Xuanzang was this time completely dumbfounded. The dangerous and strange things he had experienced in this life were beyond counting; add to that the ten-thousand-li journey west, brushing past death nine times — his heart had long since become like a mountain boulder or a dried-up well, undisturbed by wind and wave. Yet today, Xuanzang was shaken. Harsha asking a monk to help him recover a nation?

“Here is the matter,” Harsha said, knowing this was astonishing and quickly explaining. “Master, you came from the Western Regions — did you pass through Gandhara?”

Xuanzang nodded: “This humble monk crossed the Indus River from Gandhara when entering Tianzhu all those years ago. I once stayed for a few days in the capital city of Purushapura. Now the city is desolate and its population sparse. Most people in the city are merchants. Persians, Turks, Sogdians, Tianzhu people, and even Byzantines from the West — people of all nations live there together, with no order in the city whatsoever; killing and robbery are committed without limit.”

Master Jiexian’s expression took on a look of nostalgic longing: “Alas — has Gandhara truly fallen into such disorder? The magnificent Buddhist scenery of former times can surely never again be seen.”

“Indeed,” Xuanzang said. “Within Gandhara’s borders there are more than a thousand Buddhist monasteries, but all are desolate and abandoned, with few signs of human habitation. The stupas too have all collapsed into ruins.”

Gandhara held special significance for Buddhism. Buddhism’s spread throughout the world used Gandhara as a relay station. Early Buddhism forbade the making of images; idol veneration could only be represented through partial objects such as the Buddha’s footprints, teeth, and traces. After it spread to Gandhara, because this region sat at the crossroads of various civilizations, Buddhism absorbed the sculptural arts of ancient Greece and formed a majestic and magnificent Buddhist sculpture style — and only from this point did it spread northward, into the Western Regions, into China, flourishing throughout the East.

Harsha said: “A thousand years ago, Gandhara was always part of Tianzhu’s territory. It is the western gateway that guards the Land of Five Rivers — anyone wishing to enter Tianzhu must pass through Gandhara. A thousand years ago, Alexander the Great of Macedonia invaded from the east, occupied Gandhara, and reached the banks of the Indus River. Though Alexander later withdrew, Gandhara was no longer Tianzhu’s territory from that point on. Greeks and Persians ruled it successively; then it fell into the hands of the Kushan Empire. Two hundred years ago, the Hephthalites destroyed the Kushan Empire and occupied Gandhara, after which they went further still in destroying temples and eliminating Buddhism, massacring monks and utterly destroying the Buddhist faith. Eighty years ago, the Turks destroyed the Hephthalites and took control of Gandhara, up until the present day. Master — it is precisely because this western gateway of Gandhara has remained in foreign hands that Tianzhu has repeatedly suffered foreign invasion. Now, after the great collapse of Sasanian Persia, Yazdegerd III has led his remnants to Gandhara once again; if this cannot be controlled, Tianzhu will likely face another foreign invasion.”

Harsha explained in detail, and at last he stood up, pressed his palms together, and bowed deeply to Xuanzang: “Master, the nation We wish to ask you to recover — is Gandhara!”

Xuanzang quickly helped Harsha up. He had already guessed Harsha’s intentions long since, yet still did not understand: “Your Majesty, if you wish to recover Gandhara, why not simply dispatch troops?”

“Master, you are not aware of this.” Harsha gave a rueful smile. “If We could simply dispatch troops, We would have directed them to cross the river and drive the Persians out when We personally campaigned in the Punjab last winter. But it cannot be done! Gandhara currently belongs to the Western Turks; the King of Tokharistan has dispatched a governor to rule it. The moment We cross the river, the Turks would certainly send their armies south. Even setting aside any fear of the Turks, do not forget there is still Yazdegerd III — he would certainly help the Turks completely annihilate Our forces, and then press forward to cross the Land of Five Rivers. And what is even more troublesome: even if We were under the protection of all the Buddhas and defeated both the Turks and Yazdegerd III, the Arabs are still watching hungrily from behind Yazdegerd III. And so, We simply cannot go to war.”

Only now did Xuanzang understand the intricate and complex political relationships involved. It turned out that the current Gandhara was like a massive piece of meat — everyone wanted to eat it, yet no one dared open their mouth. Harsha’s misgivings naturally needed no explanation. The Arabs wanting to eat it would immediately face a pincer attack from the Turks in the north and Tianzhu in the east. Even Gandhara’s current masters, the Turks, dared not eat it — the moment the Turks sent troops south, it would inevitably provoke Harsha’s reaction in the east, and even worse, the Arabs in the west would drive straight into the Turks’ flank and rear, severing the Turkish main force from its base.

The most comfortable position was actually that of Yazdegerd III. He had brought his band of remnants into Gandhara, and with the three great empires mutually entangled, he moved as if through an unoccupied land. Yet Yazdegerd III was probably also the most anxious — this situation could not possibly last for long, and the moment it broke, no matter who moved first, he would become the dish at that great feast.

“Then… how can this humble monk help you recover Gandhara?” This was Xuanzang’s greatest incomprehension. He was a mere monk — how was he to recover a nation?

Harsha and Master Jiexian exchanged a glance and laughed heartily.

“Provide-a-slave,” Master Jiexian said — using Xuanzang’s Sanskrit name — “this is also the very reason I came to find you outside Kanyakubja. Gandhara was once a sacred land of our Buddhist faith; the local people broadly believed in Buddhism, and though the Buddhist lineage has been broken for more than two hundred years with various heterodox schools intermingled, the local people still retain Buddhist nature within them.”

“Teacher, what makes you so certain of this?” Xuanzang was not optimistic on this point — he had personally witnessed Gandhara’s chaotic disorder.

“Because the people of Gandhara excel at sculpting. Even to this day, though almost no one in the country believes in Buddhism, regardless of whatever faith they hold, carving Buddha statues and selling them to various places remains the most important source of income for ordinary common people,” Master Jiexian said. “This old monk has lived more than a hundred years, and has seen every manner of worldly condition and human heart. He absolutely cannot believe that a person who makes his living dealing in Buddhist statues would have no reverence for the Buddha in his heart. It is only that no one has gone to enlighten him.” The wisdom in Master Jiexian’s drooping eyelids shone through like light perceiving the myriad phenomena of the world. “And so, His Majesty’s intention is to commission you to go to Gandhara, propagate the Dharma, awaken the Buddhist nature in their hearts, cause this nation to return to the faith again, cause the King of Gandhara to return to the faith again — and the channel through which our Buddhist teaching spread northward will be reopened.”

Harsha said: “So long as the people of Gandhara believe in Buddhism, it will in effect be the equivalent of forming an alliance with Tianzhu. We will then reach a secret agreement with the King of Gandhara and dispatch troops to cross the river instantly and enter Gandhara. In this way, We will seize the initiative in the struggle among the three great empires, using Gandhara as an impregnable stronghold to completely seal off Tianzhu’s western gateway.”

Xuanzang remained expressionless, rapidly analyzing this possibility. Convincing a nation to believe in Buddhism through a single monk — in the Central Plains this would be nearly impossible, but in the small-state-studded, multi-faith environment of the Western Regions, Central Asia, and Tianzhu, it was commonplace. Quite often a high Buddhist monk would have a single long conversation with a king, and the king would be filled with great joy and change his faith. Even when Xuanzang had engaged in doctrinal debates in various Tianzhu nations, he had on occasion established stakes with certain heterodox schools: whoever lost must change their faith and follow the other. Xuanzang, of course, had been the winner.

Xuanzang thought for quite a long time, and Harsha felt rather anxious, exchanging a glance with Master Jiexian.

Master Jiexian said: “Provide-a-slave, what do you think?”

Xuanzang quietly nodded: “This disciple can go and try.”

Harsha was greatly pleased, but Master Jiexian said: “Not merely to try — if you go, you must succeed.”

“This disciple —” Xuanzang hesitated for a moment. “Will certainly not disgrace the mission.”

Harsha could barely contain his eagerness: “Master, when you successfully return, you will be the National Preceptor of the Harsha Empire — We will ask you to perform the abhisheka consecration for Us.”

This time it was Master Jiexian’s turn to be greatly pleased, for this meant that Harsha was converting from Brahmanism to Buddhism. And Harsha’s abhisheka preceptor meant that Xuanzang would in future inherit his own mantle and become the leader of Mahayana Buddhism in Tianzhu. Prajnagupta, who had been reduced to silence by Xuanzang’s refutations, held sway over Hinayana Buddhism precisely because he was the abhisheka preceptor of three generations of emperors.

“Master, when you go to Gandhara, how many men and horses do you wish to bring?” Harsha asked. “We will escort you there with the ceremony due a National Preceptor.”

“This humble monk alone is sufficient,” Xuanzang said.

Three days after the Dharma assembly ended, at the third hour of the night, Xuanzang led a white horse out of Kanyakubja and traveled alone westward toward Gandhara. From Kanyakubja to Gandhara was nearly two thousand li; Xuanzang rode for one month, arriving at the westernmost frontier of the Harsha Empire, the Punjab region — what the Tianzhu people commonly called the Land of Five Rivers.

When he crossed the Indus River, Xuanzang observed carefully and only then truly understood what this river system meant to the Tianzhu people in military terms. The Indus River has eight tributaries on its left bank and six on its right, together forming a vast and complex river system. The so-called Land of Five Rivers consists of four tributaries distributed across the Punjab Plain, plus the Indus itself; the entire area covered by this river system is dense with waterways and branching channels, rich and fertile soil. With Tianzhu people holding this territory, any foreign invader would have to wade through one river after another, and each river was a natural barrier. Gandhara was positioned precisely on the western bank of the Indus main channel — once Gandhara was lost, Tianzhu people would directly forfeit their greatest natural barrier, placing them in an extremely passive military position. Once a foreign force crossed the Land of Five Rivers, it could advance straight through with nothing to stop it.

Xuanzang crossed the Land of Five Rivers and entered Gandhara. Ten years earlier Xuanzang had passed through this place and was originally familiar with it — yet after crossing the Indus River ford, he found the landscape of Gandhara completely different from before. The villages and towns of former times had gathered large crowds of Persians; these six hundred thousand Persians were scattered throughout Gandhara in various places, most of them dragging their entire families along in a mass migration, and so they built their own villages outside the villages and towns of the Gandhari people, with both sides frequently coming to blows over water and land rights.

The sudden influx of these tens of thousands of people also attracted merchants from all surrounding areas. Large groups of merchants poured into Gandhara to trade with the Persians, providing them with their daily needs. Everyone knew that the Sasanian Persian Empire had been the most prosperous empire on this continent — the Persians were incomparably wealthy, and though they had fled their nation, they had carried great wealth with them; now that they were at the end of their rope, it was the perfect moment to make money. Where merchants traded, there were thieves robbing, stealing — the whole of Gandhara was a chaotic mess. The King of Gandhara held an ambiguous stance toward this disorder as well: on one hand, he could earn tax revenue from merchant trading; on the other hand, the total population of Gandhara was less than that of the Persian remnants, and he had no control over them.

Xuanzang walked along the road through market towns. On the roadsides towered sculptures of various Buddhas and bodhisattvas — small ones only as large as a fist, large ones towering over ten zhang, and some with an entire mountain peak carved into a Buddha image soaring into the clouds. On the roadsides, carts continuously transported stone blocks cut from deep in the mountains to sculpting workshops, where craftsmen wielded axes and chisels, chipping and carving with a ringing sound. Merchants from various nations were haggling over prices, transporting these Buddha statues to all places.

Xuanzang felt some sorrow — yet also some comfort. Facing these people who sold Buddha statues for money, he was genuinely at a loss.

Xuanzang walked to one stone-carving workshop and pressed his palms together toward the workshop master: “Greetings, this humble monk has come.”

“Has the Master come to make a donation?” the workshop master asked.

“No,” Xuanzang said. “This humble monk wishes to request some Buddha statues.”

The workshop master hesitated: “Request? The kind without paying money?”

Xuanzang said: “The kind with paying money.”

The workshop master laughed: “Just take whatever you want, Master.”

Xuanzang said: “This humble monk needs rather many — can’t carry them.”

The workshop master was unconcerned: “Can’t carry them, I’ll have them loaded onto a cart for you.”

“Very well.” Xuanzang nodded, then gestured at the surroundings. “All of these — this humble monk will take them.”

The workshop master was taken aback: “My… the whole workshop, you’re taking all of it?”

“No,” Xuanzang said. “This humble monk means — the Buddha statues from your workshop and the six surrounding workshops, large and small alike, this humble monk will take them all.”

The workshop master stared blankly at him, thinking this monk had lost his mind. Xuanzang lifted a sack from the horse’s back, brought it before the workshop master, and with a rattling sound, three hundred silver coins fell to the ground. This money had been Harsha’s reward after the doctrinal debate. At the time Harsha had rewarded him with ten thousand gold coins, thirty thousand silver coins, and a hundred sets of monastic robes; Xuanzang had declined it all, but just before departure, Harsha had people load three hundred silver coins onto his horse’s back as travel expenses.

This was the first time Xuanzang had used this sum of money, and at the sight of these silver coins he was immediately startled. It turned out that these silver coins were not Harsha Empire’s own minted coins, but Sasanian Persian silver coins. Among the most widely circulated currencies on the Central Asian trade routes, gold coins were struck by Byzantium and silver coins by Sasanian Persia; for subsidiary coins such as copper, each nation had its own. Moreover, Byzantine gold coins and Persian silver coins varied considerably in weight depending on when they were minted, since almost every new king upon accession would mint his own gold and silver coins — conversion was quite troublesome. This batch of silver coins were Khosrow II coins, exactly equal in weight to the Tang dynasty’s Kaiyuan Tongbao. The obverse showed a profile half-figure of Khosrow II, the reverse a Zoroastrian fire altar. Khosrow II had reigned for thirty-eight years, with national power strong, the economy flourishing, and trade developed — minting locations numbered as many as a hundred and twenty — and so these silver coins were the most widely circulated of all.

From the fact that Harsha had sent him off with Persian silver coins, Xuanzang immediately understood: if he failed, Harsha would certainly deny that he had been dispatched by Tianzhu, to avoid provoking the great empires. A note of bitterness rose in Xuanzang’s heart.

“Good sir, I do not know whether this silver is sufficient to purchase the Buddha statues from all six workshops?” Xuanzang asked.

“It certainly would not be enough.” The workshop master finally came back to his senses. “Master, where do you intend to transport these Buddha statues? They are heavy and — never mind the price — transportation is incomparably troublesome.”

“Not far.” Xuanzang pointed west. “This humble monk intends to transport the Buddha statues to the royal capital!”

Purushapura was an important trading hub, a trade corridor connecting the Persian Empire, Tianzhu, and various Central Asian nations, and also an important military stronghold — to its south were highland mountains, and to its west it guarded the Khyber Pass. This pass was the only route from the Persian Empire into Gandhara; the entire gorge was sixty li in length, flanked on both sides by mountains, winding and curving, and at its narrowest point only fifty feet wide. This pass had always been a strategically vital battleground — easy to defend, difficult to attack. To the north, the Kabul River flowed in a curve past the city and into the Indus River, flowing south, encircling Purushapura on three sides in a natural moat.

It was dusk. The setting sun sank into the mountain ranges and highlands to the city’s west. To the east, merchants were hurrying to arrive at the city gate before closing time. Just at this moment, suddenly dust billowed from the east, blocking out the sky and covering the sun. The gate guards were greatly alarmed, assuming that a large armed force was attacking the city, and immediately ran up to the city tower, sounding the horn.

Xuanzang smiled: “The Buddha was able to transform Matanga’s daughter — why can I not accept your donation?”

The mournful horn calls resounded throughout the entire city. Instantly the city’s garrison troops were alarmed and rushed to the east wall; even the King of Gandhara hastily ascended the city walls. Within the city was total pandemonium, and the merchants crowded at the city gate jostled and pushed each other frantically to get inside and find cover.

The dust in the distance drew closer and closer. The King of Gandhara peered intently and was immediately taken aback. Floating in the dust-filled air were enormous Buddha heads! As the dust swirled and billowed, the Buddha heads appeared and disappeared, more than ten zhang above the ground, dense and numerous — as though countless Buddhas from all directions were treading the dust and drifting serenely toward the city.

Everyone could see this extraordinary sight. All were frozen in place, dumbfounded — even the merchants jostling to flee at the city gate were stupefied, turning to stare at the scene.

The dust drew closer and closer, growing clearer and clearer. At this point the crowd could see — it was several hundred ox-carts, loaded with piles and piles of Buddha statues, with several hundred more people pushing and pulling them from front and back. These Buddha statues were of varied sizes: the small ones were loaded many to a cart, while the large ones were stood upright on specially made carts drawn by five or six oxen, bound in place front and back, towering magnificently over ten zhang.

And at the very front of the procession walked a monk leading a white horse. His monastic robe was of patchwork color; his gaze was calm. He led the procession directly toward the city gate.

A black-robed monk leads a white horse, entering the royal capital in grand style.

The King of Gandhara stared with eyes wide open. He was a native Gandharan. After the Western Turks had destroyed the Hephthalite Empire and occupied Tokharistan, Gandhara, and other territories, aside from Tokharistan — the most important major city — which was governed by the Shad Tardush, the eldest son of Jabghu Qaghan himself, in other nations where the royal line had died out, local people were appointed as governors. The King of Gandhara was in fact a governor appointed by the Western Turks.

The King of Gandhara frowned: “Go and find out what is going on.”

A garrison general immediately descended from the city walls, rushed to the city gate, and blocked Xuanzang’s party to make inquiries.

Xuanzang said: “This humble monk is Xuanzang, a Great Tang monastic, merely passing through Gandhara, wishing to enter the city and reside for a few days.”

“Then why do you bring so many Buddha statues?” the general asked.

Xuanzang asked: “Does the royal capital have a rule that monastics are not permitted to bring Buddha statues inside?”

“This… ” the general was at a loss for words. “But… the quantity you have brought…”

Xuanzang smiled: “Since bringing Buddha statues into the city is permitted, and no rule specifies how many or how few, this humble monk would seem not to have violated the laws of the royal domain.”

The general looked somewhat awkwardly up at the King of Gandhara on the city walls. The King of Gandhara also grasped the general situation, and after a moment of thought, his expression unchanged, he waved his hand and descended from the walls. The general nodded: “You may enter the city. However, entering the city requires a tax.”

“This humble monk has traveled through many nations; monastics have never been required to pay a city entrance tax,” Xuanzang said.

The general was irritated: “But you are bringing so many Buddha statues…”

“May I ask, General — does Gandhara stipulate that when a monastic brings too many Buddha statues, an entrance tax must be paid?” Xuanzang asked.

“This —” the general was completely at a loss, knowing that he could not gain the slightest advantage over this monk in a battle of words, and waved his hand helplessly, paying him no further attention.

Xuanzang led his white horse at the front, while the procession of carts rumbled in behind him; the surrounding merchants hastily stepped aside, clearing a wide path. At the city gate, the craftsmen from the sculpting workshops slowly laid the tall Buddha statues flat, and only then managed to pass through the gate with difficulty.

Purushapura city was high to the west and low to the east, high on both sides and low in the middle, forming a gentle valley. The royal palace sat on a gentle slope in the northwest, with the dwellings of native residents arrayed before it in overlapping rows. As for foreign merchants, they were largely concentrated in the east of the city, where shops, brothels, workshop districts, residences, temples and shrines, and guest lodges and wine houses of every kind were present — prosperous yet chaotic.

The south of the city, however, was quite desolate. In the most glorious period of Buddhism, large numbers of Buddhist monasteries had been built on the southern hillside, and one after another magnificent Buddhist temples and stupas rose on the southern slope overlooking the whole city. But now the temples were bleak, the stupas abandoned and ruined, leaving only crumbled walls and broken foundations, reflecting the slant of the sun. Crows and foxes and rabbits moved through them; wormwood and vines wound through the wild all around. As glorious as it had once been — so lonely it was now.

Xuanzang led the procession with the Buddha statues straight to this area of temple ruins. One temple on the hill was named the Kanishka King Monastery — it had been built by King Kanishka of the Kushan Empire during the most flourishing period of Buddhism. Within it was one stupa four hundred feet tall, with a foundation perimeter of one and a half li around it, and hundreds of small stupas large and small surrounding it — but now the great stupa had collapsed and the small stupas were destroyed. Not far from the great stupa stood two Guanyin statues, one to the east and one to the west. There had once been a prophecy: When Guanyin sinks into the earth, the Buddhist lineage is severed.

And at this moment, the eastern Guanyin statue had already been buried to the chest in yellow earth.

This prophecy, this omen, filled Xuanzang’s heart with grief. He walked silently to the Guanyin statue, gazed blankly at the ruined and broken landscape all around, and could not hold back his tears — he knelt to the ground, weeping: “On the day the Buddha attained enlightenment, in what wandering place was I? Why have I only now arrived here!”

The craftsmen around him watched in silence. Xuanzang stood up and instructed: “Unload the Buddha statues and arrange them throughout the surrounding area. Then clear out a stone chamber for this humble monk. All of you may then leave.”

The craftsmen began to bustle about. With several hundred people working together, the scale was immense. In the main road within the city, people were also paying attention — curious as to why this monk had brought so many Buddha statues. Even the King of Gandhara was watching from the palace walls. Seeing that Xuanzang was actually about to arrange the Buddha statues, the King of Gandhara immediately changed expression: “This monk is about to stir up serious trouble!”

The garrison general did not take it seriously: “He is merely a monk — what could he possibly do?”

The King of Gandhara shook his head and sighed: “At this moment, the situation in Gandhara is far too delicate. Since Yazdegerd III led the Persian remnants here, he has triggered a contest among three great empires. The Arabs wish to enter Tianzhu through Yazdegerd III; Harsha wishes to seize Gandhara; and the King of Tokharistan has also received orders from Bilobo Qaghan of the Western Turks, intending to find ways to swallow these six hundred thousand Persians and strengthen Tokharistan’s power. But the King of Tokharistan’s forces have all been deployed to Suyab, participating in the Western Turks’ internal struggle, so there is more will than strength. At this sensitive moment, the moment this monk arrives, he will inevitably trigger a period of disorder.”

“But this minister still cannot understand — what kind of trouble can a single monk stir up?” the garrison general asked.

“Look,” the King of Gandhara pointed into the city.

At this moment, already gathered on the main road within the city were hundreds and thousands of people, shouting and crying out in the direction of Xuanzang. Some held torches; some shook banners painted with fearsome patterns; some carried idols. Countless people shouted as they converged on the south of the city.

“Ha!” The King of Gandhara gave a cold laugh. “Buddhism has been severed in Gandhara for two hundred years. This monk arrives on a single horse with his procession of Buddha statues — if he doesn’t provoke a backlash from others, that would be the strange thing! Hmph — he came from the east; without saying more, it is naturally Harsha who has made his move!”

The darkness of night draped itself over the hill. The craftsmen had long since scattered. Xuanzang sat alone before the ruined stupa; below the hill, torch-lights swayed and surged, and dense figures carrying torches poured in — a full two or three thousand people — surrounding Xuanzang completely on all sides. In the glare of the torches, everyone’s faces appeared fierce and distorted, full of fury, shouting in the languages of various places, loudly berating him.

“You — monk!” An old man stepped forward, pointing at Xuanzang: “In this Gandhara, the Buddhist lineage has been severed for two hundred years. You have come to the royal capital and made such a grand spectacle — what exactly is your purpose?”

“Nothing else — this humble monk only wishes to restore the Buddhist lineage,” Xuanzang said.

“Dream on!” The old man spat at him.

“What makes it impossible?” Xuanzang sat composedly. “Whatever school or sect, all hold sentient beings at heart, all teach and transform the four directions on behalf of Heaven, all bestow blessings upon living beings. Can you be an exception?”

“Of course not,” the old man said. “Our school exorcises demons, prays for blessings, divines, and summons souls — we can resolve every affliction of living beings.”

“You can resolve every affliction of living beings because living beings have afflictions. Can you free living beings from affliction entirely?” Xuanzang asked.

The old man was immediately left staring and speechless. This question was a spear-and-shield problem — no matter how he answered, he would be completely routed. The crowd fell momentarily silent; everyone sensed that this monk was no ordinary person.

A Byzantine man stepped forward: “Who divided the channels of the rainwater? Who cleared the path for the lightning? Causing rain to fall on lands without people, on barren, uninhabited wildness, making desolate places prosperous and grass to spring up green. Does the rain have a father? Who gave birth to the drops of dew? Out of whose womb did the ice come? Who gave birth to the frost of the heavens?”

Xuanzang was silent in reflection for a long time before sighing: “The mystery of creation — how can the likes of we common mortals even touch it?” He paused for a moment. “As you say, this Creator-Nature is then your God?”

“All glory to God,” the Byzantine said.

“In that case, this humble monk also wishes to ask you to ask God on my behalf,” Xuanzang said. “What am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?”

This question was simple enough to answer. The Byzantine said: “You are a mortal born of God’s creation, come from God’s embrace, and will return to God’s embrace.”

“Then this humble monk would ask — since one is able to return to God’s embrace, it is surely because I have done much good in this life and revered the divine, and only through such affinity would I have this blessing?” Xuanzang asked.

“That is only natural,” the Byzantine said.

Xuanzang said: “If that is so, then why would God push this humble monk from his embrace and cast him into this turbid human world, to suffer its endless misery?”

The Byzantine was rendered speechless. His school was not particularly known for explaining reincarnation, yet once a clash of doctrines began, the source and destination of living beings was always a topic that would come up. At this point a Persian stepped forward: “In the beginning, the two great principles of Good and Evil existed side by side; thought, speech, and action all have their good and evil. When the two great principles meet, the majestic and magnificent palace of life arises from good; the dark pit of death stands upon evil. When the end of the world comes, those who are sincere and good shall enjoy the grace and radiance of God in the heavenly kingdom; those who are false and wicked shall fall into the darkness of hell. Everyone, this monk cannot distinguish good from evil, the sincere from the false and hypocritical — when you converse with him, you may easily be deceived and mistakenly choose evil.”

“All things divided into good and evil? Only good and evil?” Xuanzang asked.

“Of course — this is God’s instruction,” the Persian said.

“This humble monk has learned a spell that can cause the great earth to split into an abyss,” Xuanzang said slowly. “One day, walking along a road, I encountered a child riding on a bolting horse, charging toward another child. And so I chanted the spell, the earth split, the bolting horse and child fell into the abyss, and the other child was unharmed. I would ask — in saving one person while killing another, was what this humble monk did good, or evil?”

The crowd was left bewildered, struggling to find an answer.

Xuanzang continued: “If the child who was saved was this humble monk’s relative, and the child who fell into the abyss was a stranger, was what this humble monk did good or evil? And if the child who fell into the abyss was this humble monk’s relative, and the child who was saved was a stranger, was what this humble monk did good or evil?”

This time even the Persian was stumped. Unsatisfied, the crowd fell silent for a moment, then others changed the subject and continued to refute Xuanzang. Throughout that night, three hundred people in succession came forward with three hundred questions. Xuanzang sat composedly beneath the Kanishka stupa and refuted them one by one — not a single person could hold their ground for more than a moment; more often than not, they were defeated in just three exchanges. The entire royal capital was in an uproar; countless common people and merchants rushed to the Kanishka King Monastery to listen to Xuanzang debate the various heterodox schools.

On the palace walls, the King of Gandhara had already been standing for several hours. He dispatched a trusted aide to relay back to him each exchange between Xuanzang and the various heterodox schools in detail — word for word. The King of Gandhara chewed carefully over each exchange and, unable to contain himself, struck the parapet rail over and over: “This monk — what extraordinary skill! Who on earth is he? Has anyone found out?”

The trusted aide sent to listen in reported: “This servant went to ask those craftsmen who delivered the Buddha statues. They said this person is called Xuanzang. He is not a Tianzhu person — he is a man of the Great Tang.”

“Xuanzang…” The King of Gandhara murmured, and his expression immediately changed. “Is his Sanskrit name Mahayana Provide-a-slave?”

“Your Majesty, you know this person?” the garrison general asked.

The King of Gandhara slowly nodded: “Ten years ago, he passed through this kingdom; merchants traveling between Tokharistan and the Western Turks spoke of him with the highest admiration. This king had intended to summon him for an audience, but he had already crossed the river and gone east. Three years ago, I heard that a Great Tang monk was touring the five regions of Tianzhu, arriving at the Langala Kingdom directly to our south — defeating countless heterodox schools along the way, his reputation tremendous. I dispatched someone to invite him, but again missed him. Ten days ago, the spy I sent to Kanyakubja returned to report that Harsha had convened a doctrinal debate assembly at Kanyakubja, and a Great Tang monk, after setting forth his thesis, went eighteen days without a single challenger, and was given the honorific title: Great Vehicle Heaven. His name resounded throughout the five regions of Tianzhu. If this king has guessed correctly, that is precisely the person before us now — the Great Tang’s Xuanzang, Mahayana Provide-a-slave. This king has admired him for more than ten years, and who would have thought that today he would appear before this king’s eyes!”

“Your Majesty,” the garrison general was now worried, “it seems that Master Xuanzang has fallen into a dangerous situation!”

“He absolutely cannot be allowed to come to harm!” The King of Gandhara said decisively. “This monk’s connections are far-reaching — never mind the Harsha side; even the Emperor of the Great Tang has a close relationship with this man. What’s more, the current Qaghan of the Western Turks is Bilobo; Bilobo’s father, the previous Qaghan Nushibi, was on intimate terms with Xuanzang. Even the King of Tokharistan’s father, the previous Tokharistan King Tardush, was this man’s close friend —”

In the midst of speaking, suddenly the crowd before the Kanishka King Monastery erupted in commotion. Countless people surged forward, and in the flicker of torchlight, they completely swallowed Xuanzang whole.

The King of Gandhara was anxious: “Quickly — send people to protect the Master… this king will go in person!”

Xuanzang had indeed fallen into crisis. Many people, having been refuted to the point of exhausting their arguments, actually instigated the surrounding common people to pick up stones and hurl them at Xuanzang. In an instant, countless stones rained down upon him from all directions. Xuanzang sat still and unmoved, allowing the stones to strike his head, body, and face. His whole head and face ran with blood — yet he still sat composedly beneath the Kanishka stupa, his expression not even changing, looking at the crowd with calm composure.

The surrounding people grew furious, shouting all at once: “Burn him! Burn him!”

Some threw the torches in their hands. Soon raging flames blazed up all around Xuanzang. Just at this moment, from the hill below came the rumbling of hoofbeats like muffled thunder; the King of Gandhara led cavalry charging up the hillside. The cavalrymen swung their horsewhips and lashed down at the surrounding crowd to drive them away, then used their long spears to fling aside the torches all around.

The King of Gandhara rushed over to meet Xuanzang: “May I ask, are you the Great Tang monk, Master Xuanzang?”

“Indeed this humble monk is he,” Xuanzang said with a bow, blood from his face dropping into his palms.

“Truly the Great Vehicle Heaven! To have suffered such hardships here in this king’s domain!” The King of Gandhara was pained and furious, roaring: “Summon a physician! Summon a physician!”

Immediately a cavalryman galloped down the hill and knocked open a medical hall, hauling the physician up onto a horse’s back and bringing him to treat Xuanzang’s wounds. The wounds were quite serious — some so deep the bone was visible. As the physician sutured the wounds, Xuanzang remained silent and motionless, reciting scripture in his mouth, without even his muscles trembling — those around him marveled.

When the wounds had been treated, the King of Gandhara asked in a low voice: “Master, this king heard that just a month ago you were still debating doctrines in Kanyakubja — why have you suddenly come to Gandhara?”

Xuanzang opened his eyes and smiled: “This humble monk said — I came to restore the Buddhist lineage.”

The King of Gandhara smiled ruefully: “There is no need for the Master to engage in this kind of wordplay with this king. Gandhara is now beset with crises on all sides — Persians, Arabs, Turks, Tianzhu people — four great forces contending, slaughtering each other, schemes and dark wars arising one after another without end. Master, you are a great monk of eminent virtue — why must you wade into this muddy water?”

Xuanzang sighed quietly, turned back to look at the half-buried Guanyin statue, and said despondently: “Should this humble monk simply sit and watch this Guanyin sink into the earth?”

The King of Gandhara sighed: “This king is a native person, with family living in Gandhara for generations — two hundred years ago, the family were also Buddhists. In the ten directions of this world, all things rise and fall in cycles of reincarnation. Even the Buddha himself prophesied that there would come an age of the final Dharma. Why must you insist?”

This time Xuanzang thought for a long while before saying: “Does Your Majesty know — this humble monk just raised three questions: What am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going? In fact there is a fourth question that I have not yet grasped the answer to: What did this humble monk come to this world of suffering to accomplish? Today, coming to this royal capital and seeing this half-buried Guanyin, I have long resented myself for not being born in the time when the Buddha had not yet passed away — where in the world was I wandering then, that I was not fortunate enough to be here? Yet now, after taking that beating —” Xuanzang pointed to the white cotton cloth on his head, “— this humble monk suddenly had an awakening. Perhaps I was born at precisely this time when the Dharma has reached its final branches.”

The King of Gandhara smiled ruefully: “Master, you wish to propagate the Dharma — this king naturally has no objection. But this king fears he cannot protect your safety! How about this, Master — let you come and reside within the royal palace. This king will in turn summon these heterodox schools and sternly warn them not to harm the Master. Once things are settled, you can come out again.”

“If it is so, then this beating was for nothing,” Xuanzang laughed. “Your Majesty, please return. In future this humble monk will reside here in the Kanishka King Monastery and walk the streets each day with a begging bowl, looking upon the myriad appearances of living beings.”

The King of Gandhara was greatly alarmed: “That won’t do at all, Master — you are seeking your own death!”

“No matter,” Xuanzang was quite composed. “Let them beat; let them curse. This humble monk cannot beat them, but he can out-argue them. Of course, I would also ask Your Majesty to restate Gandhara’s laws — this humble monk’s words cannot move faster than a sharp blade, and I have no wish to be stabbed to death in some senseless manner.”

The King of Gandhara remonstrated with Xuanzang again and again, but could not move him, and could only return to the palace. That very evening he issued an order: from this day forward, Gandhara’s laws would be strictly enforced; those who injured others would be severely punished, and those who caused death would pay with their lives. The people throughout the royal capital all knew this decree had been set because of Xuanzang. Though some resented it inwardly, none were willing to risk offending the King of Gandhara just to deal with Xuanzang.

That night, Xuanzang sat in silence beneath the crumbled stupa until dawn.

The following day, Xuanzang took out his begging bowl and set off along the royal capital’s main streets. From noon the previous day until now, he had not drunk a single drop of water or eaten a single grain of rice. Xuanzang went straight toward the most bustling eastern part of the city. By now virtually everyone in the city recognized Xuanzang; seeing this monk making his begging rounds, they were somewhat surprised, and rather admired the monk’s audacity — yet not a single person offered him a drop of water or a single grain of rice. Some spoke harshly at him; some ignored him entirely. Xuanzang was not bothered at all, his face wearing a cloudless, wind-light serenity, walking silently onward.

From morning until dusk — not a single person offered charity.

Xuanzang departed calmly, returning to the Kanishka King Monastery, and sat as before beneath the crumbled stupa, sinking into silent meditation. That night the whole royal capital was full of talk, everyone discussing this monk. Yet Xuanzang was completely unaware of it — gazing up at the stars of this ancient nation, accompanied by crumbled walls and broken foundations, in the bright moonlight and clear breeze.

On the second day, Xuanzang rose and continued his begging rounds. The look in the eyes of the royal capital’s people as they watched Xuanzang had changed somewhat. Some of the heterodox schools, seemingly feeling deeply humiliated, gathered a crowd of people and surrounded Xuanzang on the main street, clamouring that they wanted to burn him to death. Xuanzang did not argue at all; his face wore a peaceful smile as he looked at them: “Patrons, before burning this humble monk to death — might you offer a bowl of vegetarian food?”

This group of heterodox followers was nearly beside themselves with rage, staring at this monk and not knowing what to do with him.

A man said: “Is this monk perhaps somewhat simple-minded?”

“Looks like it,” another said. “Those stones the night before last must have addled his brain.”

“This is the divine punishment of our God upon him!”

Everyone grew cheerful, feeling this was the heavenly might of their own deity descending. At this moment, an old man pushed through them, his face darkly grave, and walked forward — and actually bowed deeply to Xuanzang.

The crowd was taken aback: “Why are you saluting him?”

The old man gave a cold laugh: “A bunch of fools — do you really think you can see through this monk’s cultivation?” He bowed to Xuanzang once more: “Monk, come with me.”

Xuanzang nodded and, without asking a question, simply followed him. They walked to the most bustling crossroads in the city, where the old man stopped and called over a young man, gave an instruction, and that young man called several others and they all left together. A short while later, they came carrying a woman on a bed-board, and laid her flat in the middle of the crossroads.

The woman was clearly severely ill. The skin on her body was ulcerated; her belly was round and swollen; the flesh of her lips had rotted away to reveal white bare gums — her entire person was on the verge of death. The people on the street, seeing this rare spectacle, immediately crowded around three layers deep.

The old man said: “Monk, your Buddhist school is said to be able to resolve the three calamities and six disasters, to erase the sins of past and present lives, and to resolve every affliction in the human world. This woman has been possessed by a demon and is critically ill. Since saving one life is said to be better than building a seven-story pagoda — monk, show us the methods of your Buddhist school, and save her!”

The surrounding people grew excited, each chiming in. “That’s right — we want to see the Buddhist school’s methods! You people spout flowers in the air every day; if your countless divine Buddhas can save this woman, then we’ll believe you!”

“Monk — if you can save this woman, I am willing to convert! If you cannot save her, get out of Gandhara!”

Xuanzang was completely dumbfounded. He gazed at the woman on the ground and was silent for a long time, before finally shaking his head: “This humble monk has no way to save her.”

“Pfft!” The old man spat at him, then called to those all around: “Look — this is the true nature of this monk! Do you all believe it now? He uses only his glib tongue to deceive living beings and has not a shred of supernatural power. He is nothing but a fraud!”

The surrounding crowd erupted in laughter, and then some people shoved Xuanzang about, mocking him wildly.

“Today I will demonstrate a true divine miracle!” the old man announced loudly. “I will drive out the demon inside this woman’s body and make her recover from all illness, fully restored to health!”

The old man then lit a stick of incense, muttered continuously with his mouth, and walked in circles around the woman, the incense tip weaving around her. Then he stuffed a ball of jet-black soft paste into the woman’s mouth, and the incantations from his mouth grew increasingly rapid. Pointing at the woman, he roared: “In the name of the divine spirit, I command you — leave this body, return to hell!”

The woman’s body twisted into contorted positions, then she let out a hoarse wail, the cry piercing and shrill. Afterward she spat out a mouthful of black blood, which upon hitting the air became wisps of black smoke that dissipated without a trace. The woman collapsed flat on the ground, motionless.

Those watching were startled and awed, filled with reverence. After a moment, the woman’s ulcerated skin began to visibly recover with the naked eye; her round, swollen belly also began to shrink. Amid the crowd’s gasps of wonder, the woman slowly opened her eyes.

“I… why am I on this main street?” the woman said in bewilderment, gazing all around.

The crowd instantly broke out in cheers and applause.

The old man laughed loudly and looked at Xuanzang challengingly: “Monk — how about it?”

Xuanzang calmly pressed his palms together: “I have learned something.”

Amid the laughter and ridicule of those around him, Xuanzang picked up his begging bowl and departed calmly. He continued walking the streets making his begging rounds — but the glory from two days earlier, when he had defeated three hundred heterodox followers, had been completely shattered by today’s failure. The people of the royal capital no longer had any reverence for him, and even less were they willing to offer charity.

With dusk approaching, Xuanzang dragged his exhausted body back to the Kanishka King Monastery. Two full days and nights without water or food — he truly could no longer hold on. His lips cracked and dry, his body weak, his vision going dark in waves. He struggled back to the foot of the stupa and sank to the ground, his body unable to struggle upright again. Xuanzang sat cross-legged, gazing down at the human fires of life below, gazing up at the vast cosmos of stars above, sinking into deep meditation.

He did not know how long had passed when the sound of footsteps came from outside the ruined monastery — as though a person was walking toward him. He opened his eyes to see before him a tall figure, a curved blade at his waist.

“Have you come to kill this humble monk?” Xuanzang asked.

The figure said nothing, took a flatbread from the bundle on his back and placed it on a rock in front of him, then took out a water skin and handed it to Xuanzang. Xuanzang accepted it.

“Master, I am a thief,” the figure said. “I have robbed wealth and taken lives — killed without number.”

Xuanzang studied him: “Then why do you bring me food to eat?”

The thief said: “There is fear in my heart, and I hope to find great peace.”

Xuanzang nodded: “Do you know why this humble monk does not allow the King of Gandhara to offer food?”

The thief shook his head.

“One meal, one food — it all comes from living beings. To receive charity is to have a karmic affinity with the Buddha,” Xuanzang said. “You have fear in your heart; this humble monk has compassion in his heart. And so — your water and your food, this humble monk accepts.”

Xuanzang finished speaking, picked up the water skin and drank a mouthful, then picked up the flatbread and began to eat.

The thief watched him: “Master, I have often heard people say — lay down the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha on the spot. Is that truly so?”

“What do you yourself think?” Xuanzang asked.

“If a wicked person like me could become a Buddha simply by laying down the butcher’s knife, why is it so difficult for a good person who has cultivated all their life to become a Buddha?” the thief asked.

Xuanzang smiled: “A good person may cultivate for many lives without becoming a Buddha — but all living beings possess the Buddha-nature. After you lay down the butcher’s knife, what you achieve is not Buddhahood itself, but your own intrinsic Buddha-nature — and then you can attain great peace, great freedom.”

The thief was silent for a long while, bowed in thanks, and left without another word.

On the third day, Xuanzang continued his begging rounds. He walked the streets with a peaceful expression, and his bearing toward the people around him was, astonishingly, no different from two days before. Yet the entire day went by with not a single scrap of food offered for charity. With dusk nearly upon him, just as Xuanzang was dragging his weary body to leave, suddenly from the crowd came a woman with a light gauze veil over her face, followed by a maidservant of outstanding appearance.

The woman walked up to Xuanzang: “Master, may I offer you charity?”

“My gratitude,” Xuanzang pressed his palms together.

The woman took a few pieces of melon and fruit from a nearby stall and placed them in his begging bowl. As Xuanzang expressed his thanks, the woman laughed lightly: “Master, I am a prostitute.”

The woman was startled for a moment, then smiled lightly: “Master, I still wish to offer one more thing — I wonder if the Master dares to accept it?”

“What thing?” Xuanzang smiled.

The woman pulled aside her outer robe with a graceful gesture, revealing through the light gauze the hazy curves of her body: “This body of mine. If the Master is willing to have it, tonight come with me to the Fragrant Country.”

The surrounding crowd burst into laughter.

Xuanzang was silent for a moment: “This body of yours, this humble monk can accept. But you would need to follow this humble monk back to the Kanishka King Monastery, where this humble monk will shave your head and perform the abhisheka consecration for you — just like Matanga’s daughter — to cultivate by candlelight and Buddha-light for a lifetime.”

The woman was immediately taken aback. After thinking for half a while, she smiled ruefully: “You monk — you are quite interesting. The swiftness of your tongue is beyond anyone’s match.” She bowed gracefully and swayed away.

Xuanzang carried his fruit back to the Kanishka King Monastery. He sat beneath the ruined king’s stupa, his manner outwardly composed, yet his heart immeasurably heavy. The current situation, though he had foreseen it long ago, had turned out to be even more difficult than he had imagined at every step. Especially the scene of treating the woman at the crossroads — it had struck Xuanzang a heavy blow. From childhood he had cultivated the right Dharma of the Tathagata, and had always looked with disdain on practices such as divination, exorcism, sacrifice, and soul-summoning, viewing them as signs of the decline of the Dharma. Yet he also understood deeply that ordinary common people found it difficult to grasp the true Unsurpassed Bodhi — these minor techniques were, on the contrary, far more capable of inspiring awe in them. He was perplexed.