India.

It could be said that meeting Prabhakaramitra was the most brilliant turning point in Xuanzang’s life.

Yet after Xuanzang arrived at Nalanda Monastery, he never encountered Prabhakaramitra. He had heard that Prabhakaramitra had remained in the Great Tang to translate scriptures. Unexpectedly, it appeared he had returned.

“Why has Venerable Subahmati not come?” Prabhakaramitra asked.

“Dharma Master,” someone in the crowd pressed their palms together and said, “the Venerable One’s mortal elixir has already been obtained. He is now on Vaibhara Hill with King Harsha.”

“Has the time finally come?” Prabhakaramitra sighed with what seemed like some agitation. “I remained in the Great Tang for seventeen years for the sake of this matter. If I could bear witness to it with my own eyes, I would have no regrets even without attaining Nirvana.”

The crowd also grew agitated, and some murmuring arose. Prabhakaramitra raised his arm and gently pressed it down, calling out: “Why is it that over these two hundred years, our Buddhist faith has declined day by day? In the five great regions of India, Buddhist teaching is most flourishing at Nalanda Monastery. Yet even at Nalanda, of twelve thousand adherents, only four thousand are Buddhist monks — the rest are all those of outside teachings! In Kanyakubja, there are a hundred Buddhist temples, which appears prosperous, but there are two hundred shrines of outside teachings! In the kingdom of Varanasi, there are three thousand monks, but more than ten thousand followers of outside teachings! In the kingdom of Vaishali, there are three hundred Buddhist temples, yet only three or five remain intact — the other two hundred odd have collapsed in ruin, with no one dwelling in them. In Shravasti, several hundred Buddhist temples are entirely deserted, fallen and derelict, with only a handful of monks. In the kingdom of Gandhara, several hundred Buddhist temples — and not a single member of the monastic community! Why is it that over these two hundred years, Buddhism’s influence across all of India has grown weaker and weaker, and apart from a few great cities, vast regions no longer see a single monk? Why is it that over these two hundred years, the faithful have abandoned us and turned to outside teachings? Why? Why? Why!”

Prabhakaramitra called out repeatedly, his expression impassioned. The thirty-odd black-robed figures beside him raised their arms and cried out: “Why? Why? Why!”

“My own teacher, Dharma Master Silabhadra, cannot escape blame!”

Prabhakaramitra cried out these words, and they struck like a thunderbolt shattering stone. Everyone fell silent. The distant Xuanzang felt his body tremble, his expression growing severe. He suddenly recalled the bitter, anxious look his teacher had shown that morning — he had already known, it seemed, that within Nalanda Monastery, among his own disciples, a force opposed to him had already taken root.

“The greatest crime of Dharma Master Silabhadra is that he has reduced our Buddhist teachings to a matter of the academy. He has confined all of Buddhism’s Dharma teachings entirely within the walls of the academy. Everyone, look at Nalanda Monastery — in the seventy years that Dharma Master Silabhadra has served as head, aside from some advancement in the study of logic, the monks here each day do nothing but make trivial annotations on the canonical texts, each day engage in debates with the followers of outside teachings over matters of no great significance. We may win these debates — but what do we lose? We lose the vast Indian continent, we lose the billions of sentient beings in this world of suffering! What do we see? We see Buddhism collapsing en masse from countless villages and cities, handing the common people and the faithful over to the outside teachings. And we — we simply retreat into our shells within a few great cities, each day intoxicated with the annotation of scriptures!”

Prabhakaramitra spoke with fervent passion. Not only the mysterious figures present felt the resonance of his words — even the distant Xuanzang found himself sighing in agreement. For what Prabhakaramitra said was in fact the truth. Xuanzang had traveled tens of thousands of li across India, journeyed through dozens of kingdoms, and personally witnessed the decline and retreat of Buddhism. He too had sighed with emotion many times. He simply did not believe the responsibility lay with Dharma Master Silabhadra.

“Elder Brother, what should we do?” one of the black-robed figures asked.

“Leave the academy and return to the human world — return among the common people, the sentient beings in the world of suffering,” said Prabhakaramitra. “Address the sufferings of the common people and rescue them in this life, in this present world. Use incantations, secret methods, astrology, divination, fire sacrifices, mandalas, mudras, and talisman writing to resolve their everyday troubles and gain their reverence. Only by making them hold us in awe and reverence, and holding us in sincere faith, will they have any possibility of taking refuge in the Dharma. From now on, we shall exist independently of the academy. We shall be called the Secret Society. Dharma Brother Simhanada — these years you have researched secret methods and incantations. Please demonstrate them here, so everyone can see.”

From among the mysterious figures stepped one who removed his cloak. It was none other than Xuanzang’s dharma elder brother, Simhanada.

Simhanada stood before the group without speaking. Then suddenly he chanted a passage of ancient and arcane incantation, and in an instant, countless droplets of rain condensed in the air within three feet before him and cascaded to the ground. The droplets seemed to materialize from nothing — in a moment the surface of the green stone ground was wet. Gasps of amazement arose from the crowd.

“This is heavenly rain drawn down from Trayastrimsa Heaven. Bathing in it cures all ailments,” Simhanada said mildly, and returned to the crowd.

“Are there other dharma brothers who wish to demonstrate?” Prabhakaramitra asked.

Another figure stepped out from the crowd. He did not remove his cloak but stood silently apart from the group, extending his palm flat. Suddenly brilliant light blazed from his hand and a phantom image of the Buddha materialized from nothing. The crowd erupted in astonishment. The figure chanted an incantation, and the phantom Buddha rose within the light, growing larger and larger — several zhang in height — standing within empty space. Moments later, it transformed into scattered drops of light rain and dissolved into the heavens and earth.

“Are there others who wish to demonstrate?”

At this point a figure stepped out from the crowd and said in a calm voice: “I have not cultivated any secret methods or incantations. But through these years of research I have deciphered the secret techniques of the altar masters.”

Everyone became instantly interested. The custom throughout India, when constructing a building, was first to clear away impurities from the ground. After marking out the foundation, the master of the household would invite an altar master. The altar master would walk around and inspect the area, then select a spot, dig a pit seven chi deep, bury an empty earthen jar inside, seal it tightly, and fill in the earth. Following the altar master’s directions, a seven-chi ritual altar would then be built above the burial site. The altar master would chant incantations and perform rituals to expel the impurities beneath the foundation.

After seven days the altar would be opened, and someone would dig up the earthen jar and open its lid — inside would be a jarful of black water, often with pythons, insects, and other creatures floating in it. This meant the impurities beneath the ground had been absorbed into the jar, and the foundation site was thenceforth clean. This secret technique had been passed down for over a thousand years, and countless practitioners of outside teachings relied on this single technique alone to obtain offerings from entire villages.

“How is it deciphered?” Prabhakaramitra was also greatly intrigued.

The figure produced a small jar from within his robe, opened its lid for everyone to see — it was empty. He then replaced the lid and said: “The ground here is all rock, impossible to bury in soil, but the principle is the same. May I trouble a dharma brother to place it inside the shaded stone chamber nearby.”

Simhanada walked over, took the jar, and placed it in the stone chamber beside them. After about half a shi-chen had passed, the figure had it retrieved and opened the lid — sure enough, the jar was now half-full of black water, with some dead insects floating in it.

Prabhakaramitra was greatly interested: “This is indeed an altar technique used by altar masters. How was it done?”

“Dharma Elder Brother, please observe,” the figure said. “The jar was originally empty, but beforehand I coated the interior walls with a medicinal liquid. When this liquid dries and is then exposed to cold, it condenses into water droplets. Additionally, dried and pressed centipedes, scorpions, small snakes, and the like were pasted on the interior walls. Once there was water in the jar, soaking in the liquid caused these dried and flattened creatures to swell up, looking as though they had just died. That is the secret of the altar technique.”

“So that is how it is.” Everyone was struck with sudden understanding.

“Dharma Elder Brother Prabhakaramitra, you have traveled throughout the Great Tang for more than ten years — do you have any new secret techniques to show?” someone asked.

Prabhakaramitra smiled slightly: “Since you ask, I shall demonstrate for everyone a secret technique I learned three years ago. This technique I obtained by exchanging my secret of the divine cord for it from a Taoist priest of the Great Tang — it is extraordinarily strange and wondrous.”

He then stood still and did not move for a long time. The crowd watched with puzzlement, just about to ask questions, when suddenly a stream of white mist rose from Prabhakaramitra’s body. The mist did not emanate from his clothing but from the pores of his skin, spreading instantly across his entire body and enveloping him completely.

The crowd drew sharp breaths. Xuanzang was even more profoundly shaken — now at last he understood the secret of Lianhua Ye’s disappearance. So this secret technique had been obtained by Prabhakaramitra from a Taoist priest in the Great Tang, and then passed on to Subahmati!

By this time the entire ground was covered in thick, viscous white mist, and Prabhakaramitra had vanished within it.

After a considerable time without any sign of movement, everyone thought it strange. Simhanada walked over: “Elder Brother, you may come out now.”

He reached in and grasped — the white mist slowly dispersed, yet Prabhakaramitra’s figure had vanished entirely into thin air!

The crowd erupted into uproar. This secret technique was truly beyond the bounds of the miraculous.

Unable to restrain himself, Xuanzang stepped out from behind the great boulder to take a closer look — this was the best opportunity to decipher this secret technique. But just then, a soft sigh rose from behind Xuanzang: “Dharma Brother, have you seen enough?”

Xuanzang whirled in fright. There stood Prabhakaramitra, utterly composed, behind him. By now the mysterious figures had also heard the sound and came crowding over. In the blink of an eye, Xuanzang was surrounded.

“Dharma Brother!”

“The Great Vehicle of Heaven!”

It seemed there were many among the mysterious figures who were acquainted with Xuanzang, and they called out in astonishment.

Xuanzang gazed at this monk who had transformed his entire life, and fell somewhat silent. The two looked at each other in wordless silence, filled with a helpless, melancholy sense of sorrow.

“The Secret Society must never be exposed!” someone cried. “If Xuanzang agrees to join us, all will be well. If not, he shall not return to Nalanda Monastery tonight!”

“Dharma Brother, did our teacher send you here to spy on our secrets?” Simhanada asked.

Xuanzang did not answer. He only gazed at Prabhakaramitra and sighed: “Elder Brother, in the blink of an eye, you and I have not seen each other for seventeen years.”

“Indeed!” Prabhakaramitra was also moved. “The swift horse of Buddhism in the Great Tang back then — today you have truly made your name resound through the world. Dharma Brother, what do you intend to do about this situation?”

“As for right and wrong, I will say no more — those who walk different roads cannot plan together,” said Xuanzang. “I will turn and leave. Whether I live or die, I leave to Elder Brother’s judgment.”

He silently pressed his palms together and bowed, then turned to leave. Prabhakaramitra watched his departing figure, his expression conflicted.

“We simply let him walk away?” someone asked.

Someone climbed atop the great boulder and picked up a stone: “In his day, Devadatta stood here and hurled a boulder to assassinate the Buddha. For the sake of the Secret Society’s future, why should I not play the role of Devadatta!”

“Stand down!” Prabhakaramitra commanded. “Xuanzang is the future of our Buddhist faith — do you wish to extinguish Buddhism’s hope?”

“How does he deserve such a measure?” someone objected, finding Prabhakaramitra’s assessment of Xuanzang to be truly excessive.

“You… do not understand!” Prabhakaramitra let out a sigh.

Xuanzang descended from the high platform of Gridhrakuta with a composed expression, never looking back, yet sweat had already soaked through the back of his robes. Only when he reached the foot of the mountain did he finally let out a long breath, knowing he had escaped the danger. The strange and dangerous scene of this night had suddenly made many things clear to him.

“Life is wonderfully mysterious. I am wholly convinced of the existence of the cycle of rebirth.”

Within the hot spring imperial residence deep in Vaibhara Hill, King Harsha gazed at Nashun and Lianhua Ye beside him, exclaiming with admiration. After Subahmati brought the two of them in, he had them recount their past and present lives in detail. Except for the queen Yalona — King Harsha’s reverse scale — they were directed to pass over that part. The fates of the other thirty-three lifetimes were recounted in full detail.

King Harsha listened with a deeply stirred heart, though somewhat puzzled: “Venerable One, you said you had brought me the elixir of the mortal world, yet what you brought in the end were two people. You said these two are the mortal elixir — yet what I have listened to all day is a story. So then — how can they grant me immortal life?”

“Your Majesty,” Subahmati said with a smile, “may I ask — do you think Lianhua Ye has achieved immortality?”

“Her?” King Harsha was perplexed. “How could she be considered immortal? I heard everything — in each of her lifetimes, she never lives past twenty or thirty years of age.”

“Yet she remembers twelve hundred years of thirty-three cycles of rebirth,” said Subahmati with a solemn expression. “What does immortality mean? If the physical body does not die — that may be called immortality. But if memory is inextinguishable, can that not also be called immortality?”

King Harsha was struck, and was in the midst of contemplating this, when someone called out loudly: “Deceiving words!”

Everyone turned to look, and there was Xuanzang striding in, accompanied by Bani. Nashun ran over happily: “Elder Brother!”

Xuanzang patted him with relief.

King Harsha rose to greet him: “I heard the Dharma Master had returned to Nalanda Monastery and specifically sent someone to invite him — why has the Dharma Master only just arrived?”

“I needed to make some preparations before daring to come before Your Majesty,” said Xuanzang. He then fixed his gaze on Subahmati: “Those tricks of yours are nothing but sleight of hand. Do not lead His Majesty astray!”

“How is this old monk’s dharmic power mere sleight of hand?” Subahmati replied coldly. “The Great Vehicle of Heaven witnessed it himself at Gandhara!”

“I did indeed witness it,” said Xuanzang mildly. “Why not allow this humble monk to refute them one by one before His Majesty?”

“Very well!” Subahmati’s smile vanished; his complexion turned iron-gray. He rose abruptly and walked outside the pavilion terrace, chanting an incantation, forming mudras with his hands, and suddenly a ball of flame appeared between his palms — its color shifting from crimson red to blazing white. He flung his hand, and the flame shot out, striking a large tree, which ignited instantly.

King Harsha and Bani had long known this elderly monk’s dharmic powers to be formidably extraordinary. Witnessing it now in person confirmed it was no exaggeration. Subahmati drew his hands in a circle, and a ball of flame enveloped him, burning fiercely across his body. The onlookers stared in thunderstruck disbelief, yet Subahmati was entirely unharmed, his body wreathed in flame, appearing like a deity or Buddha descended to the world.

“Great Vehicle of Heaven, this fire once burned Suhan to death at Gandhara,” said Subahmati provocatively. “Why not step inside and try it yourself?”

Xuanzang stood and walked directly toward the flame-enveloped Subahmati. Before he even drew close, he could feel the heat of the flames. Those on the pavilion terrace also felt the temperature around them rise sharply, the fire pressing against them with ferocious intensity.

King Harsha grew anxious: “Dharma Master, do not!”

Yet Xuanzang walked over to a clay pot of water nearby, picked it up, and poured it over Subahmati. With a great splash, the water drenched Subahmati from head to foot. Subahmati stood there soaking, looking like a drowned rat, the flames extinguished. He stood blankly in the mud, at a loss for what to do.

Xuanzang stepped to Subahmati’s side, picked up his arm, and found no trace of moisture — the skin seemed to have been coated with a layer of oil, so that water could not adhere to it.

“Does this humble monk need to say more?” Xuanzang asked.

King Harsha and Bani exchanged a glance. Though they did not understand the details, they knew Xuanzang had prevailed.

Subahmati angrily yanked his arm back: “Using such trivial conjuring tricks to test the Dharma Master was my error. Then, Dharma Master — the Zoroastrian high priest’s soul fire from that day: how do you explain that? And this old monk used a ritual drum mallet to break the walking corpses that sorcerer had summoned — how do you explain that?”

“Yes, yes, that is right,” King Harsha said quickly. “When Your Two Eminences and that Persian high priest engaged in a battle of arts, I had intelligence agents present who reported the whole situation to me exactly as it happened. Those methods were truly mysterious and fearsome — surely they cannot also be false?”

“In that battle of arts, this humble monk also could not make sense of it at the time,” said Xuanzang, returning to his seat and explaining. “Because within it there were three crucial points. First: how did the walking corpses come back to life? Second: how were the walking corpses unharmed by a flurry of spear thrusts? Third: why did fire break out on the walking corpses’ bodies after the drum was struck?”

“Yes, exactly!” King Harsha was deeply intrigued. “Has the Dharma Master since investigated and found answers?”

Subahmati stood outside the pavilion terrace dripping wet, arms crossed, laughing coldly.

“Afterward, this humble monk specifically went to examine the burial ground. I found thirty burial pits, which had been refilled for some reason. I had them dug up again, and found one peculiarity.” Xuanzang looked at Subahmati. “These thirty pits were all shallower than a normal grave!”

Subahmati’s smile faded.

“Why was that?” King Harsha pressed.

“Because if they had been dug deeper, those so-called walking corpses would have been pressed to death by the weight of the soil and would never have been able to crawl out!” said Xuanzang.

King Harsha was startled: “You mean those walking corpses were fake? Then why could the Persian Immortal Regiment not kill them?”

“Because this was a piece of theatre staged by the high priest from the very beginning,” said Xuanzang. He produced an object from his robes and placed it on the low table. It was something shaped like a wolf’s claw — crafted from the finest wootz iron, with finger rings at one end that could be slipped on.

“The walking corpses at the time were all burned and destroyed. The Persians afterward gathered and burned them to ashes. However, I found this object at the scene — I imagine the chaos made it impossible to collect everything.” Xuanzang picked it up and slipped it onto his fingers — it became the curving, rigid talons of a corpse. “As for why the spear thrusts could not kill them: the spears never truly penetrated the human body. In Persia there is a form of slapstick comedy where a thin man can be fitted with a large belly-sack and a false third arm to transform into a hulking figure dressed as a jester, for the amusement of the audience.” Xuanzang’s expression took on a note of sadness. “This humble monk once had a great disciple by the name of Ashu. He was a dwarf, and his life’s ambition was to perform as a jester and fill audiences with joy. Because of that, this humble monk has some understanding of such tricks. Inside the belly-sack and on the false limb, blood pouches are installed — when the spear pierces the blood pouch, blood gushes out. But at that point, the spear is still far from the real human body!”

King Harsha and Bani listened with gaping astonishment. King Harsha picked up the fine iron wolf claw, slipped it on his fingers, and dragged it forcefully across the surface of the low table — the table was torn open. King Harsha glanced at Subahmati.

“Then how do you explain the walking corpses catching fire after Subahmati struck the drum, and dying unnatural deaths?” King Harsha asked.

“Catching fire is quite simple — Subahmati just demonstrated the method moments ago,” said Xuanzang. “As for the unnatural deaths — they were not burned to death. Rather, the Immortal Regiment received the signal and used their spears to directly stab them to death! Those poor souls thought they were taking part in a performance, yet little did they know their end was destined to be death.”

Listening to Xuanzang’s step-by-step reasoning, Subahmati was completely stunned.

King Harsha drew a deep breath: “Then my last question — since this was a contest of arts, why would the Persians have helped Dharma Master Subahmati win?”

“This is precisely the point that originally baffled this humble monk beyond all explanation — but it has now been resolved,” said Xuanzang, glancing at Subahmati. “Because the Persians and Subahmati were on the same side from the very beginning.”

King Harsha and Bani were instantly astounded, and both looked at Subahmati. Subahmati was also alarmed — this was a severe accusation, and conduct of that nature would be tantamount to treason.

“You speak utter nonsense!” Subahmati bellowed. “How could this old monk possibly collude with the Persians? What benefit would I gain from doing so? What would be my purpose?”

“I apologize,” Xuanzang said honestly. “This is a conclusion I have reasoned to — the evidence can certainly be found, but at present this humble monk cannot produce it.”

The agitated Subahmati was immediately stunned, as though he had drawn back his fist with full force only to find the target vanish. Even King Harsha and Bani had not expected Xuanzang to answer in this way, and the two of them exchanged a glance and shook their heads together.

“Dharma Master, if you make this accusation without evidence, it will be very disadvantageous for you,” Bani cautioned.

“I am aware,” Xuanzang said helplessly. “And yet I cannot help but raise it now. Later, finding the evidence will be even more difficult.” He looked at Subahmati sincerely: “I ask that you give this humble monk a little more time.”

Subahmati had barely let out a breath of relief when he was infuriated all over again.

“The Dharma Master has a fine command of words,” said Subahmati, stepping forward with a cold laugh. “The matter of slandering this old monk in connection with the Persians — I will not hold it against you for now. But all of this is merely your conjecture and reasoning. Overturning an entire event on the basis of a single iron claw — is that not overly rash? What is more, the origin of this iron claw is itself suspect — who knows where it came from?”

“Though the full truth of the matter is still murky, I believe the Dharma Master would not deliberately fabricate an iron claw to deceive me,” said King Harsha pensively. “Of course, I also believe, Venerable One, that you would never collude with the Persians.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Subahmati, bowing in gratitude, water dripping from his body in streams. “Your Majesty must understand — the same event can be interpreted from different angles, and each can be made convincing. Particularly with events of this sort involving miraculous signs: the very person who performed the miracle is actually the one least able to explain it. Because these are miracles by their very nature.”

“That is also true,” said King Harsha, who had grown rather confused himself.

“It seems the Dharma Master has come to doubt all miraculous signs,” said Subahmati, challenging Xuanzang with a fixed gaze. “Can it be that the thirty-three lifetimes of Nashun and Lianhua Ye are also false? Please refute them, Dharma Master!”

“The anthill beneath the tree — real or illusory, all of it is of course false,” said Xuanzang composedly. “Venerable One, this humble monk does not intend to work against you. My sole purpose is to allow Nashun and Lianhua Ye to go live their own lives. If you are willing to hand the two of them over to me and interfere no further, this humble monk will withdraw at once. If not, I shall proceed to break the truth of this matter open for all to see.”

A flash crossed Subahmati’s pupils, and his expression became suddenly grave. Yet he said coldly: “These two have been the mortal elixir that I have nurtured and refined for more than twenty years — how could I possibly give them to you? If you have the ability, come and break apart this cycle of rebirth!”

Xuanzang and Subahmati stared at each other — a distance of only a few feet between them, yet the air seemed to congeal and time seemed to stop. Between them rang the clash of swords, and a sea of blood surged. This was a contest of life and death, a duel of wisdom and strategy. Both men knew that once a single word was spoken, only one of the two could survive. The other would be utterly ruined, condemned for ten thousand ages.

Nashun and Lianhua Ye looked at each other in bewilderment. Nashun murmured: “How could our lives be false?”

Xuanzang gazed at them with compassion, made up his mind, and was just about to speak, when suddenly an attendant came running over: “Your Majesty! Word has come from Nalanda Monastery — Dharma Master Silabhadra is gravely ill!”

Everyone was stunned. Dharma Master Silabhadra was a towering pillar of Indian Buddhism. For these many decades, he had single-handedly held back the decline of Buddhism in India. Even a venerable figure of Subahmati’s seniority held him in considerable reverence.

“Quickly! Prepare horses, prepare a carriage!” King Harsha called at once. “Make haste to Nalanda Monastery!”

Escorted by the Kshatriya imperial guards, King Harsha rode in the royal carriage, taking Bani, Xuanzang, Subahmati, and Nashun and Lianhua Ye with him as they hastened to Nalanda Monastery.

Only thirty li separated them, and they arrived before long. The guest-reception monk came out to welcome them. As everyone entered the mountain gate, they sensed the heavy atmosphere within the monastery — among the ten thousand or more residents, almost no one was speaking at full voice, and the usual lectures and debate competitions had all been suspended. Faces everywhere wore expressions of worry.

At this moment, Dharma Master Silabhadra’s nephew, Dharma Master Jnanananda, came out in person to receive King Harsha. King Harsha inquired about the situation. Dharma Master Jnanananda told him that his teacher was advanced in years and suffered from gout; he had fallen unexpectedly during the night and was still unconscious. King Harsha wished to go and pay his respects, but Jnanananda prevented him, asking him to wait a moment as the physicians were in the midst of treatment, and invited him to go in after the Dharma Master regained consciousness. King Harsha nodded — that was only proper. He himself entering would inevitably interfere with the physicians’ treatment. So he waited in the company of Jnanananda.

Xuanzang was consumed with anxiety and was about to find someone to inquire about his teacher’s condition, when suddenly a monk approached and said in a low voice: “Dharma Brother, please proceed to the rear hall.”

Xuanzang paused. The monk then also said something in low tones to Subahmati. Subahmati startled, glanced at Xuanzang, then nodded silently. The two of them followed the monk to the rear hall, passing through courtyard after courtyard, until they reached a private vihara.

The monk gestured an invitation. Xuanzang and Subahmati exchanged a glance, and filled with bewilderment, entered together. Xuanzang immediately froze — for there sat Dharma Master Silabhadra perfectly well on a chair, and beside him was actually Prabhakaramitra!

“Master!” Xuanzang was dumbfounded. “Then… you were never ill!”

“A necessary illness,” said Dharma Master Silabhadra, looking at this cherished disciple with a sigh. “Had I not fallen ill, you and Subahmati would have been forced to settle the matter of life and death before King Harsha.”

“Silabhadra,” Subahmati was unmoved, his seniority and age both surpassing Silabhadra’s. He said directly: “I had no possibility of losing — you were protecting your disciple, were you not?”

“Is that so?” Dharma Master Silabhadra said mildly. “Venerable One, would you allow me to let this disciple of mine break apart your scheme?”

Subahmati glanced at Prabhakaramitra. Prabhakaramitra showed no expression. Subahmati set his mind at ease and said: “Rebirth is the way of heaven. Who could break it? I should very much like to hear.”

Dharma Master Silabhadra gestured to Xuanzang. Xuanzang nodded, and fixed his gaze on Subahmati: “The source of this matter must be traced back seventeen years. In the eighth year of Wude, Dharma Elder Brother Prabhakaramitra came to the Great Tang by sea route. I made a special journey from Zhaozhou to Chang’an to hear Elder Brother expound the Dharma. On the way, I encountered a monk named Yuanguan. Half a year ago, at Gandhara, you recounted to everyone the story of myself and Yuanguan — at the time I was quite surprised, wondering how you came to know of it. A few days ago I returned to Nalanda Monastery and went to the library to consult the records, and then I understood. Seventeen years ago, when Dharma Elder Brother Prabhakaramitra went to Chang’an, one other person accompanied him. That person was yourself, Venerable Subahmati.”

Subahmati gave a cold smile, yet did not deny it.

“That is correct,” said Prabhakaramitra. “Indeed, the Venerable One and I went to Chang’an together that year. I remained in Chang’an to translate scriptures; he traveled throughout the Great Tang and returned to India after only three short years.”

“And so the story of Yuanguan and myself — you have known of it since seventeen years ago. At that time, I had recounted this story among the monks in Chang’an: it involved a monk, divination, and rebirth; it was strange and mysterious. I imagine it made a deep impression on you.” Xuanzang spoke at an easy pace. “After you returned to India, you began laying the scheme of Lianhua Ye. By that time this humble monk had also arrived in India and had gained a modest reputation, and so you had a sudden inspiration and placed Nashun’s past life on the body of Yuanguan.”

“So you’re saying I laid this scheme with you as its aim?” Subahmati gave a sardonic laugh.

“Calling it a sudden inspiration — that was merely a momentary impulse. How could this humble monk warrant such a vast and meticulous scheme spanning decades?” said Xuanzang mildly. “This humble monk was simply in the right place at the right time. You wished to borrow my eyes, my voice, my reputation — to personally witness this thirty-three-lifetime cycle of rebirth. If this humble monk’s judgment is not mistaken, the target of your scheme is none other than His Majesty King Harsha!”

“You sow confusion and deceive the masses!” Subahmati flew into a rage. “Today, before King Harsha’s face, you slander me as colluding with the Persians. Now, in this very place, you again slander me as laying schemes to harm King Harsha. What enmity, what grievance, do you and I bear toward each other?”

Watching Subahmati provoked into anger, Dharma Master Silabhadra and Prabhakaramitra nearby showed no expression at all, silently observing.

“Between you and I there is no enmity and no grievance,” said Xuanzang composedly. “The matter of colluding with the Persians — this humble monk truly has no evidence. But that the cycle of rebirth scheme is aimed at King Harsha — on that there can be no doubt.”

“Oh?” Subahmati mocked. “Say on — where is the evidence?”

“On that day you used the mist technique to make Lianhua Ye vanish within the royal palace of Gandhara—” began Xuanzang.

“Stop right there!” Subahmati was incensed. “On what basis do you say that white mist was a secret technique I performed?”

Xuanzang glanced at Prabhakaramitra and said quietly: “I am embarrassed to say — last night, this humble monk covertly witnessed on Gridhrakuta Dharma Elder Brother Prabhakaramitra demonstrating the identical technique. This technique was obtained by him in the Great Tang from a Taoist priest. Upon returning to India, he passed it on to you.”

“Hmm—” Subahmati glanced at Prabhakaramitra, who wore a face full of wry resignation. Subahmati was immediately left speechless. After a long while he said: “Hmph — even supposing it was my technique. What of it?”

“Lianhua Ye’s disappearance — this scheme was aimed at this humble monk. You knew full well of my protective affection for Nashun, and you knew I would certainly help Nashun find Lianhua Ye, making it unavoidable that I investigate the secret of Lianhua Ye’s previous life. Everything unfolded just as you anticipated: I went to the Eastern Women’s Kingdom and discovered that Lianhua Ye’s previous life was Queen Yalona. And then the paradox surrounding Queen Yalona’s death made it very easy for this humble monk to suspect whether she had been murdered. As I peeled back layer after layer in search of the culprit, I provoked Bani’s murderous intent, and naturally enough traced out the true mastermind behind Queen Yalona’s death — King Harsha! From that point it naturally followed to deduce the truth of the death of Rajyavardhana.” Xuanzang let out a sigh. “From beginning to end, I became a tool in your hands, and your ultimate purpose was to have me expose the secret of King Harsha’s fratricide!”

“Why would he have you expose this secret?” Dharma Master Silabhadra suddenly asked.

Xuanzang bowed respectfully: “Master, it was for the purpose of intimidation — to shatter King Harsha’s royal dignity and the defenses of his inner heart, to make his will crumble completely, to keep him mired in guilt and living each day in terror of future judgment in the hells, with no way to find release. King Harsha is a man of outstanding talent and bold vision, who has vanquished numerous kingdoms and spent his life in slaughter. For an iron-blooded figure such as this, if it were a small person who exposed his secret, he would eliminate them without a second thought. So the person exposing his crime had to be a figure of considerable standing, in order to make him reflect deeply and feel genuine terror. This humble monk was unfortunately chosen by the Venerable One. I also suspect that when King Harsha invited this humble monk to help him recover Gandhara — that too was Subahmati’s idea, or perhaps Dharma Elder Brother Prabhakaramitra’s.”

Everyone was silent for a long while. At last Dharma Master Silabhadra sighed: “It was Simhanada who recommended you to me.”

Xuanzang gave a rueful smile: “I had quite forgotten Dharma Elder Brother Simhanada.”

“After driving King Harsha into a state of fear, the scheme could fully unfold. I foresaw at the time that Nashun and Lianhua Ye would be in danger, and secretly escorted them out of India. Regrettably, partway through they were still seized by Subahmati — for the two of them are the mortal elixir nurtured and refined by Subahmati over these many decades, intended precisely to enact a scene of rebirth before King Harsha, making the hidden truth of rebirth vividly present before his very eyes. Master,” Xuanzang said, “this is the ultimate purpose of this great scheme. The wish of Subahmati and Dharma Elder Brother Prabhakaramitra is to use the cycle of rebirth to overawe King Harsha and the billions of sentient beings on the Indian continent, to make them believe once more, to revere Buddhism, to utterly vanquish all outside teachings, and to rescue Buddhism from its downward spiral.”

Subahmati and Prabhakaramitra exchanged a glance. Prabhakaramitra said nothing — he seemed to have no words left. He only shook his head toward Subahmati.

Yet Subahmati could not restrain his sarcasm: “They say the Great Vehicle of Heaven speaks with unobstructed eloquence, his tongue gleaming like a lotus in bloom. This old monk has experienced it many times — you lay it all out so clearly and tightly sealed. Yet the thirty-three lifetimes of Lianhua Ye’s rebirth — that cannot be faked!”

“Cannot be faked?” Xuanzang’s expression grew sorrowful. “You nurtured and refined a mortal elixir in this world of men — you know full well in your heart how it was nurtured and refined! Lianhua Ye and Nashun are nothing but two performers who used their lifetimes to enact a play! Did they truly experience thirty-three cycles of rebirth? Did they truly experience all those joys and sorrows, loves and hatreds? It was all false! Every single bit of it was false!” Xuanzang’s expression grew agitated. “They were merely performers trained by you from childhood. When King Harsha staged the Record of Dragon Joy, the performers playing Crown Prince Yamunaraja and Princess Malaiyakavati could only ever play those roles throughout their entire lives — after ten years, they had become so completely immersed in the roles of the prince and princess that they were more prince than the prince, more princess than the princess. They had long since forgotten that they were only performers. Nashun, Lianhua Ye — they too have forgotten that they are only performers. Under your guidance, they play out the entirety of Nashun’s life, the entirety of Lianhua Ye’s life. The difference is that they are not performing on a narrow stage, but with their entire existence as the stage — the entire Indian continent as the stage — and the audience is not a mere hundred people below a platform, but the emperors of countless great nations such as India, Gandhara, and Persia, and the billions of common people across this entire continent!”

Listening to Xuanzang’s words, Dharma Master Silabhadra and Prabhakaramitra both fell silent. Subahmati opened his mouth as though wishing to say something, yet nothing came out.

Xuanzang’s expression was agitated: “Venerable One — do you also wish to ask me how a performer comes to be so completely immersed in a role that he even forgets himself? You are versed in secret methods, incantation techniques, illusory arts, and the Hypnos hypnotism technique of Byzantium. From childhood you selected this child, prepared a powder by blending agarwood, cinnabar, sandalwood, and datura flower dust, and caused him to fall into deep sleep — you poured the memories of thirty-three lifetimes into him. You repeated this tens of thousands of times throughout his life, remaking him completely, destroying his own memory. You made him believe that he was Nashun — that from one past life to the present, he had been consumed with love for a young woman. You made her believe she was Lianhua Ye — that she had experienced thirty-three cycles of rebirth and wished to escape from this prison. Subahmati — you toyed with their lives in this manner. You altered their fates in this manner. I do not know what torment and suffering they endured during this process, whether they ever struggled and resisted — but I know they ultimately submitted. They forgot who they were, and completely accepted the identity you designed for them. From one wretched fate they entered yet another still more wretched fate. Subahmati — how could you bear it? How could you bear it!”

Xuanzang, in a rare moment, lost control of his emotions. He roared in fury, his eyes streaming with tears that soaked through his robes.

The private vihara was deadly silent, with only the sound of Xuanzang’s choked sobbing. Everyone had fallen silent — even Subahmati had ceased to argue.