by Lydia Kwa
“In the far distance, the ocean surface was ruptured by a slash deepening inward. Zou Yan could not make out what it was at first, but something emerged from the ocean’s wound, shimmered, and moved toward him. As the vision drew closer, Zou Yan observed the shape of its extraordinarily large shell, its golden flippers, front and back, speckled with black markings, and a long protuberance that was its head and neck.
“The vision hovered close above him. Its mind spoke to Zou Yan’s mind, using thought whispers.
“When Zou Yan emerged from his trance, there was a small turtle plastron at his feet. It bore an inscription that echoed the truths he had been observing in the natural world. He clutched the plastron to his chest and wept, overcome with the force of this encounter. Zou Yan sensed that this shell had been left as some kind of a pact between the turtle emanation and himself. He was convinced that the emanation had an intelligence, knew who he was, and spoke to him directly. It had told Zou Yan that it wanted him to seek an audience with King Zheng of the state of Qin.
“The philosopher resolved that he would do what the turtle emanation instructed, although it unnerved him that he had to journey far at great peril to his life and seek audience with King Zheng of Qin, the state that was at war with his home state.
“At that time, King Zheng was just nineteen sui. When Zou Yan reached the Qin court and gained an audience with the king, he recounted his vision with great trepidation. ‘The turtle has foretold that, following protracted wars, King Zheng will succeed in unifying all the states under him.’ Zou Yan uttered this prophecy, his whole body trembling, for he knew it meant that his own state of Qi would suffer great loss of lives as a result.
“Zou Yan entreated the king to follow the ways of nature by honouring the diversity that existed among the people he would be uniting. The turtle emanation had instructed him to say that if King Zheng did not heed the wisdom of the principles of yin and yang, his reign would be cut short.
“‘Show me this plastron!’ shouted the king. ‘How can I believe you? How do I know that you are not some stark-raving madman?’
“Zou Yan felt torn. If he didn’t show any proof, he might be executed. Reluctantly Zou Yan brought out the turtle plastron from his satchel and handed it to the young king, saying that he believed the inscription spoke about how yin and yang required each other.
“King Zheng was intrigued. He ordered the turtle plastron taken from the philosopher, then commanded, ‘Now, be gone from here!’ Zou Yan was chased from the great hall, deprived of the prized plastron. He was broken-hearted, for he deeply valued that gift from the magical turtle.
“King Zheng contemplated all that Zou Yan shared with him. The ideas of the Yin-Yang School fascinated him. He wondered how such ideas could serve him. The king sought the help of various alchemists and diviners and became obsessed with acquiring immortality.
“Twenty years later, when King Zheng succeeded in conquering all the other states, he crowned himself the first Emperor of the country, calling himself Qin Shi Huangdi. Afraid of losing control, Shi Huangdi went against all that Zou Yan had said. He had thousands of books burned so that all evidence of views at variance with his were destroyed.
“Shi Huangdi, like his forebears, was a Legalist. He had been raised with the belief that rulers had to instill fear in their subjects. A certain Lord Shang had been the adviser to previous kings of Qin, and this adviser had said, ‘If you rule the people by punishment, the people will fear. Being fearful, they will not commit villainies.’
“The Emperor forbade his subjects from owning the Book of Songs and the Classic of History, banning these books and many more. Language was powerful, hence dangerous. All traces of inspiration—anything that was an observation of the universe or of the mind, anything that might lead others to think for themselves or to imagine other realities—had to be eliminated.
“Shi Huangdi wondered what would happen if the plastron was used for divination. After all, plastrons had been employed by rulers during the Shang and Zhou dynasties. He went to the summit of Mount Li with his retinue of diviners.
The Emperor felt emboldened by his power and told his diviners to ask the bone how long his reign would last. They tried to carve the bone, but however hard they tried, the bone remained intact. In order to save themselves from the Emperor’s wrath, they cast the plastron into a pit at the foot of the mountain and told the Emperor that the prognostication was for a long and prosperous reign.”
At this point, Qilan paused.
Ling was wide-eyed. She touched the turquoise pendant at her neck and rolled it between her index finger and the thumb of her left hand. She looked outside at the courtyard. It was raining heavily, and the wind tossed the trees and bushes about. Ling turned back to look at Qilan. “Sounds like Shi Huangdi was a big bully. Like Shan Hu.”
“Except, of course, Shi Huangdi had much more power than that small-town villain.”
Ling recalled seeing the frightened coward inside the big villain. “Shi Huangdi was really quite weak, wasn’t he?”
“Many rulers are weak. That’s what makes them so dangerous. This will not change in our lifetime or for many lifetimes. Remember what the inscription on the turtle plastron said?”
“‘A dream wants waking, a sky needs light.’”
“So simple, yet one can interpret it so many ways.”
“One thing interpreted many ways,” echoed Ling, letting this profound idea sink into her mind.
“Did Shi Huangdi grasp the preciousness of the turtle plastron?” asked Qilan.
“I think that if he had, he wouldn’t have tried to use it as an oracle bone.” Ling was silent for a moment, then said, “I wonder, why was Shi Huangdi unable to cherish the plastron?” She narrowed her eyes and stared at the red coals in the brazier. People did the most awful things. She blinked. “He judged the plastron according to his own selfish needs and failed to investigate its true nature.”
“Precisely,” Qilan said.
“He was impatient and greedy,” Ling continued. “That rendered him blind to the true gift of the plastron. Then, when he had been ‘satisfied’ by a lie presented to him by his diviners, he no longer needed the plastron. It had served his purpose.” She continued to think aloud. “In the first place, he refused to acknowledge the truth of the message from the turtle emanation. Next, he failed to respect the relationship between the philosopher and the gift entrusted to him and he greedily stole it, after which he tried to force the precious plastron to function like an oracle bone! Travesty upon travesty!”
“Remember Zou Yan’s warning from the turtle emanation?”
“If the Emperor didn’t follow the ways of harmony, his reign would be short.” Ling narrowed her eyes to ponder this. “Are you saying it was already predestined that he would have a short reign?”
“The prophecy was stated as a set of conditions. It said, if you do such-and-such, then certain consequences will occur. That’s what true prophecy is; it doesn’t eliminate one’s capacity to choose. But it might suggest knowledge of a person’s tendencies. What they do is still up to them.”
“So, how long did he reign?”
“Ten years. Before his death, he was obsessed with achieving immortality and had various magicians make up elixirs for him. He even had a massive army of terracotta soldiers built to guard what would be his tomb. He truly believed he would reign even in the after-life.
“One night, the Emperor had a dream in which he stood on the very spot where Zou Yan had had the vision of the turtle. In the dream, Shi Huangdi looked out anxiously to the far horizon. He was waiting for the turtle to come to him at the ocean’s edge. When he woke up, he was delirious and mumbled that he would become immortal if only he could possess the turtle. The Emperor died shortly after.”
The rain had stopped. Sunlight streamed into the study from the windows. Both Qilan and Ling spent a few moments in silence watching the sky. The bells from the Western tower sounded the Hour of the Snake.
/> Ling exclaimed, “I think the turtle possessed him first.”
Qilan laughed. “Maybe.”
“How do you know the story, Qilan? Does this turtle have a name?”
Qilan shrugged her shoulders. “The story came to me by spending time with the plastron. Now I share it with you. You could repeat this story to whomever you trust. In this fashion, the story, and other ones like it, will get passed down to future generations of outcasts.”
Ling nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at Qilan. “Are we outcasts because others reject us? Or because we reject them?”
“We must not reject others. But as to whether we become outcasts only because of rejection, or for some other reason … well, my dear, I leave it up to you to contemplate.”
“What are you going to do with the turtle plastron, Qilan?”
“Some day, I will need to return it to its rightful owner.”
“Zou Yan?”
“No. Ao, the turtle.”
“Ao?”
“That is the name of that turtle emanation.”
“Where does it live?”
“At the edge, where land no longer exists. In the Great Ocean, beyond earth. Beyond.”
“When will you do that? Didn’t you say you were going to meet Gui? Would you take the plastron with you?”
“Yes, I will bring the plastron with me when I meet Gui. Then, much later, many years from now perhaps—I don’t know when—I will return the plastron to Ao.”
“When you are much older?”
Qilan smiled at Ling. “Age and time in years—these are not necessary for someone like me, Ling.”
“But you wouldn’t … disappear—or die, would you? I would be so sad.”
Qilan took Ling’s hands into her own and squeezed them tightly. “We will meet many times over several lives.”
These notions both excited and puzzled Ling, who could only say in response, “I hope so.”
Jingzhe Jieqi,
Waking of Insects,
fifth day of Second Lunar Month
DA CI’EN MONASTERY, SOUTHEASTERN CHANG’AN
At dawn, Peerless looked in on Xuanzang.
“Come close and write my words down.”
The revered monk’s voice was faint, and he was too weak now to get up. Peerless barely kept himself from shedding tears as he pulled a stool close to the bed.
“I, Xuanzang, when I was twenty-six sui, in the year of the Ox, went to India. At the age of forty-two sui, in the year of the Snake, I returned to Zhongguo. From that time until the present, my sixty-third, in this year of the Tiger, the record of scriptures translated from Sanskrit to Chinese is as follows: sutras and shastras numbering seventy-four; one thousand, three hundred and thirty-eight chapters. I have given alms and offerings to ten thousand people, I have lit candles at thousands of rituals.
“My work has been accomplished. Sixteen years of arduous journeying followed by nineteen years of staying tethered to the city, undertaking the rigours of translation work. My physical body is soon to die. I wish to offer all the merits of my good deeds to all sentient beings so that we may all be reborn in the Tushita Heaven to serve Maitreya Buddha. When the future Buddha appears in this realm, may we also appear again to perform the tasks of compassion, so that all sentient beings may attain enlightenment.”
Peerless placed the brush carefully on the rest after dipping it into the jar of water and wiping it dry. Now his tears fell freely.
“Don’t get carried away by these feelings of grief, Peerless. Replace your grief with compassion for all sentient beings.”
Xuanzang closed his eyes and went into a deep state of meditation. He recited the Heart Sutra, his voice a wisp of sound.
The noble Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva,
while practicing the deep practice of Prajnaparamita,
looked upon the Five Skandhas
and seeing they were empty of self-existence
said, “Here, Shariputra,
form is emptiness, emptiness is form;
emptiness is not separate from form …
Throughout that day and into the night, he continued to recite the sutra, albeit in a diminishing voice. By the time the Hour of the Rat arrived, his voice was barely a whisper. His closest disciples as well as Harelip and Peerless surrounded the dying monk. At close to midnight, Pu Guang asked Xuanzang, “Are you sure, Master, that you will return in the future to the inner courtyard of Maitreya Buddha?”
The monk, eyes closed, smiled knowingly and nodded. His breathing was so faint that Harelip had to lean close to Xuanzang’s face, to sense each breath. When he could no longer feel that caress of air on his cheek, he straightened up and looked with reddened eyes around him.
The hallway outside was crowded by monks with heads bowed, so numerous that they formed a thick chain of bodies that wound around the corner and beyond.
ROGUES’ MANSION, THE VICE HAMLET, EAST CENTRAL CHANG’AN
Xie was awakened by the sound of weeping in the streets. Clanging ensued, as if a host of people had found all kinds of metal to bang, the rough sounds of many timbres shattering the air. He lay in bed and listened. The voices grew louder. His right eye twitched with annoyance. Xie got out of bed and summoned his manservant.
“What is happening?”
“Master, the great monk Xuanzang has died.”
“Oh.” What a fuss made over a monk, he thought. People are ridiculous.
He ignored the noise, now that he knew it had no relevance for him, and fell into a deep sleep. Soon he found himself in a well. Gui was no longer inside him but was outside of his body, close by. Why? he had asked the demon. There was no reply. Instead, he heard the voice of his daughter calling out to him. Suddenly she was there, a movement, a fleeting presence. Try as he might, he couldn’t touch her. He stood in the well, helpless, as she passed through him.
Xie woke up covered in sweat, shivering furiously. Surely only humans had nightmares, not demons. Why would Gui be outside of him, and his former daughter pass through him, like a being that no longer could be confined to a body?
There was power in not being confined—this he had understood only too well, thanks to Gui. But the truth remained that the demon had needed to use his physical form, to advance its ambitions in the human realm.
He wrapped himself in a blanket and got up. Peering through the latticed window into the courtyard, he wondered how his snake was faring in the jar. He needed to extract more venom, just in case he might need it. Xie lit the cannabis pellet, and the smoke relaxed him.
He felt much less like the former human he had been. There were now far fewer conflicts between him and Gui. He was no longer so sure they were two separate entities. But the nightmare—what was that about? A trace of his former self? A fear of his own helplessness?
LI ZHI’S CHAMBERS, TAIJIGONG, NORTH CENTRAL CHANG’AN
Most certainly, a large ceremony to commemorate the great man,” Wu Zhao said, with an air of solemnity suitable for the occasion.
Li Zhi raised an eyebrow. His Empress never failed to surprise him. “But of course. What do you suggest?”
“It has to be grand, whatever it is. A parade through the streets and a grand burial befitting a dignitary. We must show our people that we care about Xuanzang and what he has done.”
“But you were complaining not too long ago, my dear, how much attention I’d paid to his work.”
“Things have changed. Once a great man dies, we need to make use of his reputation and let people know we haven’t forgotten him. This will cast us in even more of a favourable light.”
Li Zhi smiled, nodded, and stroked his beard. He approved of the astute strategist in her. The people of Chang’an were already responding to the famous monk’s death with a noticeable degree of grief. Surely they would be pleased to see that their Emperor also shared their feelings. He closed his eyes to imagine the scene. A massive show of riotous colours. Banners made by the people to honour the man. Yes, of course, a spectacle
. Thanks to the generosity of the Tang emperor.
With some effort, he lifted the small bell and rang it. The maid entered. “Help me to my study.” Once there, he was carefully lowered into the wide-armed scholar’s chair. His eunuch servant prepared the ink for him.
Li Zhi struggled, but he wanted to write the letter himself and, with effort, he succeeded. He sent for his scribe to copy it out for him. Copies were sent to merchants in the city, asking for speedy proposals to be made for various aspects of a parade and funeral for Xuanzang.
Exhausted from his exertion, Li Zhi slumped back into the chair and took a few sips of tea. He was proud of himself. After all, wasn’t he the son of Li Shihmin? That dignity and fierce warrior spirit ran through his veins. He’d recognized Xuanzang’s greatness from the very beginning, and he’d ensured that the monk dedicated his remaining years to translation work. The Tang dynasty would forever be remembered as one that honoured its heroic sons and servants.
DA CI’EN MONASTERY, SOUTHEASTERN CHANG’AN
All activities were thrown into disarray. The monks became distracted and dispirited.
Harelip was also listless. He had grown so used to the great monk’s presence. Even fond of him. He was upset, of course, like everyone else. But in the past week since Xuanzang’s passing, he was also angry because the Emperor wanted to put on a fanciful funeral service for Xuanzang.
He ventured out to the Garden of Buddhas to sit for a while. The weather was unseasonably mild. There were signs of the approaching spring—small buds on the two peach trees, a sparrow singing, the camellia bushes already full of buds about to burst. The sky was a mauve colour with a few clouds moving across the horizon quickly. It was going to be a lovely day.
Da Ci’en Monastery was being subjected to immense pressures to conform to the Emperor’s dictates. Yet all of them at the monastery knew what Xuanzang had wanted—a peaceful, modest burial on a mountain. Would Huili and the others manage to convince the Emperor to change his mind? He couldn’t bear to watch Xuanzang’s wishes be ignored and undermined. Harelip’s face flushed to think of this.