In the eleventh month of winter, in the third year of the Zhenguan era, Xuanzang entered the eight-hundred-li Mohe Yan Desert alone, leaving only a thin horse.
This “Western Flowing Sands” mentioned in pre-Qin historical records, later described as the Quicksand River in Wu Cheng’en’s writings, truly deserved the description: “Eight hundred li of flowing sand, three thousand deep weak waters. Goose feathers cannot float, while reed flowers sink to the bottom.” Unlike the romantic imaginations of literati, this was a forbidden zone for life. As far as the eye could see, the Gobi Desert stretched endlessly, yellow sand meeting the sky. Year-round howling winds eroded the plateau’s soil, forming ghost-like remnant hills. During the day, the ground scorched, a haze of smoke-like air constantly shrouded one’s vision, and with each step, the surroundings seemed to shift. At night, the cold cut to the bone, and ghostly shadows loomed.
Even more desperate was that on the second day of entering the Mohe Yan Desert, Xuanzang accidentally spilled his water skin, and the clear water quickly seeped into the sand. By now, he had gone four nights and five days without a drop of water. Man and horse moved step by step through the dry, hot wind and sand, guided only by instinct. There was no path underfoot; his only guides were the skeletons of mules, horses, and camels ahead, with occasional human skulls half-buried in the yellow sand, their hollow eye sockets staring at those who came after. Xuanzang looked around in bewilderment. At night, the phosphorescent fires from the bones danced like demons, as brilliant as stars; during the day, startling winds embraced the sand, scattering like timely rain.
Xuanzang’s strength finally gave out. His whole body burned, his head spun, and hallucinations appeared before his eyes. In a daze, he saw a troop of soldiers, hundreds riding camels and horses, all dressed as foreigners, advancing and stopping intermittently, covered in sand, constantly changing. Clear from afar, they disappeared without a trace up close.
He knew he had reached the end of his life, with demons and evil spirits invading his body. Man and horse collapsed on a dune, waiting for death to come. In his mouth, he silently recited to Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva: “This disciple seeks scriptures in India, not for wealth, nor sightseeing, but only to obtain the supreme dharma and guide all beings. I beg the Bodhisattva, with great compassion, to hear my cry and save me from suffering, to eliminate disasters and calamities.”
Slowly, he fell into unconsciousness, but in his fading dream, there was a golden-armored divine being holding a long halberd, shouting angrily: “Quickly rise and continue your journey!”
Xuanzang shuddered and suddenly awoke. At that moment, a cold wind blew, as if bathed in ice water. Man and horse immediately perked up. Xuanzang struggled to his feet, lay on the horse’s back, and continued forward in the desert. After walking another dozen li, the thin horse suddenly let out a long neigh and ran like mad for several dozen li, reaching the edge of a dune. Xuanzang couldn’t help but be startled.
In the sunlight, a glint of a blade caught his eye.
The curved sword was stuck obliquely in the yellow sand, with a corpse beside it. It seemed a battle had taken place here, with bodies piled up, numbering sixty or seventy. Mules and camels were killed by arrows, heads, and limbs severed by swords, and yellow sand soaked with blood, shimmering terrifyingly in the sunlight.
Xuanzang stared blankly, dismounted, and staggered over, turning over one body after another. There were no survivors; the bodies had long since stiffened, and the blood had congealed. The scene was a mess: wool packages on the mules’ backs were torn, wool scattered everywhere; whole sheepskins mixed with blood were filthy; precious spices and rock honey were scattered in the yellow sand. Xuanzang even found two green cat’s eye gems in the sand.
Judging from the appearances and clothing of the dead, they seemed to be a caravan on the Silk Road. Most looked similar to the frontier Hu people, probably from the Western Regions, while others had high noses, deep-set eyes, curly hair, and beards, likely from more distant Western worlds. This wasn’t surprising; the Silk Road was fraught with dangers, and merchants often traveled in groups for safety.
At first glance, it seemed desert bandits had raided the caravan, but Xuanzang soon realized something was amiss. Many sheepskins and wool packages remained intact, and some spice baskets were still tied to the camels’ backs. The bandits hadn’t taken these precious goods. Of course, merchants from Persia, Tokhara, and the Ten Kingdoms of Zhaowu, due to the long journey, mostly transported easily carried, high-value goods like gems, gold and silver thread, spices, and native copper. They would buy wool and sheepskins in the Western Turkic Khaganate to sell for a profit in the Great Tang. But these sheepskins and wool were still quite expensive in the Yiwu area, especially the spices, which were extremely valuable. Why hadn’t the bandits taken them?
“Tok… tok… tok…” Suddenly, a faint sound broke the silence of the desert, seeming like light collisions.
Xuanzang was startled and began searching through the pile of bodies, following the sound. He had long forgotten his fatigue and checked over twenty bodies before discovering an old Hu man wearing a ram’s horn-shaped felt hat, pinned under a dead camel. The old man’s chest was almost split open, his ribs curled outward, and he was on his last breath, but his fingers were persistently tapping on the wooden frame on the dead camel’s back, making the “tok tok” sound.
“Benefactor, benefactor!” Xuanzang hurriedly embraced him, gently patting his face.
After a long while, the old man slightly opened his eyes. Seeing that Xuanzang was a monk, his spirit was briefly revived. He mumbled something in a foreign language that Xuanzang couldn’t understand at all. The old man took a breath, his eyes showing fear, and tightly gripped Xuanzang’s hand, muttering in Chinese: “Bottle… in the bottle… there’s a demon—”
“What?” Xuanzang was surprised and put his ear close to the old man’s lips.
The old man used all his remaining strength to cry out: “In the bottle… there’s a demon—”
Before he could finish, his body slumped, and his arm fell. His eyes remained wide open, showing endless fear, staring fixedly at Xuanzang.
“A demon in the bottle? What does that mean?”
Xuanzang frowned, thinking for a moment. He laid the old man flat on the sandy ground and stood up, staring blankly at this scene of slaughter. At this moment, the thin horse’s neigh came from the other side of the dune. Xuanzang staggered up the dune, and a flash of light caught his eye. He could hardly believe what he saw: emerald green lake water, lush green lakeside grass, a clear pool, and a patch of grassland, all embedded in the yellow desert.
Xuanzang thought it was a hallucination and dared not reach out to touch it, but the thin horse leaped down the dune and plunged into the lake water. Xuanzang came to his senses and tumbled down. Reaching the lakeside, he didn’t rush to drink but took out a filter net from the saddlebag. According to Buddhist precepts, this type of water was called “time water” and had to be filtered before drinking.
As the cool lake water entered his body, Xuanzang finally felt life returning. He went back to the pile of bodies, searched the dead, found a few naan breads, and filled his stomach. Then he sat cross-legged in the desert, recited a passage of the Rebirth Mantra, and began digging holes in the sand to bury the bodies one by one.
This task was immense, with over sixty bodies and more than two hundred mules and camels. Xuanzang worked breathlessly for over three hours, managing to bury only about twenty bodies. The desert was dry and scorching hot, and he was drenched in sweat. Eventually, he couldn’t bear it anymore and collapsed on the ground.
Just then, a shadow flashed on top of the dune and quickly disappeared. Xuanzang was startled, and rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things, but then heard rapid footsteps retreating. He jumped up and ran to the top of the dune, immediately stunned. He saw a naked child running in panic through the desert. Reaching the lake, the child leaped in, swam to the center, and then turned to look at him.
Xuanzang’s mouth gaped as he slowly walked over, standing on the shore looking at the child. The child appeared to be eight or nine years old, with pale skin, curly yellow hair, a high nose bridge, deep-set eye sockets, and surprisingly blue eyes. He somewhat resembled the Sogdians or the Aryan race from the Tokhara region.
“Amitabha,” Xuanzang put his palms together and bowed to him, “Little benefactor, don’t be afraid. I’m a monk from the Great Tang and mean no harm.”
The child looked at him timidly, paddling with both hands, tilting his head in hesitation. Xuanzang smiled and reached out his hand, gesturing for him to come ashore. But the child showed fear and dove under the water. As Xuanzang was puzzled, there was a splash, and the child’s head popped up again. His hand swung, and a clump of mud and sand flew over, hitting Xuanzang’s face with a splat.
Xuanzang was stunned. As the mud and sand slid off his face, he gave a wry smile, wiped his face, and explained, “This humble monk truly means no harm. Were those dead your relatives? Could you come ashore and help me bury them? Leaving bodies exposed in the wilderness prevents them from entering the cycle of rebirth and the pure land.”
“You… cannot… touch the bodies…” the child suddenly said loudly. He spoke in Chinese, and although his accent was strange, his pronunciation was clear and well-trained.
“What?” Xuanzang was a bit confused.
“You cannot touch the bodies!” the child said loudly, “After death, evil spirits invade, and the bodies become dirty. No one, including parents and relatives, can touch them.”
Xuanzang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: “Then who can touch them?”
“Corpse bearers, they specialize in handling bodies,” the child said seriously. “And they can’t be buried in the ground. The bodies are too dirty; cremation would pollute the fire, water burial would pollute the water, and earth burial would pollute the land. The bodies must first be washed and purified in the urine of a white bull, dressed in righteous garments, tied with a sacred belt, before they can communicate with the holy prophet…”
Xuanzang suddenly understood and said softly, “So you’re a Zoroastrian!”
“Zoroastrianism!” the child angrily corrected.
Xuanzang nodded. As one of the most learned monks in Buddhism, he was not unfamiliar with Zoroastrianism. Zoroastrianism was prevalent in the Persian region, known in China as Xianjiao, Huoxianjiao, or fire worship. Because many Sogdians traveling the Silk Road believed in Zoroastrianism, there were quite a few Zoroastrian temples in Chang’an, which the Tang people called Xiansi.
According to their religious rules, bodies indeed could not be buried. Whether moving or placing bodies, iron or stone tools must be used, not wooden ones. Zoroastrians believed that wood would be polluted when touching corpses, while stone or iron tools had anti-pollution capabilities. Therefore, they placed bodies in uncovered stone coffins and transported them to circular, roofless burial grounds built of stone blocks, called “Towers of Silence.” This design allowed vultures to come and peck at the bodies. Once the flesh was completely consumed, the bones were placed in the center of the Tower of Silence to be weathered into powder under the sunlight. When the rainy season came, the bone powder would flow into the sea through underground drainage pipes, filtered by limestone.
Understanding this, Xuanzang was somewhat at a loss and negotiated with the child: “There are no stones in this desert. How can we arrange your tribesmen’s bodies?”
The child thought for a moment, a trace of sadness flashing in his blue eyes: “Let them scatter with the wind and sand of the great desert! Perhaps vultures will come and carry their flesh to heaven.”
At this point, Xuanzang was helpless: “Life is like morning dew, death like summer flowers. Perhaps this vast world is also the great resting place for all beings!”
After this exchange, the child was no longer afraid of him and swam ashore from the lake, standing naked in the sunlight. Xuanzang asked, “Where are your clothes?”
The child shuddered, seemingly full of fear. With no other choice, Xuanzang found a piece of clothing from the merchants’ luggage, shortened it, and asked him to wear it. The child was very stubborn and firmly refused, believing the dead’s clothes were unclean. Xuanzang patiently persuaded him, saying it was taken from the luggage, new clothes that no one had worn, otherwise, he would have to wear his monk’s robe.
Faced with the choice between unclean clothes and the robe of a heretic, the child had to give in and choose the former. But unable to find boots small enough, Xuanzang found a piece of sheepskin, wrapped the child’s feet, and tied it securely with leather straps used for bundling goods.
“What’s your name?” Xuanzang asked him.
“Ashu,” the child said, looking at Xuanzang with a complex expression as he bent down to wrap his feet. “I’m Sogdian, from Samarkand in the Kingdom of Kang. I came to the Great Tang for trade with my uncle, traveling with merchants from the Kingdom of Yanqi. After passing through Yiwu, we camped by the lake last night but encountered bandits who slaughtered our entire caravan. I was secretly swimming in the lake at the time and luckily escaped.”
He choked up a bit and gently placed his hand on Xuanzang’s shoulder, showing a hint of closeness. Xuanzang sighed deeply. Ashu continued, “I hid in the lakeside grass for a night but didn’t dare come out, fearing the bandits hadn’t left. It wasn’t until I saw your horse that I realized another passing merchant had come, but I didn’t expect it to be a monk.” He smiled, pointing at the thin horse, “This certainly doesn’t look like something bandits would ride.”
Xuanzang smiled and asked, “Who is your uncle? Did he also meet with misfortune?”
Ashu pointed at the elderly Hu man who had been crushed by the camel earlier. “This is my uncle, Alib Yezdin.”
Xuanzang fell silent, remembering Yezdin’s final cry before death: “There’s a demon in the bottle?” Puzzled, he asked Ashu, “Your uncle said something to me before he died: ‘There’s a demon in the bottle.’ Do you know what that means?”
“A demon in the bottle?” Ashu’s eyes flickered, but he shook his head.
Xuanzang finished binding Ashu’s foot with sheepskin, then went to arrange all the corpses one by one. He gathered the severed heads and limbs, placing them beside the bodies, trying to make them as whole as possible. Then he sat cross-legged and recited the Rebirth Mantra twenty-one times to help the souls of the deceased.
Ashu crouched nearby, silently watching the Tang monk. He sensed a captivating power and compassion in him, with a smile as refreshing as a mountain spring or a desert sunrise, naturally drawing people closer. He had been secretly observing Xuanzang for a while and only decided to reveal himself when he saw the monk still burying these unfamiliar merchants even when he was on the verge of collapse.
“Master, where are you heading in this Mohe Yanqi?” Ashu asked.
Xuanzang opened his eyes and gazed westward into the vast desert. “This poor monk has vowed to journey west to India to seek the great dharma of the Tathagata. What about you, Ashu? You’re all alone now, what do you plan to do?”
Ashu rubbed his eyes, choking up a bit. “My uncle is dead. I want to return to Samarkand, to my father. The journey here took us over half a year… Master, Samarkand is on your way to India. Could you take me home?”
Xuanzang remained silent for a long while, then gently stroked Ashu’s head. “Alright, this poor monk will take you home.”
Ashu jumped with joy, his face beaming. Xuanzang also smiled. “Ashu, you passed through Yiwu on your way here. How far is it from here to Yiwu? Do you remember the route you took?”
“I remember, I remember,” Ashu said eagerly. “It’s about a hundred li to the west, just a day and a night’s journey to Yiwu. Not just Yiwu, I traveled with my uncle through dozens of countries on our way east. I’m familiar with the geography, customs, and dialects of each country.”
Xuanzang was delighted to have unexpectedly found a guide. Without further delay, they filled their water skins from the lake. Ashu also gathered flatbread and dried meat from the merchants’ packs, making a large bundle to carry on the thin horse. Xuanzang helped him onto the horse, then led it by the reins as they set off westward together.
As they continued west, they left the central area of Mohe Yanqi. The desert gave way to desolate gobi. Wind-eroded rocks stood everywhere on the gobi, shaped like castles and mushrooms. When the strong wind blew, it howled like ghosts. As they passed, they heard cracking sounds around them, as if ghosts were chewing on bones, making their scalps tingle. Grotesque shadows cast on the ground made it seem as if they were walking among countless petrified demons and monsters.
Ashu looked tense, clutching Xuanzang’s arm tightly as he rode. Xuanzang told him it was just the mind playing tricks and wanted to teach him the Heart Sutra, but Ashu firmly refused. Xuanzang then remembered that Ashu was a Zoroastrian and felt a bit awkward. Ashu, however, giggled.
As they were joking around, they suddenly heard rapid hoofbeats coming from the northwest. Ashu’s face changed. “Master, are the bandits coming again?”
Xuanzang listened and shook his head. “It’s only three horses, probably not bandits.”
Despite his words, Xuanzang became alert. The 800-li Mohe Yanqi had always been a forbidden zone for life. Only profit-driven merchants dared to cross it in large groups. Mere three riders couldn’t be merchants, and they were still far from Yiwu, so patrolling soldiers wouldn’t come here either. What were these people doing in Mohe Yanqi?
The hoofbeats grew closer, and three stallions emerged from the sandstorm. The three riders wore robes and masks. They seemed to have a clear destination, riding straight towards Xuanzang and Ashu but were quite surprised to see them.
The riders circled Xuanzang and Ashu twice. The leader then lifted his robe, revealing a gentle, shy face. Xuanzang was stunned to see that the man looked Han Chinese and wore clothes similar to those of the Tang Dynasty. Ashu, however, trembled upon seeing the man, showing a look of terror.
Xuanzang indeed looked haggard. Having crossed Mohe Yanqi alone, his monk’s robe was filthy, his head had grown an inch of short hair, and his face and body were covered in dust and blood. His skin was cracked from dryness and sunburn, with deep wounds oozing blood. His thousand-layer cloth shoes were in tatters, with three toes exposed… Yet his spirit remained undiminished, his eyes calm as water, exuding composure despite his exhaustion.
The young man was stunned for a moment before recognizing Xuanzang as a monk. He quickly clasped his hands in greeting: “So you’re a dharma master! Where do you come from, and where are you going? Why are you alone in this Mohe Yanqi?” His language was identical to that of the Tang Dynasty.
Xuanzang hurriedly pressed his palms together. “Amitabha, this poor monk is Xuanzang, coming from the Great Tang and heading to India to seek the Buddha’s teachings.”
The young man was suddenly overjoyed. “So you are Dharma Master Xuanzang! Praise the gods and Buddha, you… you crossed Mohe Yanqi alone!”
He quickly dismounted and knelt before Xuanzang, performing the five-limb prostration. This was a grand gesture popular in the Western Regions under the influence of Indian Buddhism, where both hands, both knees and the forehead touch the ground. It was the eighth highest of the nine levels of etiquette, second only to full-body prostration.
The other two riders also dismounted and knelt in worship. Xuanzang, faced with such an honorable gesture, felt a bit at a loss. Following the ritual, he stroked the young man’s head, blessing him with longevity and good fortune using sutras, then hesitantly asked, “My benefactor, you are…?”
The young man stood up with a beaming smile. “Dharma Master, you may not know, but I am the third son of the King of Gaochang, surnamed Qu, named Zhisheng. I recently accompanied my second royal brother on a diplomatic mission to the Kingdom of Yiwu. There, we heard from Hu merchants traveling the Silk Road that you intended to journey west to India to seek the dharma. At the time, I discussed with my second royal brother whether we should stay in Yiwu for a few more days to wait for your arrival. I never expected that Buddha would be so merciful as to let me encounter you here.”
Xuanzang finally understood. So Qu Zhisheng was the third son of the King of Gaochang, which explained his Han Chinese appearance and attire.
The Kingdom of Gaochang was an anomaly among the Western Regions. From the king to the common people, they were all Han Chinese, isolated among the various Hu peoples of the Western Regions for hundreds of years. Despite numerous hardships, they had stubbornly survived.
Gaochang was originally a garrison area during the Han Dynasty. At that time, the Han Dynasty built military fortifications there, with soldiers both farming and guarding. Because “the terrain was high and open, and the people were prosperous,” it was named Gaochang Wall. During the Eastern Han and Jin Dynasties, when there was chaos in the interior, Han people fled the war and escaped to the Hexi Corridor and as far as Gaochang.
The population of Gaochang gradually increased, with Han people accounting for 70%. During the period of the Five Hu chaos, when the Rouran attacked Gaochang, they established the Han Chinese Kan Bozhou as the King of Gaochang, and Gaochang became a country from then on. After hundreds of years of turmoil, powerful nations such as the Rouran, Gaoche, and Western Turks took turns on the stage, fighting for hundreds of years over the ownership of Gaochang, but the political power of the Kingdom of Gaochang remained in the hands of the Han people.
In the third year of Jingming of the Northern Wei Dynasty, the Qu family claimed the throne, and now it had been passed down for eight generations and nine kings. Qu Zhisheng’s father, Qu Wentai, was the current King of Gaochang. The Kingdom of Gaochang was at the intersection of Central Plains culture and Western Regions culture, but Gaochang always used Chinese as its official language. Starting from the previous King of Gaochang, Qu Boya, under the leadership of Qu Wentai, they carried out a Sinicization reform, requiring “abandoning the braids and clothes of the barbarians and implementing Sinicization.” As a result, Qu Boya and Qu Wentai, father and son, faced a backlash from the Gaochang nobility, who launched the “Yihe Coup.” The father and son fled in a sorry state, and it took six years to quell the rebellion and regain control of the country.
“May I ask why the Third Prince has entered Mohe Yanqi?” Xuanzang inquired.
Qu Zhisheng hesitated before replying solemnly, “While in the Kingdom of Yiwu, I heard merchants say that a group of Hu merchants had been ambushed and killed by bandits in the desert. Not knowing if it was true, I brought people to investigate. I didn’t expect to encounter the Dharma Master by chance.”
Xuanzang sighed and said, “It is true. This poor monk happened to pass by. The merchant group of over sixty people was all killed, a truly horrific sight.” He pointed at Ashu, “This child—”
Ashu suddenly smiled, “My name is Ashu, and I am the Dharma Master’s servant boy from Chang’an. Greetings to the Third Prince.”
Qu Zhisheng glanced at Ashu without much surprise, as there were many Hu people in Gaochang. However, Xuanzang was startled, staring deeply at Ashu, his mind in turmoil. This child was concealing his identity in front of Qu Zhisheng!
Why? Xuanzang dared not think further.
Qu Zhisheng, not noticing Xuanzang’s unease, said enthusiastically, “Since the Dharma Master has confirmed this, there’s no need for me to investigate further. How about this: I’ll accompany the Dharma Master to Yiwu, while my two attendants go to guard the scene. When we reach Yiwu, I’ll report this matter to the King of Yiwu and have him send people to handle it properly. What does the Dharma Master think?”
“I’ll defer to the Third Prince’s arrangement,” Xuanzang said. Through this exchange, Xuanzang could see that Qu Zhisheng was sincere and enthusiastic, with a simple nature. However, Ashu’s reaction left him with a heavy sense of foreboding. But this was not the time to ask questions, so he remained silent.
Qu Zhisheng was pleased. He instructed his two riders to give up one horse for Xuanzang to ride. As they were not far from the lake, the two riders shared one horse and rode away. Qu Zhisheng personally held the reins and helped Xuanzang mount, then led the way towards Yiwu.
Xuanzang and Ashu traveled with Qu Zhisheng through Mohe Yanqi for a day and finally arrived outside the city of Yiwu. The number of travelers increased, the sky above was a deep blue, and the roads were lined with poplar and weeping willow trees. The dense clusters of red willows covered the desolate land like waves. Sparse adobe houses were scattered outside the city of Yiwu. Yiwu was the closest Western Region country to the Great Tang and a well-known small nation, with only seven cities and a total population of around twenty thousand, comprising both Hu and Han people. However, Yiwu was a major post on the Silk Road, and Hu merchants arriving here would soon enter the Central Plains, making this small country quite prosperous.
Upon reaching the city gate, they encountered a traffic jam. The gates of Western Region countries were typically narrow, and when a large caravan passed through, it could block the entrance completely. Sometimes, two large carts would get stuck side by side, unable to move forward or backward. But this time, it was clear that the blockage was not caused by merchants; the gate was empty, yet many Hu merchants were hiding outside, whispering to each other, while soldiers maintained order, preventing incoming merchants from entering.
Qu Zhisheng approached a Hu merchant and asked, “What’s going on? Why aren’t we allowed to enter the city?”
Seeing a well-dressed Han man, the Hu merchant did not dare to be rude and respectfully replied, “Young master of the Han family, it seems that a noble is passing through, hence the lockdown.”
“Oh, is it possible that Shi Wannian is leaving the city?” Qu Zhisheng asked in surprise.
The Hu merchant was startled and immediately dared not answer. Shi Wannian was the king of Yiwu, and this young Han man had directly called the name of the king! However, Qu Zhisheng was unfazed; in the eyes of the King of Gaochang, this small Yiwu was almost like a vassal. As a prince of Gaochang, he certainly did not need to show excessive respect to the king of Yiwu.
“Master, there’s no need to worry. Please enter the city to rest at the inn. I will go meet the King of Yiwu and come to visit you shortly,” Qu Zhisheng smiled at Xuanzang.
Xuanzang shook his head. “This poor monk is merely wandering; how can I interfere with state affairs? Since there are matters in the country, I will wait.”
Qu Zhisheng had no choice but to stay by his side, waiting for the noble to pass through the city. At that moment, the sound of hooves thundered from within the city, rumbling like thunder as thirty knights rode by, controlling their steeds, holding long spears, with curved sabers at their waists and bows and arrows on their backs, rushing past everyone like the wind.
Qu Zhisheng was taken aback when he saw the attire of these knights and exclaimed, “Yanchi people?”
Xuanzang looked at him curiously, not understanding why he was so agitated. Before his journey to the West, Xuanzang had learned about the Western Region countries and knew that Yanchi was located southwest of Gaochang and was also a Buddhist nation, but he did not know much more than that. Not to mention him, even the Tang court was likely in the dark about the current situation in the Western Regions. After the wars at the end of the Sui Dynasty, the Western Regions had been cut off from the Central Plains for thirty years. Aside from the Hu merchants traveling the Silk Road who could bring some foreign news, the Tang Dynasty prohibited its citizens from leaving the country, severely limiting the court’s sources of information.
Qu Zhisheng stared at the Yanchi knights, his face flushed with excitement. Suddenly, he rushed forward and stopped the last knight, shouting, “Dragon Knight, halt!”
The knight reined in his horse, pointing his spear at Qu Zhisheng, and sternly asked, “Who are you? Why are you blocking the way?”
At this moment, the other knights also turned back, their spears and bows aimed at Qu Zhisheng. Qu Zhisheng smiled amiably and repeatedly cupped his hands. “No malice, no malice. I only wish to ask if Princess Longshuang has come to Yiwu.”
Xuanzang was puzzled, and Ashu tugged at him, whispering, “The king of Yanchi has the surname Long, and the Yanchi knights are known as Dragon Knights. The two countries are neighbors and have never been on good terms. Master, don’t let him cause trouble; we won’t be able to escape.”
Xuanzang nodded, but before he could speak, Qu Zhisheng indeed stirred up trouble. The knight became furious, swinging his spear and striking at him, shouting, “You scoundrel! Who dares to inquire about our princess’s whereabouts?”
Qu Zhisheng, still smiling, did not dodge, allowing the spear to strike him. With a loud crack, his clothes nearly tore. He winced in pain but remained respectful, saying, “I dare not, I dare not. I merely admire the princess and came to extend my greetings.”
The knights exchanged glances, bewildered, and Xuanzang was also speechless. In a dignified nation, a few ordinary knights were abroad, and one would inquire about the princess upon meeting them—wasn’t that asking for a beating?
Several burly knights stepped forward, ready to strike him. One older knight stared at him for a long time, noticing his luxurious attire and that he was Han, and stopped his comrades from acting violently, asking, “Who are you?”
Qu Zhisheng cupped his hands, his face sincere. “My surname is Qu, my name is Zhisheng. I have met the princess once. I noticed that your attire resembles that of the palace guards, so I rashly inquired.”
“Qu Zhisheng…” The knight stared at him for a moment, then asked his companions, “Does that name sound familiar… Oh—” He suddenly looked shocked, a mix of surprise and anger on his face. “You are the third prince of Gaochang?”
“Indeed, he is Qu Zhisheng!” A clear and melodious voice answered from a distance as the sound of hooves approached.
Xuanzang and the others looked up to see more than ten fine horses galloping toward the city gate, all ridden by youthful and beautiful Hu women. Among them, the leading girl stood out, her fair skin and slender waist accentuated as she sat gracefully on her horse. Her long jade-like legs rested against the horse’s belly, and beneath her blue eyes, a layer of light gauze veiled her face.
She wore a white silk narrow-sleeved dress, over which was a long robe with an embroidered collar. Her hair was styled in a tortoiseshell and gemstone hairdo, and a wide red silk scarf wrapped around her hair, trailing down her back and tied in a complex knot at her waist, reaching her feet. As the horse galloped, the red ribbons fluttered, adding a unique charm.
Qu Zhisheng was already mesmerized his mouth agape as he stared at her, his body trembling slightly. After a long while, he murmured, “Longshuang, you’re here! I… I’m so happy!”
“Shameless!” One of the maidservants immediately changed her expression and lashed out with a whip, striking Qu Zhisheng across the face with a loud crack, leaving a bloody mark as blood oozed out. Xuanzang was startled, and even the surrounding Dragon Knights were taken aback. After all, this fellow was the prince of Gaochang, and being whipped by a maidservant was a tremendous humiliation.
Yet Qu Zhisheng smiled calmly, gazing at Princess Longshuang, and bowed to the maidservant with both hands. “Yes, yes, I spoke thoughtlessly. You struck well, young lady!”
This time, even Xuanzang could not bear to watch any longer and whispered, “Amitabha, Third Prince, do you need this poor monk to bandage your wound?”
Qu Zhisheng took a long time to come back to his senses, surprised as he asked, “Bandage? No, why would I need to bandage? This whip was given by the princess; how could it be a disgrace! Perhaps years from now, when I touch the whip mark on my face, I will remember the princess’s grace. Isn’t that a blessing bestowed by the Buddha?”
Xuanzang was utterly speechless.
Beside him, Ashu whispered, “Master, this Princess Longshuang, whose name is Shuangyuezhi, is the beloved daughter of King Longtuqizhi of Yanchi. She wields great power in the court and controls national affairs from afar. Longtuqizhi is brave but lacks strategy and loves to boast, while this princess is skilled in political maneuvering and has established the policies of Yanchi, earning her the title of ‘Phoenix of the Western Regions.'”
Xuanzang nodded silently. He could certainly see that Qu Zhisheng was infatuated with this princess, almost to the point of obsession, but it seemed that the situation was not as rosy as it appeared.
Sure enough, Princess Longshuang looked at Qu Zhisheng with a mocking gaze, a hint of amusement in her eyes, and suddenly smiled, “Third Prince, would you be willing to do me a favor?”
“Absolutely!” Qu Zhisheng replied excitedly, his voice trembling. “What does the princess want me to do? Whether it’s one task or a hundred, a thousand tasks, I will spare no effort and vow to fulfill the princess’s wishes.”
“It’s not that serious,” Princess Longshuang said lightly. “I came in a hurry and didn’t bring any servants. Would you be willing to kneel as a stirrup to help me dismount?”