by Vivian Chak
***
“Eat plenty. It's a few more days to capital Bianjing,” Brother Wong told them, “and we'll need to offer our alms bowls often there. City folk aren't this generous.” They were lodged with a farmer's family, who had welcomed the party of monk, nun, and sister in return for prayers.
“Also, our enlightened presence isn't going to be needed there to ward off ghosts,” he added, making reference to how Dahuting was located very close to an ancient Han cemetery.
“I don't quite see why they would want us around at all, Wong shifu,” said Jiang. If all the monks and nuns who came down from the mountains were as exemplar as Wong, Jiang could not understand why anyone would offer them hospitality.
“Still thinking of abandoned travelers, I see,” Brother Wong said, though he didn't seem upset. He gave Jiang a perfunctory glance from his seat by the hearth before returning his gaze to the fire. Everyone in the farmer's family had gone to sleep next door, but for the wizened family matriarch who lay bundled blankly near the fire. Jiang felt sorry for the woman's condition, but there was nothing she could do. The monk cleared his throat.
“You remember what I said last time?”
“About killing?”
“About knowing intent. You pulled that blade out pretty quickly, but when it came to helping the man while he was still alive, you had no practical ideas.”
“I have never encountered a man in such a position before,” Jiang admitted, slightly loath to do so, out of apprehension for what Wong would have to say about such a lacking. But the monk surprised her.
“Well, neither did Buddha, until he encountered the dying man from his chariot. Perhaps this will be a good thing for you,” Wong commented wryly, feeding a few twigs into the hearth.
“I am not the best example for enlightenment,” said Jiang, mortified at such a comparison, though at the same time wondering about the possibility of truth in the monk's comment. Wong looked closely at her.
“You'd best decide what you are before we reach Longhua, then. Know what you want.” He stretched out before the hearth and became still almost immediately.
He was right, in a way, Jiang considered. Death was commonplace, and besides, didn't the Diamond sutra stress that attaining nirvana was akin to relinquishing one's earthly existence? Jiang meditated on the thought that both death and nirvana would be similar, in that one would be forever liberated from chasing life's insatiable desires upon reaching either. She ought to agree with Wong's sentiments that the man had been benefited, in being gifted with death.
But she couldn't. Maybe she hadn't grasped the principles of Chan Buddhism properly, but it seemed that in practice, people could never simply cease to exist peacefully after they had died. Tradition dictated that they remained remembered; that they were to be fed and provided with money, even after they had passed on. Even Buddhists offered prayers, though the object of these was to ease the passing of souls, through their different states of non-physical existence, to rebirth, and then possibly to nirvana. Was the object of enlightenment to forget, then? She glanced at her sister. It was possible that Flame, with her rather obvious tendencies to flaunt such practice, could have something to say about it. She would ask her.
“Flame?” Jiang saw her sister sit up abruptly. She hadn't been sleeping either, evidently.
“What is it, Elder Sister?”
“Why do you think it's so difficult to forget?”
“Are you remembering the man on the road?”
Jiang eyed the fire. It cast a glow on her sister's face, and she could feel the heat lick her own.
“Yes. Wong said-”
“Don't worry. I heard it all.”
“Oh.” Jiang thought she should have considered that perhaps the Jurchen man had been keeping Flame awake too.
“Why does one find it so difficult to forget such things?”
Flame shrugged.
“If I knew, maybe I'd forget Li.” Her eyes widened. “How did you forget?”
Jiang considered for a moment.
“I thought of him as being like everyone else. All men are equal while they live on this earthly plane, and so there's no reason for me to remember him with any particularity.” Jiang remembered too late that Flame would definitely come into conflict over such a statement, regardless of it being in line with their Buddhist teachings. The flame made her sister's face look crimson.
“How could you?” exploded Flame, the room's slumbering inhabitants forgotten. Jiang glanced anxiously at the curtain that separated the farmer's family from the hearth room.
“It pains me to remember. And pains others,” Jiang said particularly softly, hoping Flame would follow in quieting her speech.
“I think it pains others to forget. If I forgot, Ma and Ba would be hurt. I would know.” Flame paused thoughtfully. “There's your answer―it's difficult to forget, when it's family one talks about.” Jiang started to protest, but Flame cut her off.
“And there's no forgetting family. The whole world is not 'family.' If it was, people wouldn't kill each other, would they?”
“I can understand what you mean, if you're making reference to the late Tang dynasty—”
“No, I'm not. I just mean people. Or maybe just the ones like Li,” qualified Flame. Jiang began to regret the line of conversation she had started. Wong broke in.
“Conversations like these should take place outside,” he grumbled and turned over, back facing them.
Jiang motioned her sister outside. Flame, as Jiang expected, followed her out, clearly still simmering to make her point. A bright red streak shot through the sky.
“It's a comet resembling a fenghuang,” Jiang pointed out, eyeing a shooting star in awe. “How auspicious!”
“I thought you didn't believe in good luck symbols,” muttered Flame. Nonetheless, she looked interestedly as well, for the supposed firebird.
“Ba used to point them out all the time.” Jiang was waxing sentimental, but for once she didn't mind. Her sister wouldn't. The cool night air was making her feel slightly giddy, and she added, “Tradition has it that a new era is being born.”
“A good one?”
“Why ever not?” To her surprise, Flame moved closer.
“I like when you're normal like this.”
“What?” Immediately Jiang tried to pinpoint, out of the thousand ways in which she could be deviating from dharma, the faulty behaviour that Flame was referring to.
“Don't worry about it, jie―you're still good to me when you're not,” Flame laughed.
Oh. Flame was merely funning.
“Thank you. I value that, truly,” returned Jiang. They regarded the comet for a few moments more, and then returned to the hovel. As Jiang shuffled on the sleeping mat to get comfortable, she thought of what her father had told her about the fenghuang. It was a firebird, a symbol of goodly virtues, and the counterpart to the dragon. Its pairing with the dragon symbolized harmonious marriage. Jiang wondered why she was thinking about that. She certainly wasn't going to any weddings, least of all her own, save for the ones that she would be asked to bless, after being confirmed in her ordination. Unless—
No, I will not think about that. Jiang glanced briefly at Flame. Her sister appeared to be deeply asleep. What would Flame think if she knew it? Jiang had no desire to find out. She stretched out and closed her eyes, willing her mind to drift into the emptiness of sleep, an inadequate imitation of the nirvana she might obtain, if she could just discipline her mind enough.