Blood flowed, tears flowed, life went on.
Gongzha took advantage of the moonlight and climbed the mountain behind Cuoe Temple. The path was overgrown with prickly shrubs, but he made his way steadily to the top, carrying a length of wire with him. He looked down at the grassland. It was deep in sleep; only that small white tent still kept its lamps lit. She always went to sleep very late, and sometimes not at all: some nights, her lamps burnt on till morning. Whenever Gongzha saw that, it was as if the butter lamps were scorching his heart.
Was she planning to go without sleep again tonight? Did she not know how much he worried about her, how he ached for her?
Gongzha forced himself to look away. Taking a deep breath, he walked round to a dip on the other side of the mountain. The boulder still stood tall. He looked at the crevice: he had often hidden there as a child, sheltering from the wind and rain, but he was too large now and could no longer squeeze inside it. He bent the length of wire into a hook, reached into the crevice, and began to carefully prod around.
When he felt the hook catch on something, his heart leapt. The Buddha had blessed and protected the items, and they were still there. He suppressed his excitement, steadied his hand, and edged it carefully upwards, centimetre by centimetre. When he finally drew the object out, he saw clearly by the light of the moon that it was the book. He snatched it up and flipped through the pages; apart from some sand on the outside, it was still in good condition. He put it carefully in his chuba, then took up his wire and began searching again. He could feel something but could not draw it out. He removed the wire hook, adjusted it and reached in again. That made it much easier and he quickly hooked out the Buddha. He used his wool sleeve to dust off the sand. In the moonlight, the black Buddha gleamed as brightly as it always had.
Gongzha sat down with his back against the boulder and examined it. The Buddha was heavy, but he couldn’t tell what it was made of. He remembered how, long ago, Luobudunzhu had been so desperate to find it that he’d subjected Living Buddha Zhaduo to struggle sessions and had even broken his leg. Was it very valuable – so valuable it merited destroying a temple?
Gongzha examined the Buddha from every angle and turned it upside down. He felt something like a raised line on its back and when he held it up to the light he saw that what should have been a smooth surface actually had the image of a small ¤ engraved in it. What did it mean? Gongzha looked at it curiously. Was it a name for the Buddha? He’d never come across it before. But then he raised his head and an image flashed through his mind: an old man in tattered monk’s robes sat by the side of the lake, staring absently at Chanaluo Snow Mountain across the water. The old man drew a ¤ in the sand with his finger. But when he saw that someone was coming, he wiped the sand smooth and began laughing wildly.
Why was this image on the Buddha? What did it mean? Gongzha squinted thoughtfully at it for some time, but he still didn’t have a clue. He decided not to think about it. He put the Buddha in his fur-lined robe, brushed the sand off himself and returned to the mountaintop. When he looked down and saw the dark temple below, he suddenly got the idea to go and explore it.
He clambered down, slipping on scree and scratching his way through shrubs. The wooden door in the courtyard wall was still there. When he pushed it gently, it creaked and two terrified wildcats streaked off into the distance.
He went into the courtyard. The large complex was now completely empty. The Red Guards had made their headquarters there, then it had served as a storage place for the commune’s meat, and after that it had been abandoned, left to the mice, rabbits and wildcats.
Gongzha turned on his torch and made his way through the empty rooms. A few of the murals were still intact, their colours just as vivid as before. When he got to the main hall at the front, he saw that the once highly revered bodhisattvas had disappeared. They must have been casualties of the Cultural Revolution, either hurled into the lake by a frenzied crowd or smashed up and recycled for some other purpose. Only their platform remained; several mice scurried across it. Four great pillars still stood in sturdy support, though of course their imposing gold and silver casings were long gone. The temple’s serene, esoteric atmosphere had been obliterated in that extraordinary, turbulent period. A thick layer of dust now covered a floor once so clean you could see your reflection in it, and the sweet smell of incense had been succeeded by a sharp, noxious odour. Lacking spiritual purpose or any believers, the temple had reverted to being the house it had been before, and a decrepit house at that; it had nothing like the warm, safe feel of a black tent.
Gongzha took out the Medicine Buddha and set it on the platform. He stepped back two paces to look at it. The Buddha as tall as a child’s arm gleamed brightly in the faint moonlight. He contemplated it for a while, then picked it up and put it back in his chuba, turned away and went out.
The path ran down the side of the mountain to the plain, through grass so withered it wasn’t even heel height. When he got to the encampment, his feet automatically took him in the direction of that small white tent. He stopped about ten metres away, from where the huge guard dog fixed him with a suspicious eye and a threatening growl.
The stars were already vanishing from the sky and the moon had crossed the mountain peak – why had Cuomu still not blown out her lamp? Was she going without sleep again? Even the healthiest body couldn’t endure so many sleepless nights.
Gongzha was full of longing: he wanted to kick the huge dog aside; he wanted to throw open the tent flap and go in; he wanted to pull her into his embrace and fall sleep beside her. But in the end he merely sighed, circled the tent and walked away to the west.
Just as he was heading off into the lonely distance, the small tent behind him slowly opened a crack. Cuomu’s pallid face and tear-swollen eyes stared out and followed him bitterly as he went.
In his heart, Gongzha continuously apologised to Cuomu. I’m so sorry, Cuomu… We can’t go on like this… I miss you so much, and I want to marry you… That’s all I want – to marry you.
His solitary figure roamed the plain for a long time.
*
The regiment established a small school and brought in a teacher, temporarily solving the problem of how the border guards’ children would be educated. Once Zhuo Mai had settled his son Yihang into the school, he took some time to return to the grassland. He was planning to leave the army and return home the following year and he wanted to find the notes on the Four Medical Tantras and fulfil the old man’s wishes.
He sought out Gongzha, but Gongzha wasn’t interested. Without even waiting for Zhuo Mai to explain why he’d come, Gongzha just picked up his gun and led his horse away. Impatient to get on with things, Zhuo Mai went to find Shida and ask him to go with him to find Kaguo.
‘Find Kaguo? You want to find Kaguo? You want to rush off up Chanaluo Snow Mountain?’ As they sat together on the plain, Zhuo Mai cradling his guitar, Shida’s eyes widened so much he looked like a yak. It was as if Zhuo Mai had just told him a joke.
‘I do. Why’s that so strange?’ Zhuo Mai was tuning his guitar and he turned his head to look at Shida while he listened to the twang of the strings. He always brought his guitar when he came to the grassland. His guitar and his medical bag were the two things he was never without.
‘This is avalanche season – did you not know that? There was one just a few days ago, and it buried two hunters from the other side of the lake.’
‘If we’re careful, we’ll be fine. Besides, if there’s just been an avalanche, the next few days should be safe.’
‘Brother Zhuo, it would be better if you didn’t go. Honestly. Besides, you don’t have to go to Chanaluo to pick herbs, other places have them too. You don’t want to mess around with that Kaguo, she’s hurt many hunters.’
‘Thank you, I’ll go by myself.’ Zhuo Mai picked up the guitar and plucked a few chords. He sang while gazing at the distant snow mountain, and his bittersweet song spiralled above it.
‘Today I must go to a faraway land
When we parted you said, “Please don’t forget me.”
Our promise hangs high in the sky
Those white clouds, those stars, that moon
Bear witness to our promise that in the next life we will meet again
And never forget each other.
‘Beautiful shepherdess, I love you
No matter how the world changes, you are forever in my heart.
Beautiful shepherdess, your laughter echoes under the blue sky
And deep in my heart.
‘Oh, give me a tent
I want to take your hand and live together free of pain.
Oh, give me some land
I want to dance with you there, slowly and forever.
‘Shepherdess, sweet shepherdess
When will you return and make our love run smooth?
My greatest hope is not to be separated
Has our love in this life already scattered?
Could it be that loving you brings only despair?
Every day without you is a tragedy.’
As the silk strings sounded, Zhuo Mai was submerged in pain. Beloved shepherdess, are you well? We’ve been apart so many years, do you still smile like you used to? Do you remember the young Han doctor who picked mushrooms with you and sang with you?
Shida was also staring into the distance. Yangji’s hate-filled eyes flashed before him. Yangji had left with venom in her heart. She had left so quickly, so definitively, he’d had no chance for regret.
Across the plain, Cuomu stood in front of her tent wrapped in a wool-lined robe, her two hands gripping the pole of her butter churn, tears streaming down her face. Zhuo Mai’s mournful song made her think of Gongzha. Their love had disappeared with her Uncle Niduo’s spirit. She would never smile or be happy again.
Gongzha also listened to the mournful song. Nothing could suppress the regret and pain in his heart. He whipped his horse and thundered across the grassland.
‘Shepherdess, sweet shepherdess
When will you return and make our love run smooth?
My greatest hope is not to be separated
Has our love in this life already scattered
Could it be that loving you brings only despair?
Every day without you is a tragedy.’
As the sound of the strings faded, the sad beauty of the words intensified.
On the empty plain, the herders stared up at the white clouds and dreamt. The yaks, sheep and wild asses came to a standstill. The grassland was suffused with unspeakable grief.
*
Zhuo Mai prepared to take on Chanaluo himself. During his years in Tibet, he’d crossed countless snow mountains and forded countless streams; he did not believe that Chanaluo would defeat him that easily.
He rolled up his uniform tightly and wrapped it in a blanket. He put on a borrowed sheepskin chuba, took two dried legs of lamb and set off with his horse in tow.
Cuomu came up to him, leading her horse and accompanied by the dog that watched her tent. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘What?’ Zhuo Mai thought he’d heard incorrectly.
‘I said, I’m coming with you.’ Cuomu looked at him and spoke firmly and clearly.
‘Do you know where I’m going?’
‘Chanaluo…’ she said quietly.
‘And you still want to come?’
‘If you can go, why can’t I? Besides, I’m a local, born and bred – I know snow mountains better than you.’
‘In which case you should be well aware of what the hunters say – that Mount Chanaluo is where the bears and wolves live. It’ll be hard enough for me as it is, but if I’ve got to look after you – a girl – as well, it’ll be twice as dangerous.’
Cuomu looked him up and down, taking in his slight frame, and pursed her lips. ‘You think it’s you that’ll be looking after me? I don’t think so!’ She mounted her horse and nudged Zhou Mai with her whip. ‘I know what you’re thinking: you’re afraid I’ll be mauled by a bear or eaten by a wolf – or that you will… Don’t worry – if you get mauled or eaten, I’ll be fine. Let’s go! Two people are always stronger than one.’ And with that, she whipped her horse and tore off, the dog bounding behind.
Zhuo Mai shook his head in exasperation and sighed, then mounted his own horse and chased after her.
When the two of them reached the foot of Mount Chanaluo, they unbuckled their saddles and threw them aside, leaving the horses free to graze on the plain. Cuomu instructed the dog to look after the horses, then she and Zhuo Mai took the bags they’d packed with meat and began to climb.
‘Be careful!’ Cuomu frequently looked back to see Zhuo Mai crawling up the mountainside on all fours – it was funny. The grasslanders often crossed snow mountains and they would never resort to doing so on all fours, as clumsily as a bear. ‘Don’t step on the ice, it’s slippery.’ Just as she said that, Zhuo Mai landed flat on his face.
As she’d explained, Cuomu was a local and had lived in the wilderness for many years, she was much more experienced than Zhuo Mai. He watched admiringly as she moved easily and energetically through the snow. It was a mistake to assume that just because grassland girls were cheerful, all they could do was pour tea, do the milking and look after their men. When trouble came, they never hid behind their men but stood shoulder to shoulder with them, keeping a cool head.
His thoughts flew back to eastern Tibet. He was just eighteen and his army unit was stationed in the mountains there. As an army doctor, he often went down the mountain to tend to people in the surrounding area. That was how he met her, a young woman as beautiful as the moon who loved to laugh loudly at anything and nothing. She loved to sing and always sang for him. They went for walks together, and she played with her slingshot. She giggled incessantly. Zhuo Mai liked to see her laugh; he had only to see her laugh and anything that was troubling him would fly away. He often stayed at her house and when he went on his rounds in the town, she would carry his medical bag for him. They would return home in the evenings by the light of the moon.
He clearly remembered her expression the first time he held her hand. She who feared nothing that earth or heaven could throw at her was suddenly overcome with shyness: two rosy clouds rushed to her cheeks, her gaze dropped to the ground and her thick eyelashes fluttered.
How could those days have changed so quickly? How could she have become another man’s bride in a single night?
The night she was married, he was walking along a path high up the mountain and he heard her heartrending cries from all the way down at the foot of the slopes. He longed to steal her away, to carry her off to the interior of the country, to flee the place that could never make her happy and protect her for the rest of his days. If he hadn’t been wearing a green soldier’s uniform, if the army hadn’t had rules of iron, he might have actually done it.
From that day since, her tears had lain on his heart and never dried.
Cuomu and Zhou Mai crossed a ridge and a valley deep with snow appeared before them. There was not a speck of dirt on the pristine snow; it was if the ground had been covered with a layer of soft white sugar. It was so quiet in this snow-white world that apart from their breathing, they could hear no other form of life.
Such valleys were a common sight in Tibet – they nestled within every one of those mountains ranges. And yet they were also Tibet’s least common sight, because they lay beyond the Changtang Plateau. These mountains were the support beams of the roof the world. But the support beams were not that stable. No one knew when the beams would tremble, shaking the piled-up snow and causing it to tumble down with a roar and redraw the landscape of the place.
‘Is that Chanaluo?’ Zhuo Mai said with awe, looking at the peak.
‘Yes, Chanaluo. I see it every day, but this is the first time I’ve got this close. It’s truly beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘Like a celestial maiden.’
‘She was a celestial maiden once. Uncle said that in her previous life Chanaluo was the faithful handmaiden to King Gesar’s daughter and looked after some of the princess’s treasure. When she reincarnated, she lost her way and became a herder.’
‘She was in charge of the treasure? No wonder the mountain’s so beautiful. It’s like an enormous diamond, flashing light in all directions.’ Zhuo Mai withdrew his gaze and glanced at Cuomu, his eyes half closed as if he was thinking of something else.
The lined robe Cuomu was wearing was black, and curly white lambswool showed around the edge of the collar. The chuba was fastened with an intricately wrought silver belt. Dozens of long plaits held by silver bindings hung to her waist and swung when she walked. In the middle of her shiny forehead, above her sad eyes, lay a red carnelian shaped like a droplet of water. It had been a present from her uncle the living Buddha to her mother on her marriage; when Cuomu turned thirteen, her mother gave it to her to celebrate her becoming an adult. In that silvery-white world and with her air of sadness, it was if Cuomo herself was the mountain’s celestial maiden.
‘Zhuo, what’s that?’ Cuomu stepped forward and pointed at the snow in front of them.
‘What?’ Zhuo Mai came over and looked in the direction she was pointing. A wiggly line of small holes stretched across the snow and disappeared into the distance.
Cuomu went closer and examined them. ‘Bear tracks,’ she said, raising her head.
‘There are bears here?’ Zhuo Mai was a little surprised and instinctively reached for his hunting gun. ‘We’ve run into bears?’
‘Not yet. These tracks must be several days old. Look, some of them have begun to blur. Zhuo, you were the one who wanted to come! Are you afraid now?’ Cuomu stood up, brushed off the snow on her hands and laughed as she looked at him.
Zhuo Mai also laughed. ‘Afraid? I’m not afraid of bears. I’m more afraid of what Gongzha would do to me if something happened to you! He’d kill me!’ He deliberately straightened his back. After all, he was a border defence soldier protecting his country – how could he show fear in front of a woman?
‘Zhuo, how’s your aim?’
‘I’m a PLA soldier, Cuomu!’ Zhuo Mai retorted.
‘A PLA soldier maybe, but a doctor first, no? You’re good with a knife, but what about with a gun – not quite so good?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. Back when the wolves came, I shot a good number. Don’t worry, bears are bigger than wolves – I can definitely hit one.’ Even as he said it, Zhuo Mai was not at all confident that he could kill a bear.
‘Could you definitely kill a big one?’ Cuomu looked at him and started to regret having been so hasty. Was rushing into this bears’ den with a scalpel-wielding doctor anything other than a death mission? ‘You know, Zhuo, I think we should just go back.’
‘No, no, no. Didn’t you say these tracks are from several days ago? We might not run into them. Let’s go a bit further, and then if it’s really too much, we’ll go back – alright?’ Zhuo Mai waggled his head and looked at Cuomu reassuringly, keen for her to stay positive.
‘Weren’t you the one who didn’t want me to come? Now you know that I have my strong points.’ Cuomu laughed, pleased with herself. ‘Let’s go, Vet Zhuo.’
‘It’s Dr Zhuo.’ Laughing, he shouldered his gun and on they went.
They followed the bear tracks through the snow. Eagles hovered, sometimes swooping down from the peak, sometimes flying slowly by, as if gliding. After they’d walked for a short time, they found there were two more lines of tracks on the ground and they were very muddled.
‘How can there be three bears?’ Zhuo Mai said, looking at the messy tracks.
‘It looks like two bears came down from up there. You can see those tracks are a little smaller. Maybe they’re this one’s cubs. We should go a different way – a bear with cubs is ferocious, we need to avoid running into it.’
‘Alright.’ The two of them left the bear prints and took a different route up the mountain.
In that silver-white world, it was impossible to know what lay under all that snow, where to step or where to avoid. They had to trust their instincts. Cuomu led the way. She sometimes turned to laugh, encouraging Zhuo Mai or pulling him along. The two rarely spoke, and when they did, they talked very quietly. They understood in their hearts that in that pure, unsullied world, the slightest sound could cause a disastrous avalanche.
Before night fell, they dug out a snow hole beneath a large boulder, using layers of snow to build walls on three sides. They ate a little dried meat and snow and wrapped their sheepskin chubas tightly around themselves. Leaning against the boulder, they did not find it cold.
‘Will we be able to get to the peak tomorrow?’ Zhuo Mai asked quietly.
‘Yes!’ Cuomu said.
‘Will we be able to find the medical book tomorrow?’
‘Yes!’
‘Will we really?’ Zhuo Mai stuck his head out of his sheepskin chuba and looked at Cuomu doubtfully.
‘I don’t know. Is that book really so important to you, Zhuo?’
‘Of course. I’m interested in anything that will help my profession. Your uncle spent his whole life studying the Four Medical Tantras, and from what he said, he kept detailed records of every treatment he gave as well as the patients’ responses. With those notes, it will be as if I’ve gained your uncle’s decades of experience. Do you see?’
Cuomu nodded. ‘I understand. Before I was born, Uncle was the best doctor around. It’s a pity he was made into a cow-ghost snake-spirit.’
‘No matter what other people thought of him, he will always be the best teacher I ever had,’ Zhuo Mai said earnestly, looking out at the still-light day.
‘I know why Uncle liked you so much, Zhuo. You and he are so much alike – you’re both honourable, and whatever you do, you do it well.’
‘And the same also goes for Gongzha. Your uncle must have held him in great esteem, otherwise he wouldn’t have left him with such an important task.’
‘Important task – what do you mean?’
‘The rebuilding of Cuoe Temple. Your uncle hoped that one day Gongzha will rebuild the temple!’
‘Rebuild Cuoe Temple? Zhuo, you are joking?’ Cuomu tilted her head and shot him an incredulous look.
‘The grassland won’t always be like this, Cuomu. It’s like the waters of Cuoe Lake: when it rains, the water’s choppy, and when it’s fine, the water’s clear. When I came out here this time, I heard the regimental commander say that this revolution won’t last long – the central government has already started rethinking it. Perhaps not long from now, people’s lives will go back to being peaceful.’
‘Go back to being peaceful? Do you mean herding for a lord again?’
‘No, it won’t ever be like that again. It’ll never go back to how it was before the Liberation, when the government called this region the Black Land, made out that there were ghosts all over the place and wouldn’t let the herders come here to pasture. When there was no electricity and local herders had nothing to eat or drink and wore clothes that were ragged like a beggar’s. Isn’t life better now? It’s just that the Revolution stirred people up into going around and making trouble. I’ve heard – and it is only a rumour at the moment – that the government might divide up the livestock for people to herd themselves, and maybe build you roads and electricity stations.’
‘Divide it up for us to herd ourselves? And build roads and electricity stations?’ Cuomu looked at him with disbelief. ‘If that happens, won’t our lives be the same as the people in town?’
‘It’s just what I’ve heard – I don’t know if it’s true or not,’ Zhuo Mai said, laughing. He drew his head back inside his sheepskin chuba.
Cuomu glanced outside, then drew her head into her chuba too. The two did not speak again.
*
In the middle of the night, a bear roared and frightened Cuomu and Zhou Mai awake at the same moment. Zhuo Mai felt for his gun and crawled softly to the front of their snow hole. Looking down into the snowy valley below, under the clear bright light of the moon, he saw seven bears. They were stretching their necks and turning around on the spot. He had no idea what they were doing.
Cuomu squeezed in beside him and craned her neck to look outside.
‘What are they doing?’ Zhuo Mai asked lightly.
Cuomu stared down at them. ‘Look at that shape in the snow – it’s a circle with lines radiating from each corner, isn’t it?’ Her eyes sparkled with excitement and her voice shook a little.
Zhuo Mai glanced at her, wondering why she was so excited. It was a troop of bears; if the bears were to discover them, would they have any hope of surviving? ‘Er, yes, it is. Strange, what are bears doing here in the middle of the night?’
‘Don’t talk, look carefully!’ Cuomu said and continued to stare, unblinking, at the bears.
Sometimes, two bears lumbered forward together; at other times, they walked separately, taking different sides. But they always kept to the lines of the image in the snow; they never missed a step. It was if their task was to tamp the lines of the image deeper and tighter. Eventually, a large bear gave a low roar. The six other bears retreated to its side and stood in a line, lifting their necks and howling towards the peak in a loud, clear chorus.
Cuomu signalled Zhuo Mai to look at the leading bear on the right.
Zhuo Mai saw that its forehead had a white circular marking with lines off it in four directions. ‘Is it Kaguo?’
‘It seems so.’ Cuomu nodded, then shook her head. ‘But I wouldn’t want to say for sure.’
The bears finished howling before the dawn sun broke through the clouds. They formed a line and raced off to the valley on the right, disappearing into the vast mountain in a flash.
The sun slowly sent out its first rays, and the valley fell silent.
Zhuo Mai and Cuomu scrambled out of their snow hole and stood on the slope. Looking down from above, they had a clear view of the wide valley. The snow around the lines was soft and undisturbed; apart from the tracks the bears had made when they’d arrived and left, there was only the strange motif the animals had trodden out. The image of the ¤ was like an enormous seal stamped onto the pure white snow.
‘It’s the same pattern as the marking on that bear’s forehead. Was it really Kaguo?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen Kaguo up close. I’ve heard Gongzha say she has a white circle on her forehead, but I’ve never seen her clearly.’
‘They seemed to be worshipping something. Strange!’
At that moment, the sun burst through the clouds and a wash of golden light fell over the valley. The vast snowy land turned orange and the unusual ¤ emitted an eerie glow.
*
Behind the encampment there was a low hill covered in thorny scrub. Dressed in an old sheepskin chuba and a leather hat, Gongzha sat cross-legged on its brow, his mind lost in the rolling clouds on the horizon, his dog sitting by his side.
‘Gongzha! Gongzha!’ Shida came scrambling into view. ‘Cuomu… Cuomu and Brother Zhuo went to Chanaluo Snow Mountain yesterday and they haven’t come back. Danzeng and the others are worried sick and want to go and find her.’
‘Why did they go to Chanaluo?’ Gongzha stared at its distant peak, only partially visible, and his tanned face darkened.
‘Brother Zhuo wanted to go and pick herbs. He said that if he could find Kaguo, he’d be able to locate the herbs he needed – whatever that means. He asked me to go with him, but I didn’t dare. How could I know Cuomu would go with him?’ Shida added nervously as he glanced at Gongzha.
‘He’s crazy. Going to Chanaluo at this time of year, with so many avalanches – he’s playing with his life.’ Gongzha got to his feet and began striding irritably back down the hill. Shida hurried along behind him.
Gongzha returned to his tent and told his brother Gongzan that he needed to go somewhere and might be away for two or three days. He instructed Gongzan to take care of their mother and to continue steeping herbs for her to drink. Then, taking his old gun, he led his horse out of the encampment. He stopped at Danzeng’s tent on the way and called him outside.
‘Uncle, I’m going to find her.’
Danzeng looked at him and nodded slightly. ‘Will you be alright?’
‘Mmm,’ Gongzha affirmed, and mounted his horse.
‘Wait.’ Danzeng turned, went into his tent and came back out with his own leather chuba, which he laid on the back of Gongzha’s horse’s. ‘It’s cold on the mountain. You and Cuomu come back soon.’
‘Alright.’ Gongzha looked at Danzeng’s worried face; he wanted to say something comforting but stopped himself.
As Danzeng watched Gongzha ride off, his eyes were full of trust. Was it possible to hold a grudge in the face of such tremendous kindness?
Gongzha couldn’t return his gaze; he feared his tears would fall. He whipped his horse and rode off into the distance in a whirl of dust.
Danzeng stood on the plain for a long time, staring after him.
*
When the sun came out, earth and sky slowly warmed.
Chanaluo’s early mornings were lively. The little animals began to emerge from their holes, and on the ground were all kinds of prints: bear, fox, rabbit and eagle. Those that could fly and those that could not began to dart out of their safe hideaways, starting the new day in their own way.
Zhuo Mai and Cuomu ate a little dried meat and washed their faces with snow. Cuomu melted some butter in her palm and gave half to Zhuo Mai, then they rubbed it on their cheeks. The glare of the sun’s rays as it reflected off the snow was very strong and it was easy for skin to burn. Butter was an excellent protection against that and the herders always took some with them when they went out.
‘Let’s go!’ Cuomu took off her leather chuba, revealing the red silk dress she was wearing underneath. She tied the two sleeves around her waist and took the lead up the mountain.
The slope got steeper and the deep snow meant they couldn’t always go straight up but sometimes had to make wide detours. They only had one goal, though: to climb to the ledge just below the summit. They wanted to see if there really was a chain left there by unknown people from an unknown time. As for the Four Medical Tantras, if they searched that vast snowy wilderness randomly and without purpose, they would never find them. True, Zhaduo had said they were in a cave, but he hadn’t specified whether the cave was large or small, or where on the mountain the cave was.
They were finally climbing Chanaluo’s highest peak. On the other side was the vast deep blue of Cuoe Lake. Rippling under the blue sky and white clouds, the sacred lake was so beautiful, it didn’t seem real. Tired, the two sat on the snow.
‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? Our grassland, our Cuoe Lake!’ Cuomu said, almost to herself, as she stared at it.
‘Beautiful!’ Zhuo Mai said, gazing at Cuomu sitting there in the snow. She’d taken off her hair net so that her long thin plaits fell like a fishing net around her shoulders. Her cheeks were lightly dusted with red from the high altitude, and her eyes were round and bright, glittering with colour like the stars in the grassland’s night sky.
‘Zhuo…’ Cuomu turned her head with a gentle laugh. He often stared at her like that. No wonder Shida joked that he liked her. If she hadn’t known that Zhuo had someone else in his heart, a look like that could have been misinterpreted. ‘Should I… go and find him?’
‘Yes, I think you should. I’ve seen Gongzha staring at your tent many times – sometimes he stands there for a whole night.’
Cuomu took a deep breath and laughed. ‘Alright. If we make it down the mountain safely, I’ll go and find him.’
‘Why wouldn’t we make it safely down the mountain?’ Zhuo Mai asked in surprise. ‘We’ll climb up to that ledge and have a look around, and if we can’t find the cave, we’ll just forget about it. I’ll come another time.’
‘Zhuo, it’s obvious you have no idea how moody a snow mountain can be,’ Cuomu said, standing up and shaking the snow off her robe. ‘This is avalanche season, and if we do get caught in one, we won’t have a hope – it’ll be enough to bury ten people, not just the two of us. And even though this mountain looks silvery-white and empty, do you know how many wolves, how many bears are behind that ice watching us? Did you not see all those bears this morning?’
‘Then why did you come with me?’
‘My life without Gongzha is no life – I may as well be dead. Besides, you’re my best friend and our grassland’s most honoured guest. How could I watch you risk so much and not care?’ A bitter smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She rarely smiled properly these days, this once open and high-spirited grassland girl.
The weather on the mountain followed no discernible pattern. It could be bright and sunny and as warm as spring and then in the blink of an eye crow-black clouds could mass into a pile, causing snowflakes to fall. Cuomu put on her leather chuba and buckled her belt. ‘Let’s go. We’ve come this far, we should go up to the top and have a look.’
The snow was knee-deep. They trod cautiously, one slow, careful step at a time, never knowing how deep they were going to sink. Eventually they reached the ledge.
The ledge was as large as a football field and neatly angled; it looked as if someone had built it that way. The snow up there was deep but no longer up to their knees.
‘Where’s the chain?’ Zhuo Mai pushed at the snow with his feet and used the fork of his gun to try and clear it away, throwing it up in clouds as he searched.
‘There’s no hurry. Let’s look slowly,’ Cuomu said, using her boots to kick up the snow. ‘I’ve heard the chain is on a large boulder – they say it’s as if it’s actually coming out of the boulder.’
‘It looks like there’s a boulder over there.’ Zhuo Mai pointed at the side facing the lake and dragged the gun over; the fork of the gun traced two wriggly lines through the snow.
Cuomu walked over with him.
There really was a large black boulder, standing about a metre proud of the ledge. Zhuo Mai climbed up, and suddenly his eyes widened. ‘Come here, Cuomu! Quick!’
Cuomu clambered up.
A jet-black chain lay motionless in the snow.
Zhuo Mai brushed most of the snow off the boulder and stood beside the chain; when he saw that four lines of stones radiated from the round boulder in four directions, he was dumbstruck.
‘Look at this boulder, Cuomu, and think about that symbol the bears stamped out this morning. This is the same, isn’t it?’
‘You’re right, it’s very similar. No, it’s exactly the same! How odd.’
‘This chain really does look like it grew out of the boulder.’ Zhuo Mai squatted on the ground and used his knife to pick at it. ‘Strange. What’s it made of? It’s not iron and it’s not copper, but it’s still so heavy.’
‘It’s not iron?’ Cuomu crouched down and pulled at the chain with both hands, but it didn’t budge.
‘It’s not iron. Iron wouldn’t be this heavy. Also, it hasn’t rusted at all, and it’s quite shiny, and the snow hasn’t settled on it. It’s all very odd.’
‘My uncle said that this is what King Gesar used to tether the Wolf Spirit. He was afraid the wolves would bring disaster to the grassland, so he brought the wolves’ ancestor here to control them.’
‘That’s just a myth, Cuomu.’ Zhuo Mai looked at the black chain. It seemed to be naturally connected to the boulder. The links were so tightly forged that even a blade of grass wouldn’t fit between them. He racked his brains but couldn’t work out what such an obviously manmade thing was doing on the summit of this snow mountain. When was it installed and who put it there? What purpose could a chain in a boulder on the top of a snow mountain possibly serve?
‘People say that it’s been here ever since our clan came to Cuoe Grassland. But no one knows how it got here,’ Cuomu said and stood up. From the look of the sky, the clouds weren’t going to disperse and the snow was actually getting heavier. ‘Don’t worry about it. Let’s go back down sooner rather than later; if the snow gets any thicker, we might not be able to get back.’
‘Alright,’ Zhuo Mai said. ‘Let’s go down this way, it’s not as steep.’
The two slid down from the side of the boulder. They hadn’t gone more than five steps when they heard a series of cracking noises coming from the peak.
‘Avalanche! Stand still and hold on to me,’ Zhuo Mai said, instinctively grabbing Cuomu. He’d been through an avalanche in Ngari and he knew to spread his arms and feet wide and to bend his back a bit to create as much space as possible. As long as there was air to breathe, the two of them should be able to climb out of the snow.
There was a roar from the peak and the snow thundered down like a mountain crashing into the sea.
The whole earth-shattering process was over in less than two minutes.
Zhuo Mai wriggled his right shoulder and packed the snow around it, creating a hole to work in. Then he scooped and packed the snow along his arm, and dug through to Cuomu.
‘Don’t worry, we can definitely get out,’ he said, and pulled out his bag of dried yak meat. He felt for his meat knife, cut off two pieces and put one in Cuomu’s hand. ‘Eat something. We’ll dig our way back up along the boulder.’
They didn’t say anything else, and their snowy chamber echoed with the sound of them nibbling and breathing. Eating was a good tranquilliser – it restored their strength and quieted their hearts. When they’d finished, their bodies felt stronger and their minds clearer.
Zhuo Mai began using his knife to dig towards where he thought the boulder had been. The avalanche snow was soft, which made digging through it fairly easy work. If he could locate the boulder, there was hope for them, because the boulder was only a metre high.
‘I’ve got a lighter, Zhuo. What if—’
‘No, no, no, Cuomu. The flame will use up the oxygen and if there’s no oxygen, we’ll die faster. We’ll just dig like this, going in one direction.’ But Cuomu’s mention of the lighter reminded him that he’d brought the little torch he used for surgical procedures. He hurriedly fished it out and turned it on.
He clenched the torch between his teeth and scooped at the snow, throwing it behind him. The two of them advanced like this bit by bit. They’d been digging for a while when suddenly Cuomu cried out in surprise, ‘Zhuo, there doesn’t seem to be any snow on my side. I think it’s empty!’
‘Empty?’ Zhuo Mai stuck his hand out along Cuomu’s arm. There really was nothing in front of them. He quickly took the torch from between his teeth and looked through the hole. To his surprise, he saw there were walls of broken rock to either side and empty darkness ahead.
They swiftly pushed away the snow around them. Cuomu carried the meat bag and Zhuo Mai did not forget his gun. They stared stupidly at one another, neither sure what to do. After a little while, Zhuo Mai turned the torch up and shone it ahead of them, but there was nothing for the light to bounce off, only darkness. He looked at Cuomu. ‘What should we do?’
Cuomu shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a cave up here.’
*
Gongzha had already followed the pair’s footprints as far as the snow hole they’d slept in the night before. When he saw the tiny space, Gongzha’s heart tightened. As he faced the snow mountain, his heart beat fast and loud. He knew he could not lose Cuomu or allow anyone else to share her affections.
He couldn’t bear to look at it any longer, so he turned away. As his gaze swept the valley, his eyes suddenly alighted on that strange and exaggerated ¤ symbol. It was as if he’d been struck with something heavy, and he began to feel very anxious.
The smooth ¤ on the black Buddha’s back, the ¤ that Zhaduo had unconsciously drawn on the sand and the ¤ he’d seen on Kaguo’s forehead during the wolf attack all rushed into his mind. Why would the same symbol also appear in this snowy valley, so far from any sort of human life? Gongzha couldn’t suppress his surprise and excitement. He slithered quickly down the slope, rolling and scrambling as he went, and was covered in snow by the time he landed in front of the image. The ¤ was very regular; the four lines extending out were of exactly equal length and width, as if they’d been drawn using a ruler.
Gongzha walked around examining the image, sometimes stooping down to scrutinise its edges. They were ragged and revealed muddled footprints, as if some kind of animal had stamped it out with its feet. He raised his head and scanned both sides of the valley; eventually he found a line of tracks on the right side.
He didn’t need to look carefully to know what animal had left them. Any grassland hunter who couldn’t recognise a bear track was a fool.
He followed the tracks with nervous excitement. He even forgot why he’d come up the mountain – he just followed the tracks instinctively as any seasoned hunter would. It would have been impossible for Cuomu and Zhuo Mai not to have seen that the bears had drawn that strange symbol in the snow. The valley bore no trace of a struggle and that at least told him they were safe. He gave a sigh of relief and climbed carefully, still following the tracks.
At a cliff on the north side, the tracks suddenly disappeared. ‘Strange!’ Gongzha looked over the clifftop; it was high, and its face was covered in glimmering, unmarked snow. ‘How could they just disappear?’ he muttered as he sat on the ground. He looked at the crisscrossing bear tracks in front of him. Up until this point, the tracks had been neat and orderly; here they became disordered. It reminded him of standing in front of a tent and walking around in circles while waiting for someone to come to the door. A door…? Gongzha’s curiosity mounted.
He scrambled up and searched carefully all around him. He found two clear prints going up the left side of the slope and disappearing by a thicket of red bushes. The ground around the prints looked as if something had rolled over it. Gongzha bent down to look more closely and picked up two silver-brown hairs. ‘Strange, why would they roll on the snow? What are they trying to hide? Could there be cubs inside?’ He knew that when cubs couldn’t leave a den, the mother bear would find a way to mask the entrance for fear of another animal finding and hurting them; she’d take a circuitous route back for the same reason.
Gongzha went a few steps closer. Squatting in front of the red bushes, he pushed aside the thick branches and discovered that there was indeed a cave behind them. The mouth was just large enough to allow a grown bear to enter. These bears were really very clever: they hid the mouth of the cave under bushes and deliberately crossed their tracks so that when the wind and snow came it would be well hidden. He looked back at the tamped-down snow and laughed. Who said bears were stupid? Every time they left or returned to their den, they made the last two bears cover their tracks. While one bear stood at the bottom, another rolled down from the top. When the last bear returned to the cave, it cleared away the tracks of the bear before it. Once Gongzha had figured this out, he had even more respect for them.
He turned round, climbed to the mouth of the cave and sniffed. The faint foul odour that greeted him proved that bears had been there, but the fact that it was faint told him that the cave was very deep and that the musky smell was just a trace left by one of the bears on their way in or out. Gongzha was not there on a bear hunt and had no interest in the cubs; he was there to find Cuomu and her safety was much more important. Now that he knew where the mouth of the cave was, he could come back any time.
Just as he was turning to leave, he saw that above the entrance there was a tiny ¤, etched so faintly that you could only see it if you were looking closely or your eyes were used to the dark. As soon as he saw it, his stomach began to churn; he wrenched out his torch and crawled in without a second thought.
The cave was deep and tunnel-like and he had to wriggle his way in. After two or three metres, it began to slope downwards. There was no room to turn round, so he had no option but to carry on. He gripped the torch between his teeth and began to crawl on all fours. By the weak light of the torch, he saw that niches had been cut into the tunnel walls. He didn’t think too much about it, just used them as handholds as he continued edging his way down it. When he finally reached the bottom, he found that the tunnel started to climb again, and there were more niches on either side. Gongzha was a brave man and he continued on without worrying about the consequences.
He finally reached the highest point and emerged into a small stone chamber. The floor was level and there were rocks on either side, like seats. On the walls were paintings of bears, in all kinds of poses. Some were playing, some were breastfeeding, some were catching small animals.
‘Kaguo…’ Gongzha was looking at the bear in the centre; there were two bear cubs by her side, one with a black circle on its forehead, the other with a white circle.
Could this be the cave of the Buddhist ascetics? Gongzha slowly shifted his feet as this idea began to take hold. His father used to say that there were ascetics living on Mount Chanaluo, but he’d never seen them. Gongzha searched the chamber with his torch. When he found that a passage had been opened on the right and that on the roof of the passage had been painted the Kalachakra mantra, he became even more convinced that this was the Buddhist ascetics’ cave. Kalachakra was an advanced tantra. But if it was an ascetics’ cave, why would the bears come in? Unless the ascetics had died and the bears had made it into their den? What did the painting of the bears on the wall mean? And that mysterious ¤ symbol? There had to be a thread connecting all the different places he’d seen it – in the valley, on the black Buddha’s back, drawn by Living Buddha Zhaduo in the sand, on Kaguo’s head, on the entrance to the cave – even if he had no idea what it was.
Without thinking, Gongzha followed the passage. He was a curious person and now that he’d discovered this place, he wasn’t going to leave until he’d understood it. The passage was easily wide enough for one person but would have been a squeeze for two people walking side by side. The walls had clearly been worked by human hands and every few steps there was a small niche containing a butter lamp. Gongzha pulled out his lighter, flicked it a few times, and lit one of the lamps. The passage quickly became much brighter.
He continued along the rock-hewn corridor, lighting more lamps as he went and following the passageway as it twisted round a number of bends. Eventually he came to another chamber, about twice the size of the last one, very regularly shaped, and also with paintings on its walls. The mural on the right showed people transporting wood on the mountain; in the one in front of him they were building walls; and the one on the left showed a group of monks in red reading scriptures in front of a dazzling temple.
That temple… that temple, particularly the exterior of the large hall in the centre with the prayer flags, red edges and yellow walls, why did it seem so familiar? Gongzha walked a little closer and looked carefully at the painting. The image of Cuoe Temple’s main hall flashed before his eyes; it was just that there were many more buildings surrounding the Cuoe Temple in the picture than there were in the temple as he knew it – they almost covered the mountain.
Gongzha frowned; if Cuoe Temple had looked like that when it was constructed, why were none of the other buildings there now? Had they been destroyed or never even built?
What connection did this cave have with Cuoe Temple? Why were there pictures of Cuoe Temple’s construction on the walls? That black Buddha, said to be Cuoe Temple’s greatest treasure, why did its back have a ¤ like the one on Kaguo’s head?
A string of questions popped into Gongzha’s mind. Each one was enough to cloud his brain and mist his eyes, and he couldn’t answer any of them. As he contemplated this, he suddenly heard screams – Cuomu’s screams. They were coming from another direction. Without a moment’s hesitation, Gongzha turned and rushed into the tunnel that opened out from across the other side of the chamber.
*
‘Cuomu, are we inside Mount Chanaluo?’ Zhuo Mai rubbed the stone wall, unwilling to believe his eyes.
They had no idea where they were. It was like a maze down there, with one tunnel leading to another tunnel and then another and so on. They didn’t know which was the route out or where the end of the tunnel system was.
‘We must be. Strange, I’ve never heard of Chanaluo having a cave like this,’ Cuomu said, using a lighter to light the butter lamps on the wall.
Zhuo Mai glanced around – they’d been in the cave for hours.
Every tunnel ended in a small stone chamber, each of which had four painted walls and a lamp. In one chamber, they even found some tsampa in covered stone bowls, but it had stuck together in clumps and had clearly not been moved in a long time.
The people of the northern Tibetan wilderness weren’t in the habit of eating tsampa; their staple food was meat. The presence of tsampa in the cave didn’t chime with what Cuomu had first thought, that this was a cave for local Buddhist ascetics. In Tibet, there were lots of hermit ascetics. They sought out somewhere remote, far from other people – deep in the mountains, in the old forests, where other men would never come – and stayed there for many years, communicating only with the Buddha. The caves they sheltered in were always small and basic, and as soon as the ascetic left, the cave fell into decay. But this cave was clearly not the work of a single ascetic – it had multiple chambers connected by passageways. The whole network was very well preserved, especially the murals: the colours were vibrant, as if they’d been painted yesterday. The space was far too big for a solitary Buddhist ascetic, it was large enough to house scores of people, more than a hundred perhaps.
Zhuo Mai peeled off the sleeves of his leather chuba and tied them round his waist. Suddenly he cried out as if he’d just thought of something. ‘The mountain cave, the mountain cave…’
‘Zhuo, you’ve gone crazy!’
‘No, Cuomu, I… I remembered, the mountain cave, the mountain cave.’
‘I know this is a mountain cave – what’s come over you, Zhuo!’
‘I’m saying… I’m saying… Didn’t your uncle say that the Four Medical Tantras and his medical notes were hidden in the mountain cave?’ Zhuo Mai was clearly enormously excited since he stuttered as he spoke.
Cuomu clapped her hand over her mouth.
From the time they’d entered the cave, their curiosity had made them forget their reason for coming to the mountain in the first place.
‘Let’s look for it! Come on – quick!’ Zhuo Mai put his gun on the ground and began searching the chamber.
The stone chambers only had so many places to put things and it didn’t take long to complete their search. They scoured chamber after chamber but didn’t think to leave any markers to help them find their way out. When they found themselves back at a chamber they’d searched before, they realised the seriousness of the situation. They were lost.
‘It seems we’ve come back to where we started,’ Zhuo Mai said dejectedly when he saw the murals.
‘Let’s check how much meat we have left and work out how long it will last us,’ Cuomu said, setting the pack down on the stone seat. ‘We still have a little less than half what we started with. We haven’t touched yours, so there’s enough for two or three days. The main thing is water. We’ve been in here for hours, but we haven’t found water anywhere.’
‘There has to be an exit, otherwise the air wouldn’t be this fresh. We’ll search slowly and methodically.’ Zhuo Mai picked up a stone. ‘We have to mark our route so that we don’t pursue a passage we’ve already been down. In all mazes, as long as you keep going in one direction, you can always find the exit. Let’s start by going left.’
Cuomu agreed and slung on her pack again.
They entered the left-hand passage, lighting the lamps as they went. After about ten minutes, they came to a very large chamber, like a great hall, inside which were some shadowy silhouettes that looked like seated monks. Cuomu, who was in front, leant against the wall and motioned for Zhuo Mai to join her.
‘What should we do?’ Zhuo Mai craned forward to look. The great hall had no lamps, and though the lamps along the passage gave off a faint light, they could only see part of the hall. It was silent and had a mysterious air about it.
‘It looks like they’re studying, but they’re not making a sound. Let’s go over and look,’ Cuomu said, slowly moving forward.
When they got to the entrance to the hall, their shadows stretched across it, blocking out some of the light and making the place seem even dimmer. All of the people were sitting cross-legged facing the inside of the room. They looked very much like monks reading the scriptures, but their clothes were those of common herders.
Zhuo Mai coughed lightly, bowed and said, ‘I’m sorry, brothers, we were caught in an avalanche and ended up in here by accident. Please forgive us.’
There was a deathly silence. Apart from their own breath, there was no other sound in the hall. Zhuo Mai and Cuomu looked at each other in surprise.
‘I’m sorry, brothers…’ Zhuo Mai raised his voice and repeated his words, bowing once more. His voice echoed around the hall.
But still no one replied. The silhouettes didn’t move but maintained their dignified posture as if in meditation.
Cuomu strode forward to one of the silhouettes. She put out her hand and tugged at the man’s clothes. ‘Brother!’
Her finger poked through the clothing as the fabric immediately disintegrated and streamed to the ground in a flurry of dust. She stared in disbelief at the spot she’d touched, which was now a hole. The rest of the clothing seemed to have remained undamaged. She grabbed another exploratory handful, and once again the clothes turned to dust at her touch. She lightly tapped the figure’s head and, finding it was a white skull, was so frightened she cried out.
Zhuo Mai hurried forward and scanned the hall with his torch. Everything – the beams, the floor, and even the mysterious people – was covered in dust. He craned his neck to look at the seated people. ‘Oh my goodness! Cuomu… they’re all dead!’
Cuomu trembled and her teeth chattered. ‘All of them… all of them… are… are dead…?’
‘Yes, all—’
Zhuo Mai hadn’t even finished his sentence before Cuomu ran out screaming and rushed straight into someone’s arms. She became even more frightened, kicking, wriggling and screaming, ‘Demon! Demon!’
‘Cuomu, Cuomu, it’s me, Gongzha!’ Gongzha held the sobbing Cuomu close and stroked her face.
‘Gong… Gongzha?’ Cuomu’s face was deathly pale; she was still in shock.
‘Yes, I’m Gongzha – I’m not a ghost.’ Looking into her eyes and seeing her distracted expression, he couldn’t help tenderly drawing her into his embrace and lightly patting her back. ‘There, there… I’m here now. Don’t be afraid. You have me. I’m here now. I came to find you.’
‘Gong… Gongzha, Gongzha…’ Recovering herself, Cuomu hugged him round the waist and wept.
‘You must really have a death wish, coming here,’ Gongzha said, rather melodramatically.
‘If I don’t have you, I really don’t care whether I live or die,’ Cuomu said softly and sadly, staring into his eyes.
Gongzha held her close. ‘I’m sorry, I really am – it was all my fault.’ He knew Cuomu was still his. He wanted to tell her that without her he too was a walking corpse. His heart was bursting and he flushed to the roots of his hair.
Zhuo Mai came into the passageway and was very excited to see Gongzha. ‘How did you find this place, Gongzha?’
‘When you didn’t return yesterday, I came up the mountain to look for you. I tracked some bears in the valley and they led me here. I was lucky to run into you,’ Gongzha said, holding Cuomu and looking at Zhuo Mai.
‘Did you see that image in the valley? The ones the bears trampled?’ Cuomu had finally calmed down and now raised her head embarrassedly from Gongzha’s embrace.
‘I did. Was it really done by bears?’
‘They trampled it with their feet – we saw them do it,’ Zhuo Mai said. ‘The lead bear had a white circle on its forehead exactly like the image. We thought it was Kaguo, but we weren’t certain.’
‘I came into this cave because there’s an image at the entrance that’s exactly the same as the one on Kaguo’s head,’ Gongzha told them. ‘And there’s a painting of Cuoe Temple being built on the wall of one of the other chambers. There are also lots of paintings about bears, and in one of them the image on the bear’s forehead is very clear.’
‘Kaguo… what does she have to do with all of this?’ Zhuo Mai furrowed his brow.
‘We can’t work that out right now.’ Gongzha shook his head, instinctively clasping Cuomu’s hand, and then asked, ‘How did you get in here?’ His gesture dissipated the tension between them, and both their hearts were filled with affection once more.
Zhuo Mai explained what had happened.
Gongzha looked at them with surprise. ‘Did you see the chain?’
‘We did! We came from that direction.’
‘In which case you must have come in under the boulder.’
‘Maybe. We were digging through the snow towards the boulder; originally we were hoping to dig as far as the boulder and then up.’
Gongzha thought for a while. Then he asked Cuomu, ‘What did you see just now that scared you so badly?’
‘That… that hall… has… has ghosts!’ she said, stuttering and trembling at the memory of what she’d just seen.
‘It has ghosts? Woman, are you sure you haven’t lost your mind?’ Gongzha looked at her with amusement.
‘There really are ghosts! Those people appear to be just sitting there quietly, but if you touch them, they turn to dust and… and they’re all skeletons!’ Cuomu said, unconsciously inching closer to Gongzha. She’d been cool and collected on the hike up, because she was used to the grassland and the mountains. And anyway, even if she didn’t have her man by her side, she could still hold up the sky. Women could occasionally allow themselves to be weak and to cry, but only in front of the man they loved. She had never seen or heard of anything like what she’d just encountered and of course she’d been afraid, but she hadn’t wanted to let Zhuo Mai see that. Now all was well: her man was with her, and he could take care of everything; she didn’t need to be strong anymore, she could show her vulnerable side.
‘Let’s go and look,’ Gongzha said. Taking Cuomu’s hand, he walked forward.
Once inside the hall, they shone their two torches all around it. Gongzha saw that there were large butter lamps along the walls, so he went over with a lighter and used oiled paper to light them. The hall quickly became much brighter, but the shadows seemed that much more mysterious.