Xuanzang learned of the dramatic upheaval in the royal palace only the following morning. Worried about Nashun, he hurried into the palace, and the King of Gandhara came out to receive him. Xuanzang pressed for a detailed account of what had happened. Upon hearing that Nashun had been gravely wounded, he grew anxious and rushed to check on him.

Nashun had not yet regained consciousness, his entire body wrapped in bandages as he lay on a floor mat. Xuanzang lifted his clothing and saw his skin stained crimson with blood, wounds large and small numbering no fewer than dozens — a testament to the carnage of the previous night.

Xuanzang said nothing. It was only then that the King of Gandhara told him of the mystery of Lianhuaye’s cycle of reincarnation. Xuanzang was deeply shaken, staring at Lianhuaye in astonishment. Lianhuaye sat silently beside Nashun, solitary and sorrowful, as though everything they discussed had nothing to do with her.

“Where is Suopo Mi?” Xuanzang asked.

“Last night, when he heard the four syllables ‘Ubo Luoyue,’ he left in a great hurry, saying he needed to consult the scriptures to verify whether it was true,” the King of Gandhara replied. “Damuge and Yizihou III have been following him every step of the way. With the outcome of the wager now imminent, both are extremely tense. To tell the truth, Master, this king is also very tense.”

The King of Gandhara looked utterly despondent — no matter who won or lost this wager, he was the lamb awaiting slaughter.

Just then, Nashun groaned and slowly regained consciousness. Xuanzang was overjoyed and hurried over, calling his name softly. Nashun opened his eyes, and the first person he saw was Lianhuaye.

“Have we already died?” Nashun asked.

“No, we are still alive,” Lianhuaye said gently.

Nashun looked around and only then realized they were inside the royal palace. He sighed bitterly. “In the end, I couldn’t save you. But so be it — there’s no need to search for you anymore. The searching has worn me out. What frightened me most was the thought that you and I, like the sea and the stars, might never meet again in this lifetime.”

Lianhuaye managed a faint smile. “Nashun, in truth, you and I should never have met.”

“Why?” Nashun asked.

“Because the moment we meet, we fall into the fate arranged by the cycle of reincarnation,” Lianhuaye said. “No matter how we struggle, the ending will always be one of pain and sorrow. Do you still want that?”

“I want it.” Nashun struggled to sit upright and grasped her hand. “Lianhuaye, is there anything more heartbreaking than failing to find you in this lifetime? We are destined lovers, yet you cannot find me, and I cannot find you — separated by countless mountains and rivers, divided by countless nations and peoples, submerged beneath countless surging crowds. I walk down streets teeming with people, yet it feels as though I am crossing a desolate, lonely desert. I am alone, utterly alone — as though my heart and liver have vanished, as though my soul is lost. Lianhuaye, is there a fate more wretched than being born into this world and spending one’s entire life bound in longing, like a walking corpse? Lianhuaye — take my hand, hold me at the waist, mount my warhorse, and ride with me to face whatever lies ahead, no matter who our enemies may be!”

“I am seven years older than you,” Lianhuaye said.

“That is my fault entirely. I should have died three years earlier, so I could have found you three years sooner.”

“I am a courtesan. My body has long since lost its purity.”

“Then that is a fine thing. They could only buy a single night from you. But I — I shall have your entire life.”

“My fate is ill-omened. You will die because of me.”

“To die for you — grant me that honor.”

“Ah, Nashun, Nashun.” Lianhuaye caressed his cheek with a dazed tenderness, her expression tinged with sorrow. “In every one of my reincarnations, I have been waiting for someone. Is that person you?”

“It is me,” Nashun said with complete certainty.

Many years later, when Nashun looked back on this moment, he would find that this brief, fleeting instant had been the most moving and most beautiful time of his entire life. Lianhuaye was at his side, and the whole world seemed bathed in the light of the Buddha — no sorrow, no filth, no worry. Everything was fulfilled, and nothing more was desired.

At that moment, the sound of mingled footsteps rose from outside the door. Yizihou III, Suopo Mi, and Damuge arrived together. Behind them, soldiers led seven or eight camels loaded with boxes, the contents of which were unknown.

The group entered the chamber, and everyone saw that Suopo Mi had grown considerably more haggard — his eyes were red and swollen, his expression exhausted, yet burning with fervent agitation. Seeing that Xuanzang was also present, Suopo Mi said with a self-satisfied air: “Mahayana Deva, this old monk has already unraveled the mystery of Lianhuaye and Nashun’s past lives!”

“Oh?” Xuanzang replied evenly. “This humble monk was just about to hear about it.”

Suopo Mi gave a long, contented sigh. “Last night, I used certain methods to compel Lianhuaye to speak those four words, ‘Ubo Luoyue.’ I then consulted several hundred volumes of scriptures to trace the life of Ubo Luoyue. The scriptures record a number of queens who died violent deaths, among them several who had also been courtesans. Some accounts are vague, but one is recorded in extraordinary detail. That is the account of this woman Lianhuaye’s very first life — Ubo Luoyue.”

Suopo Mi waved his hand, and his attendants unloaded the boxes from the camels’ backs and opened them one by one. Inside were crates upon crates of palm-leaf scriptures, each bundle clasped between wooden boards and bound with rope.

In this era, the various texts of the Indian cultural sphere were written on the leaves of a tree called the Betadoro, the famous palm-leaf scriptures. To prepare the leaves for writing, they were first plucked fresh and cut into long strips, then boiled together with tamarind and lemon, dried and pressed flat. An iron stylus was then used to inscribe the text. Once inscribed, the leaves were rubbed with an ink made from oil and lampblack; when the surface ink was wiped away, the lines carved by the stylus would absorb the ink and clearly display the characters. Holes were then pierced through the leaves and they were bound together with rope into volumes. Palm-leaf scriptures could normally be preserved for several hundred years without decay.

“Bring out the Ekottara Agama, the Samyukta Agama, the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya, and the Mahisasaka Vinaya,” Suopo Mi instructed.

His attendants found the scrolls among the crates and untied the ropes from the board bindings. Suopo Mi turned through a few pages and passed them to Xuanzang, Damuge, and the others to examine.

“According to what is recorded in the scriptures, in the age of the Buddha, there was a woman who was abandoned by her husband after she grew old and her beauty faded, and so she took her own life. Before doing so, she found a holy man and made a great vow: that in her next life, she would be reborn with an upright and dignified form — as lovely as a blue lotus, beautiful in both color and fragrance, captivating and enchanting. And that in her next life, she would be loved devotedly by someone who would remain at her side like the passing of time, who would follow as close as breath, and who would never forsake her until death.” Suopo Mi gazed at Lianhuaye, his smile cold. “When this old monk used the six-entry nail to fix her in the cycle of reincarnation and looked back upon her past life, she herself spoke these very words.”

“After this woman died, she was reincarnated in Rajagaha and born as a girl of the Vaishya caste. From birth, this girl was unlike any other. Her skin was smooth and delicate, like the petals of a newly opened lotus. Her complexion was luminously clear, like a blue lotus flower rising from still water. Her eyes were as dark and brilliant as an agate-studded sky. From her body there naturally arose a rare fragrance, sweet and rich, like a lotus flower. This was a miracle — all the people of Rajagaha came to behold her, and they gave her the name Ubo Luoyue.

“She grew up amid the praise and adoration of all the people of Rajagaha. By the time she was a young girl, her beauty was like a blue lotus mirroring the moonlight. Her grace overwhelmed every living creature; her voice intoxicated every man. Wherever she passed, the dust dared not fly, and filth dared not descend. Those who harbored evil were moved by the beauty of creation; thieves and bandits regarded their stolen gold and jade as dust.

“At the very moment she was born, a male infant was born in the neighboring household. From the day he came into the world, he loved her, content to remain by her side as an unremarkable presence, playing with her, growing up alongside her. For he was the one spoken of in Ubo Luoyue’s great vow from her previous life — that devoted, ardent lover. He would accompany her like time itself at her side, following her as closely as breath, never forsaking her until death. This young man’s name was Youtan.”

Nashun murmured, “And that was me, in my past life?”

Tears streamed down Lianhuaye’s face as she caressed his. “It was you. I have always known. From the very first instant you arrived carrying five hundred gold coins to find me, I knew — you had come. In this lifetime, you have come again.”

Suopo Mi continued: “Yet for Ubo Luoyue, Youtan’s existence was too natural — he was like her own breath, indispensable, yet imperceptible. She felt no particular emotion toward him. He was more like time itself — you love it because you fear it leaving, taking with it your youth, your years, your memories, and your life. Yet you only feel regret when it is gone; in the ordinary course of things, you squander it carelessly and ignore its presence. What girl could ever fall in love with breath, fall in love with the passage of time? Ubo Luoyue searched for that devoted, ardent lover she was destined for, and in the end she was deceived by the wealthiest merchant in Rajagaha. The merchant gave her a magnificent and beautiful dwelling, scattered flowers along the paths she walked, adorned her with the most costly jewels purchased from every corner of the world, and whispered into her ear words of sweet flattery that no other woman had ever heard. And so Ubo Luoyue believed that this merchant was the beloved she had sought in this lifetime, and she agreed to his proposal. The merchant held the grandest wedding that Rajagaha had ever seen, spending half his fortune to take her as his wife. Their wedding made even the king envious and the queen jealous. But where was Youtan, the one who belonged in her life? Youtan had fallen gravely ill. He had lost Ubo Luoyue — it was as though he had lost time itself, lost breath itself. He lay on his sickbed, listening to the cold rain beat upon the Youtan flowers on the roof’s eaves, knowing that come morning, the Youtan blossoms in the courtyard would fall and be trodden into the mud.”

Everyone listened in silence. Suopo Mi’s narration carried a remarkable quality, as though possessed of some power that drew the minds of all present into that ancient story from twelve hundred years ago, the age of the Buddha. Suopo Mi’s eyes had even grown slightly moist; he was full of compassion and emotion. Xuanzang found this somewhat surprising and glanced at him.

Suopo Mi looked a little self-conscious. “Mahayana Deva, do you know why I am moved?”

Xuanzang shook his head. “I do not.”

“In the story of these two people, this old monk has seen the workings of destiny, has seen the arising of karmic conditions, has seen the Dharma present everywhere, has seen the thousand turnings of human nature, has seen the undying faithfulness of love, has seen the anguished cries of all living beings in the darkness of night.” Suopo Mi spoke with overflowing emotion. “And so, Mahayana Deva, when you follow the thread of their reincarnations and look back along the whole path, it is as though you can see the true meaning of the Dharma being verified and flowing through each turn. That is why this old monk is moved.”

Nashun said coldly, “Spare us the commentary and continue.”

“Very well.” Suopo Mi smiled and went on. “After Ubo Luoyue married the merchant, she lived a life of comfort and luxury. The merchant cherished her like a treasure; because of Ubo Luoyue’s reputation, the merchant also became a frequent honored guest of kings and Brahmins from various regions, and many wished to meet his wife. His business grew larger and larger. But once the passion of their new marriage faded, the merchant quickly reverted to his true nature. He had always been one to flirt and dally; even with the most beautiful gem in the world locked away in his home, he still lingered fondly among the broken bricks and crumbling tiles of the pleasure quarters. The merchant even secretly purchased residences in every city where he conducted business, maintaining hidden concubines and frequently holding debauched gatherings. When Ubo Luoyue discovered this, she was utterly heartbroken. She believed that love was pure, unblemished, not to be tainted — and her husband’s conduct had desecrated the love between them. In her fury she left home. She wanted to search for that true beloved, the one who would remain at her side like time, who would follow as close as breath. Yet she did not know that shortly after she left Rajagaha, Youtan had recovered from his illness and gone to the merchant’s home. Learning of Ubo Luoyue’s circumstances, Youtan was grief-stricken and consumed with worry, and began searching for her everywhere.”

“Just as I walked through a hundred countries to find you?” Nashun murmured softly into Lianhuaye’s ear.

Lianhuaye said nothing, her eyes holding a quiet sorrow.

“On the road, Ubo Luoyue met a nobleman who was taken with her beauty and proposed marriage. After leaving the merchant, she had endured all manner of hardship and come to understand the toils of life. Having no other recourse, she married the nobleman. He was violent by nature and given to drink; he cared for nothing but her beauty. After a time, once the novelty of Ubo Luoyue had worn off, the nobleman would begin to torment and beat her whenever he was drunk — especially during intimate relations, when violence gave him a pleasure he could not describe. Ubo Luoyue was frequently left covered in wounds but was too ashamed to speak of it. In the end, unable to endure the humiliation and torment any longer, she slipped quietly away from the nobleman’s estate and set out again on her long, wandering journey. In her heart, she never ceased to believe that in this life there was a devoted beloved awaiting her, one who would accompany her like breath and time. Even when she despaired of life itself, she never once lost hope in love. Yet she did not know that the moment she left the nobleman’s estate, Youtan came knocking at the door. Ultimately, Youtan was like a shadow that followed close behind — seemingly able to sense her presence amid the vast sea of humanity and trace her steps, yet always just beyond his reach.

“Several years later, after searching throughout all five regions of India, Youtan finally found Ubo Luoyue by chance — but by this time, she had married again. Her new husband was an official. Youtan confessed his devoted love to Ubo Luoyue: he spoke of his yearning from childhood, of his years of searching, of the fire of love burning within his heart. To Ubo Luoyue, this seemed almost laughable, for the official treated her well. There was no blazing passion like a volcano or a tidal wave, but this comfortable, prosperous life gave boundless contentment to a woman who had suffered so much wandering and hardship. She thought: perhaps this is the person I was looking for, the love I wanted, the life I wished to lead. She thought: this childhood playmate with his elbows worn through his sleeves and his shoe soles worn to holes, ragged and shabby — he was simply pleading with her because he had nowhere else to turn. Youtan was devastated, yet having finally found Ubo Luoyue, he could not bear to lose her again. He was terrified beyond words of that searching — even if he could not have her, it would still be something just to remain near her. And so Youtan sold himself into bondage, entering the official’s household as a slave.”

At this point in the tale, Nashun suddenly burst into sobs. “Lianhuaye — that was me! That was me!”

Lianhuaye murmured, “I know that was you. But I cannot escape fate.”

“I despise fate!” Nashun ground his teeth. “Why must I suffer so bitterly in life after life? To see you right there beside me, and yet unable to be together?” He clenched his jaw. “In this lifetime, I refuse to live that way again!”

“Does this old monk still have permission to continue?” Suopo Mi was extremely displeased at the interruption.

“Speak!” Nashun roared.

“Youtan accompanied Ubo Luoyue in the official’s household for three years. Many years later, Youtan said that those three years were the happiest days of his life in this world. His eyes could see Ubo Luoyue’s figure; his ears could hear her voice; his breath carried the fragrance that rose from her body; and in sleep, his dreams were filled with longing for her. But three years later, the official’s career fell into crisis — he had incurred his superior’s displeasure and was about to be dismissed. Faced with his career, the official was willing to give up everything, yet he had nothing capable of winning his superior’s favor. He thought of Ubo Luoyue, and he sold his own wife to his superior. With the official’s arrangement, the superior violated her while she was intoxicated. The official got what he wanted; Ubo Luoyue, however, had the beliefs of her entire life shattered to pieces. By the time Youtan learned of this, on a rainy night, Ubo Luoyue had already walked out of the official’s door and returned to Rajagaha, where she became a courtesan in a pleasure house. Though she kept no formal sign, she became the foremost courtesan in all of Rajagaha. Her beauty, her allure, her voluptuousness, her power of seduction — they drove nearly every man in the city to madness. All the wealthy and powerful came in a great rush, some even taking up residence in Rajagaha simply to wait for a single night with her. Ubo Luoyue commanded an exorbitant price: five hundred gold coins for a single night—”

The moment five hundred gold coins were mentioned, everyone present exchanged significant glances and turned to look at Nashun. Even Suopo Mi fell silent, gazing at him with deep meaning. Nashun’s expression was blank, but beneath it lay a profound exhaustion and pain.

“Youtan found Ubo Luoyue and wished to save her from the sea of suffering. Ubo Luoyue treated him like any other patron, demanding five hundred gold coins for a night’s companionship, and promised that for five hundred gold, she would spend the night with him. Youtan told her he did not want a single night — he wanted her entire life. Ubo Luoyue put him off, promising that if he could earn the five hundred gold, she would go with him. Youtan departed in silence, and that departure lasted twenty years. He toiled to earn money — diving in the sea for pearls, trading silk along the Silk Road, being hired by the Persian Emperor to fight in campaigns, panning for gold dust in the turbulent gorges of the great snow mountains. For twenty full years, by the time he had amassed five hundred gold, he had become a middle-aged man with greying temples. He returned to Rajagaha to search for his Ubo Luoyue. But by this time, Ubo Luoyue had grown old and her beauty had faded; her doors were seldom visited. The vicissitudes of the world had brought her to a sudden awakening about life. At this point, she encountered a monk: Devadatta.”

“Who was Devadatta?” Nashun asked, puzzled. Over the years, his memories of his previous life as a monk had grown increasingly dim.

“Who was Devadatta?” Yizihou III asked Damuge.

Damuge shook his head to indicate he did not know.

“Devadatta—” Xuanzang drew a long, deep breath. Even to speak the name sent a shiver of awe through him. “Devadatta was a disciple of the Buddha, and also his cousin.”

“Precisely,” Suopo Mi said. “And it was Devadatta that Ubo Luoyue encountered!”

Ubo Luoyue was past forty, her elegance gradually withering, like a blue lotus in decline. One day, as she was reveling in pleasure in the upper floors of the pleasure house, Devadatta was begging for food on the street below. The courtesans and patrons nearby all knew that Devadatta was deeply versed in the Dharma, and so they produced gold coins and urged Ubo Luoyue to go seduce him.

Confident in her beauty, Ubo Luoyue walked up to Devadatta and attempted to entice him with coy and flirtatious gestures. Devadatta said: “Wretched woman — your body is already mired in filth, and now for the sake of money you come to tempt me. You were born rising pure from the mud, yet now you can only sink back into it again, your body rotting with corruption.”

Ubo Luoyue seemed to truly catch the scent of her own fragrance beginning to turn rotten. She thought of all the suffering she had endured in this lifetime and wept: “My sins are deep and heavy. I have wanted to turn toward goodness, yet the entanglements of this world have kept me struggling and unable to break free.”

Devadatta said: “If your heart is turned toward goodness, then no matter how heavy the sins of your past, I can save you.”

Through Devadatta’s guidance, Ubo Luoyue experienced immediate awakening and began to cultivate herself. She resolved to practice the contemplation of impurity — and once she had cleansed herself of her own defilements, she would go to pay homage to the Buddha and become a nun. She left the pleasure house and built a thatched hut outside the city, where she practiced with devout earnestness every day. Lust is the root of craving, and the contemplation of impurity is the method of its remedy. After a year of cultivation, she finally cleansed herself of her own filth, and a new Ubo Luoyue emerged. She prepared to journey to Vulture Peak to take leave of the world under the Buddha’s guidance.

And it was precisely at this moment that Youtan arrived, after twenty years of hardship, having earned his five hundred gold coins, to find her. But Ubo Luoyue had now utterly severed herself from all past attachments, her heart wholly devoted to cultivation. She told Youtan that the promise of spending a night with him for five hundred gold coins had been a jest. She would no longer involve herself in affairs between men and women, and intended to shave her head and take her vows, devoting herself entirely to cultivation. Youtan was plunged into complete despair. He had endured untold suffering, waited for her a lifetime, labored twenty years to earn five hundred gold coins on account of a single promise spoken in passing — and still she was going to leave him, to leave him forever.

In the depths of his despair, Youtan lost his senses. He violated her — no matter what, he had to possess her. She was his time; she was his breath. Youtan could not permit her to abandon and leave him.

Ubo Luoyue, whose body had been purified anew through cultivation to the purity of a blue lotus, was violated by him. Her contemplation of impurity was broken, and she was utterly disqualified from attaining the fruit of an arhat. She had become a defiled body again — her every hope extinguished, like an immortal about to drift away on white clouds, suddenly dragged into the mud.

After violating her, Youtan returned to his senses and realized only then what a terrible wrong he had done. He had harmed her, he had destroyed this woman — the woman he had held as a treasure, cherished in the palm of his hand, and been willing to sacrifice everything for. In the depths of his remorse and despair, Youtan took his own life. Before dying, he made a great vow: to guard and protect Ubo Luoyue through life after life, to remain at her side like time, to follow her as closely as breath, and never to forsake her until death.

Ubo Luoyue, hearing this vow, was completely stunned. She finally understood: in this vast world and universe, amid these countless multitudes, the devoted, ardent lover who was meant to accompany her through all of life had always been right by her side.

Nashun and Lianhuaye stared blankly, holding each other’s hands, their eyes blurred with tears.

Nashun murmured: “So that was what my past life was like — existing across all lifetimes and all ages for your sake alone. That is a good thing, Lianhuaye. That is truly a good thing. Lianhuaye, if I should die in this life, please — in the next reincarnation — do not hide from me.”

Lianhuaye choked back her tears and shook her head, though whether in agreement or refusal was unclear.

The rest of the room was also deeply moved. Yizihou III sighed: “This is the first time I have felt that the pain of losing one’s kingdom is nothing. However much grief one feels in this lifetime, once one dies, all things become empty and return to nothing. Perhaps in the next life one could be an ordinary person, passing this existence free of cares and worries. But then — what happens next?”

“This old monk is tired,” Suopo Mi said. “I will ask Mahayana Deva to continue from here. What comes after — he knows it far better than this old monk.”

Xuanzang was silent for a moment. He was indeed very familiar with this passage of history — he simply had never thought that Ubo Luoyue might be the Lianhuaye of a former life. He nodded and began to narrate the story that followed.

After Youtan died, as Ubo Luoyue was sunk in complete despair, Devadatta appeared quietly at her side. He told her: where there is karma, there is consequence. In this lifetime, she was fated not to find that devoted, ardent beloved — she could only accumulate merit and await the next life. Ubo Luoyue asked how she might accumulate merit. Devadatta suggested she enter the royal palace of the kingdom of Magadha and use her power of seduction on Prince Ajatasattu. Devadatta prophesied that she would become Prince Ajatasattu’s queen. She would guide Ajatasattu toward the Dharma, generating good karma, so that in her next life she would be able to find that devoted, ardent beloved. Ubo Luoyue was overjoyed and agreed to enter the palace.

By this time, the Buddha was old. Devadatta had come into serious conflict with the Buddha over the question of succession. Devadatta was wildly ambitious and desperately wanted to lead the monastic community, but the Buddha had no intention of passing the mantle to him. Devadatta boldly led five hundred bhikkhus out of the order, declaring himself the new Buddha. He cultivated a close friendship with Prince Ajatasattu and received from him lavish offerings. But Prince Ajatasattu’s father, King Bimbisara, was a faithful royal patron of the Buddha. To control Prince Ajatasattu, Devadatta sent Ubo Luoyue into the palace — and as could only be expected, her beauty conquered Prince Ajatasattu, who took her as his royal consort.

Ubo Luoyue often praised Devadatta’s mastery of the Dharma and his compassion in Prince Ajatasattu’s presence, and the prince grew ever more obedient to Devadatta’s every word. Devadatta, like a demon, gradually lured Prince Ajatasattu deeper into the abyss. He counseled the prince to kill his father and seize the throne, then unify India, become the new king, and allow Devadatta himself to become the new Buddha. Prince Ajatasattu, thoroughly beguiled, duly launched a coup, imprisoning his father King Bimbisara in a chamber enclosed by seven walls, forbidding anyone from bringing food or drink, and intent on starving him to death. His mother, Queen Videhi, under the pretext of visiting the prison, smeared a paste of ghee, honey, and flour over her body, and filled hollow ornaments with grape juice to provide King Bimbisara with food and drink.

After a long time, Prince Ajatasattu discovered that his father had still not starved to death, and upon investigation uncovered Queen Videhi’s scheme. He flew into a rage and attempted to kill his own mother — only the intervention of his ministers prevented him. Instead he confined Queen Videhi deep within the palace.

In the end, King Bimbisara was starved to death. Prince Ajatasattu ascended the throne and was proclaimed king. He invited Devadatta to anoint him and honored him as the National Preceptor of Magadha. At the same time, he conferred upon Ubo Luoyue the title of queen.

Ubo Luoyue had not expected that Ajatasattu, always so mild and benevolent, would become so twisted. She urged him again and again with heartfelt words, but King Ajatasattu had plunged headlong into a frenzied dream of unifying India. He launched wars and swallowed up four great kingdoms — the Vrji, Kosala, Kashi, and Anga — his power swelling until he dominated all of India. And Devadatta, riding on the expansion of Magadha’s reach, recruited monks far and wide, growing his monastic community. For a time, his authority and prestige were overwhelming. As the expansion continued, the conflict between Devadatta and the Buddha grew ever sharper. The Buddha, through his compassion and the middle way, was like a silent peach-and-plum tree — without speaking, attracting the monks from Devadatta’s faction to return and take refuge in him with genuine reverence.

Devadatta hated him with a bone-deep ferocity, and murderous intent stirred in his heart. King Ajatasattu kept a great elephant named Nalagiri — ferocious, savage, and powerful, enormous as a hill. Devadatta had the elephant brought to him, ordered men to intoxicate it, and planned to release the maddened elephant while the Buddha was leading his disciples into the city to beg for alms, intending to have it trample the Buddha to death.

The Buddha walked into Rajagaha. Devadatta gave the order to release the maddened elephant. The beast charged through the narrow streets, obliterating every obstacle in its path and at times crashing straight through the walls of houses. Passersby scrambled to flee; the Buddha walked forward directly toward the maddened elephant. When the beast reached the Buddha, the Buddha simply looked at it with a smile and sighed repeatedly.

The maddened elephant suddenly became clear-headed, as though struck by a thunderbolt of clarity. It knelt before the Buddha on all four legs and used its trunk to lick the Buddha’s feet. The Buddha stretched out his right hand and stroked the elephant’s head, saying: “From anger, the hells are born; the form of serpent and viper also comes from it. Therefore one should abandon anger, and no longer assume such a body again.”

The great elephant nodded continuously, circled the Buddha three times, and quietly withdrew.

Having failed to harm the Buddha — and having only won him more followers — Devadatta grew even more furious. He went to King Ajatasattu and requested the use of the army’s archery battalion.

On this particular day, the Buddha as usual led his disciples along the streets begging for alms. The lay followers who encountered him along the road were filled with joy, offering from their own homes honey and cheese and other such things, which they placed one by one into his bowl. The Buddha thanked each one in turn and spoke a passage of scripture to the followers gathered there, and all were filled with joy.

Just then, a deadly stillness descended over the long boulevard. The crowd turned to look — and saw rank upon rank of archers with drawn bows, surrounding them from every direction. The people were struck with terror. The Buddha, however, was calm and composed; he walked to the forefront and looked at the archers before him.

“Where is Devadatta? Please ask him to come out and meet me.”

Devadatta stood behind the archery battalion. Hearing the Buddha’s summons, he dared not show himself, and cried out: “Shoot!”

The Buddha looked quietly at these archers, saying nothing, his expression compassionate, his eyes seemingly filled with intense pity. In this moment, he bore no radiant halo of the Buddha-light — no towering golden form appeared. He stood only in the body of an ordinary man before the tips of the arrows. Yet to those archers, it seemed as though they faced the compassion, the life, the blessing, and the glory of the entire world of suffering.

The bowstrings were drawn taut in their hands, curved like the crescent moon. A single thought, and the strings would snap straight, the arrows fly, and those razor-sharp arrowheads would tear through the flesh of the greatest person in this world. Yet not one person was willing to release their fingers. In every heart there swelled one thought: they were killing a Buddha! They were cutting off the hope of the entire world! They were plunging this world into a darkness like the darkness of the lowest hells!

“Shoot!” Devadatta gave the order again.

Yet the five hundred archers one after another laid down their bows and arrows and knelt prostrate at the Buddha’s feet. Behind the crowd, Devadatta stood in the street like a reef exposed at low tide — frightened and at a loss. Across the span of kneeling archers, he and the Buddha stood face to face.

“Devadatta,” the Buddha said gently, “a single flower contains an entire world; a single tree contains a single floating life; a single blade of grass contains a paradise; a single leaf contains the presence of a Buddha; a single grain of sand contains pure bliss; a single square of earth contains a pure land; a single smile holds the bond of mortal life; a single thought holds all peace and clarity. Devadatta, without contamination, without attachment; without conception, without reliance. The nature of the body cannot be measured; those who witness it sing its praises. Devadatta — a lamp in the wind sways and is uncertain; a mass of water foam is empty by its nature. What you cling to is all without truth.”

“The road I must walk is not the same as yours!” Devadatta answered. “Walk your middle way, and leave off contending with me. You yourself once said: above heaven and below, I alone am supreme.”

Devadatta bowed proudly, then turned and walked away. The Buddha watched his figure disappear at the end of the long boulevard and said nothing.

As Xuanzang narrated, he could almost feel the murderous intent in Devadatta’s heart burning fiercely. Xuanzang sensed that nameless fire of karma, and he understood: it was a pride, an obsessive attachment, a deep dissatisfaction with the level of one’s own being. He had the strange feeling that Devadatta seemed to be using the Buddha as the very instrument of his own cultivation — and yet the path he had chosen was twisted and terrifying. Xuanzang did not know where it would lead him.

Devadatta returned to the royal palace of Magadha. King Ajatasattu already knew that the assassination had failed, and was deeply troubled.

“Venerable One — the Buddha has survived attempt after attempt. Can he truly not be harmed?” King Ajatasattu said. “If that is so, why do we oppose the Buddha?”

“The Buddha is not beyond harm,” Devadatta replied. “Take the Buddha’s body, for instance — it will wither in the passage of years and die. If it can be killed by the passage of time, why then can it not be killed by an ordinary person?”

“Then how can the Buddha be killed?” King Ajatasattu asked.

“The living beings of this world cannot kill him. As long as they see his Dharma body, no living creature is capable of acting against him,” Devadatta said. “Therefore I plan to borrow one thing from you. This thing is certain to be capable of killing the Buddha.”

“What thing?” King Ajatasattu asked.

“A trebuchet!” Devadatta said. “The heavy trebuchet requires fifty men to operate and can hurl projectiles a distance of three hundred bows’ length. I wish to borrow five hundred of Your Majesty’s men to operate ten trebuchets. These would be positioned on the cliff face beside Vulture Peak, loaded with stone balls weighing one hundred catties, and used to bombard Vulture Peak!”

King Ajatasattu drew a sharp breath. “Why resort to such an enormous undertaking?”

“Because no living being in this world must be allowed to see the Buddha. The moment they see him, no one’s evil intent can reach the point of killing him — they will inevitably be moved by him. So I want to take advantage of the time when the Buddha is expounding the Dharma on Vulture Peak and kill him at a distance. That way, those who operate the trebuchets will not know at all what they are doing, or who it is they are killing. Only under such conditions does success become possible,” Devadatta said.

King Ajatasattu’s heart was filled with remorse and dread. He said in a stern voice: “Venerable One, this king has listened to your blandishments and first killed my father the king, then confined my mother the queen, and now we are to kill a Buddha who cannot be killed! Where in the world are you leading this king?”

“However treacherous this road may be, I will always accompany you along it. My king,” Devadatta replied.

King Ajatasattu smiled bitterly. “Indeed — neither you nor I can turn back now! You may borrow the trebuchets. But remember — this is the last time. If the Buddha does not die, you die!”

King Ajatasattu allocated five hundred soldiers and handed over all ten of the kingdom’s heavy trebuchets to Devadatta.

Yet just as Devadatta and King Ajatasattu were conspiring in the palace, Ubo Luoyue secretly overheard them. She finally understood: she had been used by Devadatta. In the end, the karma she had generated was not good karma but evil karma — for because of her, the Buddha might very well come to harm!

Ubo Luoyue did not hesitate. She hurried out of the palace, intending to rush to Vulture Peak, inform the Buddha of this plot, and beg him to remove himself from harm’s way. But just as she was walking out beyond the palace gates, Devadatta came pursuing her and seized her by the arm.

Ubo Luoyue said with desolate grief: “I allowed my contemplation of impurity to be broken. I gave up my body and entered the palace to counsel Ajatasattu to do many good works, so as to generate good karma for myself and pray that in my next life I might meet that devoted, ardent beloved — to have him remain at my side like breath, never forsaking me until death. But it was not so that you could gratify your own selfish desires.”

Devadatta erupted in fury. He raised his fist and, with all the force of his great supernatural power, struck Ubo Luoyue on the crown of her head. In an instant, her skull was shattered, and she died beneath the palace wall.

As Xuanzang narrated this tale from twelve hundred years ago — thrilling in its drama, touching on the schism within the Buddhist order, on King Ajatasattu’s patricide and usurpation of the throne, and on the final mystery of Ubo Luoyue’s passing into the next life — everyone who listened fell into a long silence, their hearts heavy and low. In the span of this brief story was compressed an entire great upheaval from the age of the Buddha — swords flashing, lives cut short.

“Master, what happened next?” Yizihou III asked, utterly absorbed in the tale. “Though I am a follower of Zoroastrianism, I have always revered the Buddha without reserve.”

Xuanzang bowed deeply and continued to narrate what followed.

Devadatta secretly transported the trebuchets to the cliff face opposite Vulture Peak, where they were installed and secured. Ten great trebuchets towered on the cliff edge, their slings loaded with stone balls weighing one hundred catties each, waiting in quiet readiness.

That night, Devadatta stood on the cliff and gazed across at Vulture Peak. On Vulture Peak was the Buddha’s hermitage; beside the hermitage stood a Bodhi tree. At the fourth watch of every night, the Buddha would expound the Dharma for his disciples beneath the Bodhi tree. Now, the target of the trebuchets was this very Bodhi tree. At precisely the fourth watch, the first light of dawn finally swelled up over the Ganges.

As he narrated, Xuanzang felt as though he were standing on a mountain peak, gazing at the vast and undifferentiated expanse of the Ganges to the north, the shimmering waves playing across his face — each ripple like a page of scripture. This world displayed itself before him in such vivid, dazzling colors. Xuanzang seemed almost entranced: this world of twelve hundred years ago was so utterly captivating. Across all the ages from ancient times to this day, how many had ever witnessed such a sight?

From Vulture Peak arose the melodious sound of a struck bowl. The Buddha emerged from his hermitage, leading his ten great disciples and a group of bhikkhus, and walked toward the Bodhi tree. By this time, the Buddha was old; his steps were somewhat halting, and Ananda supported him carefully at his side.

“After you enter nirvana, the people of this world will understand me,” Devadatta murmured. “What I have done is no idle fantasy.” He gave the order: “Trebuchets — fire!”

At ten enormous trebuchets, soldiers simultaneously drove down the wooden levers. The net slings holding hundred-catty boulders snapped upward suddenly, hurling the boulders into the air and sending them crashing toward Vulture Peak a mile away. The ten boulders cleared the mountain gorge and slammed into the summit. The thunderous boom shook Vulture Peak to its core — ten miles away it was like an earthquake. Walls crumbled and buildings collapsed atop the mountain; all the structures there were like paper before the boulders. Trees snapped and crashed, and great rocks shattered. All across Vulture Peak, stones flew and dust billowed — it seemed like the end of the world.

The disciples sitting beneath the Bodhi tree listening to the scripture were instantly plunged into a grinding mill of flesh and blood. Several boulders landed directly in the crowd of people, smashing a number of disciples flat against the ground. The trebuchet’s boulders had been specially worked; to increase their killing power, they were often ground into round spherical shapes. The stone balls crashed into the crowd, rolling with a thunderous roar, and instantly ploughed a valley of blood and flesh through the disciples.

Some of the balls, upon striking the mountain rock of the ground, shattered — the screaming fragments flew in every direction, as forceful as arrowheads, and many people were struck by the flying shards.

The ten great disciples were caught suddenly in this calamity. In their terror, their first thought was to protect the Buddha’s safety. Ananda, Maudgalyayana, and the others rushed to support the Buddha and help him take cover. Devadatta watched in silence and gave the order: “Keep loading. Fire!”

Another volley of stone balls was hurled through the air and bombarded Vulture Peak. One of them struck the Bodhi tree squarely. That thousand-year-old Bodhi was struck through the center; its crown thundered down and collapsed, leaving only a three-foot stump of trunk. After this round of bombardment, not a single person remained standing on the peak — bodies lay strewn everywhere.

“Load! Fire!” Devadatta roared.

The final volley of stone balls was released. This time, Devadatta had ordered the angle adjusted to aim directly at the Buddha. A dense volley of balls came thundering down, casting a vast shadow that swept down toward the Buddha’s head.

The Buddha did not move. His gaze was filled with sorrow. At that moment, a stout, powerful monk burst out from among the crowd. His name was Gongbiluo, and he was like a fierce guardian deity. Wielding an enormous precious mace, he came charging from behind and, letting out a thunderous cry, swung the mace at the stone ball with all his might.

With a tremendous boom, the mace slammed violently into the stone ball and flew out of his hands. Gongbiluo spat blood and was flung heavily to the ground. Yet the stone ball was also shattered by the mace, and fragments of rock flew in all directions. One fragment struck the Buddha’s foot. The Buddha shed the first — and the only — drop of blood of his mortal life. This is known as the ultimate, gravest of the “Five Grave Offenses”: shedding the blood of a Buddha.

Ananda and the others were in a panic and rushed to bind the Buddha’s wound. The Buddha stood motionless, gazing at the cliff face opposite, looking at the devastation across Vulture Peak — his eyes filled with sorrow and reproach.

Devadatta smiled bitterly. He knew: to have shed even a single drop of the blood of a Buddha — across the ten directions of the universe, across this world of suffering — he was already, in this, without precedent and without successor.

Yet no matter what, the plan to kill the Buddha had utterly failed. He would have no next opportunity. His tumultuous life had come to its end.

All dharmas arise through causes and conditions; all dharmas perish through causes and conditions. My Buddha, the great wandering ascetic, always proclaims this truth.

Devadatta laughed aloud, bent in a deep bow — a bow of farewell to the white sun over the Ganges, to the Bodhi of Vulture Peak — and turned to leave.

Devadatta returned to Rajagaha, but King Ajatasattu refused to see him. Devadatta stood there for a long while, then departed without a word. He summoned all his disciples and expounded the scripture to them, and at last sighed: “This may be the last time I expound the scripture. If I enter nirvana, my disciples must follow the five precepts and not grow lax.”

A disciple asked: “Venerable One, you are in the prime of your years — why would you enter nirvana?”

Devadatta suddenly recalled the Buddha’s words and murmured: “Arising, abiding, decay, emptiness — every person’s world must pass through this process. What is there to avoid about my own nirvana?”

He said no more and turned back to his hermitage.

Devadatta brought out a small vial containing a poison that killed on contact with blood — something he had kept stored away for many years. Now he dabbed the poison carefully onto all ten of his fingernails.

Devadatta departed his hermitage in silence and walked toward the north gate. One li north of Rajagaha’s north gate was the Buddha’s Bamboo Grove Hermitage, donated by the great wealthy man Kalandaka, vast in scale — sixteen courtyards, each with sixty rooms. After Vulture Peak was destroyed, the Buddha had moved here to reside.

When Devadatta reached the hermitage, enraged monks tried to block his path. His own younger brother Ananda came out to restrain the assembly.

“Elder brother — have you still not given up?” Ananda said sorrowfully.

“I wish to speak a few words to the World-Honored One,” Devadatta said. “The last few words.”

Ananda did not stop him. Devadatta walked straight into the Buddha’s hermitage. The Buddha’s foot was wrapped in white cloth, with the faint seep of blood visible through it. He sat calmly on his meditation cushion, watching Devadatta enter.

Devadatta pressed his palms together, walked around the Buddha three times with reverence, and then knelt and sat facing the Buddha. The two of them looked at each other quietly.

“World-Honored One, I believe you already understand my purpose in coming,” Devadatta said.

The Buddha nodded slowly. “I know it fully.”

“Why would you still see me?” Devadatta asked.

The Buddha showed a trace of sorrow. “You have followed me for over forty years. Today you are about to pass, and how could I bear not to see you?”

“You are certain that it is I who will pass, and not you?” Devadatta asked.

The Buddha nodded in silence and slowly closed his eyes.

“But still I wish to try!” Devadatta said, and having spoken, he hurled himself at the Buddha, his ten fingers splayed open, reaching for the Buddha’s feet!

Those around them — Ananda, Maudgalyayana, and the rest — were taken completely by shock, but had no time to stop him. Devadatta’s poison-coated fingernails closed around the top of the Buddha’s feet. There was a sharp crack — all ten fingernails snapped off simultaneously. The Buddha’s feet were entirely unharmed. Devadatta crashed to the ground, and the broken nails had been driven deep into the palms of his own hands.

The others hurried to separate the Buddha from Devadatta. Devadatta smiled bitterly and tried to climb to his feet, but collapsed powerlessly onto the ground. By this time, his hands had already begun to swell, and across his face a faint greenish-black discoloration was beginning to show. The violent toxin was so ferocious!

Devadatta struggled no more. He lay quietly at the Buddha’s feet, gazing at the sky outside the hermitage. He knew the Buddha was watching him, but he paid it no mind. He smiled, and murmured: “Sixty years ago, when we were still children, I always loved to compete with you, and never managed to win. You rode a horse better than I did; you shot arrows better than I did; your appearance was more handsome than mine, and your heart more compassionate. I was a prince of a collateral branch; you were the crown prince of the Shakya clan. I schemed by every means to take away the position of crown prince, plotting in secret for ten years — and just as I was about to launch the coup, you threw the crown prince’s position away like a worn-out sandal…” Devadatta laughed aloud. “From that moment on, I knew: in this life, in this world, I would never surpass you.”

“There is no need to cling to idle fantasy,” the Buddha sighed. “I never once thought of competing with a mountain over weight, with a tree over height, with a person over wealth, or with an elephant over appetite.”

“Yes — and that is precisely why you are forever unconquerable!” The corner of Devadatta’s mouth slowly seeped blood, his gaze growing unfocused. “That is why I followed you into the renunciation of the world — I wanted to win against you at least once on the path you were walking. But you must know — those four assassination attempts were, in truth, not really intended to kill you.”

“I know,” the Buddha said heavily.

Ananda and the others listening were baffled. Four assassination attempts, each more perilous than the last — the third had even wounded the Buddha. How could they not be intended to kill him? But the Buddha offered no explanation.

“Count this one as my victory?” Devadatta’s gray and ashen face broke into an expression of joy.

“You have won,” the Buddha said, pressing his palms together in tribute, and bowed his head to see him off.

Devadatta smiled and quietly passed away.