Wu Aizhen began to feel bizarrely cold all over, as if she had fallen into an ice cellar. Her mind grew dizzy and heavy; she was faintly aware that she was in a vehicle and that it was moving, but soon, she felt entirely disconnected from reality, as if a lifetime had passed. She was enveloped by layers of thick fog, unable to discern any direction. Navigating through the mist, she felt unbearably weak. Suddenly, she realized that beneath her lay a boundless ocean. The seawater was pitch black. At the center of the sea churned a massive whirlpool, waiting to swallow her like the gaping maw of a demon. The surrounding waters boiled, spewing multicolored, toxic smoke that corroded her respiratory tract; she felt as though her lungs were rotting away. Suddenly, she plummeted into that whirlpool. She struggled with all her might, but the toxic water began to corrode her flesh. The harder she fought, the deeper she was submerged. She could see no light. Surrounded by oppressive darkness, she was crushed down to the frigid bottom of the water. Just then, a sudden flash of golden light erupted before her. A golden dragon soared up from the ocean floor, its brilliant, shimmering glow illuminating the dark, freezing depths. It charged at her, practically roaring and enraged, as if she had disturbed its slumber. Driven by the agony of the corrosive toxic gas and her terror of the darkness, she had no other choice. She lunged forward and threw her arms around the dragon’s smooth back. Suddenly, the dragon was subdued. As if recognizing an old friend, it docilely slipped its head beneath her chest, gently lifting her up. With a long, resonant cry, it launched itself out of the whirlpool. Lying weakly upon the dragon’s back, she soared rapidly through the toxic mists…
Suddenly, a trace of crisp, cool air pierced through her brain and the very depths of her heart, sweet and soothing… She opened her eyes. Amid her daze, apart from a wash of pure white, there was a human face. She searched the deepest recesses of her mind, trying to place where she had seen this face before, but her head throbbed with a splitting agony…
“You’re awake?!” The voice was deep and gentle. Akikawa Yamaguchi—suddenly, the name surfaced in her mind, and she regained full consciousness.
Yamaguchi was sitting by her bedside, his body leaning toward her, while one of her hands was gripping his arm with an intense, iron clutch. She hurriedly released her hold, feeling a stiff ache in her fingers; she had no idea how long she had been clinging to him. Yamaguchi offered a nonchalant smile. Lifting the arm she had just released, he massaged it briefly with his other hand, then straightened his posture.
She knew with certainty now that she was in a hospital. An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth, an IV drip was hooked to her left arm, and multiple wires trailed from her chest, connecting her to a device by the bedside, which she recognized as a medical monitor.
A female doctor walked in, checked the monitor, and then turned to Akikawa Yamaguchi. “She is out of danger,” the doctor said. “Her heart rate, oxygen intake, and blood pressure have all returned to normal. We’ll take a chest X-ray this afternoon for a further checkup. You should probably get some rest yourself by now.”
The doctor cast a warm, smiling glance at Wu Aizhen lying in bed, reached her hand under the blanket, and skillfully placed a thermometer into her armpit. She then straightened up, checked her watch, and added, “It’s already nine-thirty. In a little while, see what the patient feels like eating and let her have some food. She is incredibly weak.” Yamaguchi nodded continuously in compliance as he listened.
“Your husband is truly wonderful to you—he sat right here the entire night, keeping you company,” the female doctor remarked as she checked the drip rate of the IV bottle, clearly intending to comfort the patient and bring a smile to Wu Aizhen’s face.
The doctor’s words struck a resonant chord deep within Wu Aizhen’s heart. Because of the oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose, she was unable to utter a word, but she cast a profoundly grateful glance toward Akikawa Yamaguchi.
Akikawa Yamaguchi merely offered her a smile, making no attempt to offer the doctor any explanation. Yet, Wu Aizhen felt that his smile carried a hint of shyness, alongside a somewhat ambiguous, blurred warmth, while his eyes gleamed with a sudden, brilliant spark of spiritual vitality. Wu Aizhen failed to detect even a shred of fatigue on his face or in his gaze; instead, he seemed radiating with energy, as though he had just awakened from a sound sleep. She could not help but feel a bit bewildered—this man seemed to be an entirely different person from the “Demon King” she had previously pictured in her mind.
Keiko came bursting into the room, energized and carrying two insulated lunchboxes.
“Ah! Auntie, you’re awake! I knew you’d be alright. Last night, I dreamed that the cherry blossoms in Japan were all in full bloom, drifting and dancing across the sky until the entire heavens and earth were tinted glowing red. Right then, I knew you’d pull through.”
As Keiko spoke, she set the lunchboxes down on a chair and leaned over the hospital bed, gazing into Wu Aizhen’s eyes. Her pure, innocent face was illuminated by a radiant, almost sacred glow.
“Papa, I ordered a custom-made stewed Tibetan chicken broth and some noodles from the hotel for Auntie Aizhen. I’ve already eaten, so you should go grab some food outside and get some rest. I’ll keep Auntie Aizhen company today.”
Keiko’s heart is crafted entirely of crystal, Wu Aizhen thought to herself.
“Keiko, don’t chatter too much around your auntie. She is still incredibly weak and needs quiet rest,” Akikawa Yamaguchi instructed his daughter, his tone laced with approval.
“Papa! Uncle Haizi’s car is waiting for you at the hospital entrance.”
“I know,” Yamaguchi replied, walking out of the ward as he spoke.
This was, in all likelihood, the most luxurious hotel in the entire city. Having finished his meal, Akikawa Yamaguchi entered the hotel suite booked for him. It was already midday, and he intended to take a brief afternoon rest before heading back to the hospital. By all appearances, Wu Aizhen’s illness was no longer a major concern.
Lying in bed, he suddenly felt a dull, stinging tenderness in his right arm. Rolling up his sleeve, he clearly discerned several distinct finger-marks; two of them, seemingly dug in too deeply by fingernails, had even broken the skin. He could not help but wonder how that woman could possibly possess such an immense grip.
His rescue and protection of Wu Aizhen carried no element of a cliché “hero saving a damsel in distress,” nor was there any sense of romantic sentimentality involved. It could not even be considered a spontaneous act of chivalry. To him, it was merely a matter handled with a few brief phone calls—a trivial effort, nothing more.
Yet, ever since he made the decision last night to stay overnight in the scenic area, he felt that he had once again begun to deviate from his usual way of doing things. Their brief interaction throughout the previous day and their aimless chatting along the way made him feel that this woman’s words always had a way of touching something deep within him—something he himself could neither grasp nor clearly define. He had been reflecting on every word she said all along the road. When the vehicle broke down that evening, he could have easily made a phone call to have another car pick him up, but he chose not to. He wanted to stay; he wanted to be alone with this woman. This woman had piqued his curiosity; she was the only woman in all these years whom he could not read at a single glance. Wisdom burst forth from her every gesture and from every word she spoke. That night, when she came to his room to use the oxygen, he watched her calm cheeks, which were slightly flushed with a faint, sickly tint. She was gazing out the window, her eyes as bright and clear as an autumn moon… When she wept, it was as if the morning dew gathered in autumn had suddenly overflowed from her eyes, hanging all over her cheeks like pearls. Under the dim light of the room, it felt as though an angel were sitting right before him, her pristine white clothes radiating a sacred glow that accentuated her nobility. At that very moment, a masculine urge to conquer suddenly surged within him; a desire to possess her and break her took hold of his thoughts. She had offered him no sensual temptation whatsoever, yet her sheer purity provoked his dark impulses, and a trace of malice drifted quietly from the depths of his heart. Even if she were a sacred flower, he wanted to tear her into shreds. It was as though anything perfect and pure demanded to be shattered, to be destroyed. Moreover, he did not believe—he refused to believe—that any true sanctity existed in this world; to him, it was all a facade, a masquerade. He felt as if he had suddenly unmasked this woman, and a suppressed, wild laughter welled up inside him. His blood began to rush to his head, his eyes gleaming with a malicious, lustful light. It was her sudden indignation and her standing up that jolted him back to his senses. She stood there, her gaze and her face utterly ice-cold, enveloped in an aura of unassailable righteousness that sobered him up instantly.
Thinking up to this point, Akikawa Yamaguchi shook his head, reasoning that perhaps he truly had drunk too much the night before. He had initially assumed that highland barley wine was incapable of intoxicating anyone; perhaps it was the excessive amount of mutton he had consumed that had driven him to such uncontainable impulses. Otherwise, how could he have lost his composure so utterly in front of this woman?
The previous night in the vehicle, the woman had initially just leaned against his shoulder in her drowsy, semi-conscious state, but the road was bumping too violently, and she nearly tumbled off the seat several times. He simply took her into his arms, but suddenly, her hands clamped tightly around his neck, her chest pressing flat against his own, making his chest feel scalding hot from her body heat. Moreover, her arms held him in such a death grip that he could scarcely move. The woman was convulsing, shivering, and he could feel an boundless terror transmitting directly from her heart. Her frail, unconscious, and completely unresisting body felt like a high-fevered infant swaddled in white cloth. At that exact instant, a pair of terrified eyes seemed to flash right before Yamaguchi’s face. It was a seven- or eight-year-old child, trying in sheer fright to discern anything in the pitch blackness. He was locked inside a dark, damp, and gloomy room; outside was the splashing sound of sea waves crashing against the shore, and inside was the squeaking of rats. The boy huddled in the corner of the room, burning with a high fever, crying out in his delirium, “Papa, Papa.” Suddenly, the moon broke through the dark clouds, and a sliver of moonlight spilled in through the room’s window. The child squinted, looking up at that ray of light with pleasant surprise; the hazy, soft moonlight reminded him of his mother’s hand. Yet, that hand merely fluttered in the far distance for a brief moment before vanishing entirely… That child had lost his anchor of love—and that child was Akikawa Yamaguchi in his youth. He then remembered the snowy winters when he was forced to run barefoot through the snow. Freezing and starving, he had watched a woman walk past him carrying a curly-haired puppy in her arms; the little dog peeked out from her mink coat, its eyes rolling about. He suddenly had an impulse to yank that dog out and strangle it to death. He was also forced to dive into freezing lake water to swim during the dead of winter; the very first time, his entire heart had shriveled into a tight ball from the cold. Those were the punishments for his mistakes, and they were also his training. The strict Japanese Kendo master, the boxing coach who beat him black and blue day in and day out, and the survival training on a deserted, remote island in Thailand where he fought against king cobras—all of these scenes flashed before his eyes one after another…
When he finally passed all those psychological and physical ordeals and returned to Japan, the very moment he laid eyes on a cherry blossom tree, he felt a sudden impulse to draw his sword. He felt that with a single slash, he could hack the entire tree down by its roots—for no particular reason, except that his body seemed to store far too much volatile energy, driving him with a urge to destroy everything. This was especially true for anything so beautiful that it pricked his eyes. His heart was consumed by a desire to conquer all, and in his eyes, those drifting petals were flecks of freshly spattered blood!
Inside the vehicle, Akikawa Yamaguchi looked down, scrutinizing the unconscious woman cradled in his arms. In his heart, rarely had anyone ever occupied a place; that space belonged to him alone. If there was any feeling toward Keiko, it was, more often than not, a sense of paternal responsibility and obligation—something passed down to him by his own father—perhaps mixed with the pull of kinship that compelled him to cherish her. But what did he feel for this woman? It seemed this woman had stirred a few trembling chords of emotion within him. At times, everything about her would touch his heart, sending faint vibrations through his soul. It turned out that he was not made of stone after all.
Lost in these chaotic reflections, Akikawa Yamaguchi eventually fell asleep. He lay on his right side, his right hand placed beneath his right cheek with his thumb pressing against an acupoint behind his ear. His left arm rested gently along the left side of his body, holding a specific mudra, while his legs were relaxed—one extended and the other slightly bent—presenting an aura of natural ease. This particular sleeping posture had been taught to him by a Japanese Zen master. For decades, whenever he slept alone, he would invariably adopt this position. He felt that this posture prevented his bodily energy from becoming too scattered, even within his dreams. It was his belief that consistently maintaining a fixed habit would ultimately shape a person’s temperament and mindset.
Wu Aizhen drank a little chicken broth and went back to sleep. The ward she occupied was the very best in the hospital—a private room boasting excellent natural light and situated in a very quiet location. Keiko sat upon a chair, silently contemplating Wu Aizhen’s face. Her high fever had only just subsided, leaving her complexion exceptionally gaunt and pale; having been ill for a mere day, her face already seemed to have shrunken considerably. Her long eyelashes cast shadows over her eyelids, and the dark circles around her eyes resembled a layer of eyeshadow. Her nose was straight and handsome, as if perfectly sculpted from plaster and set upon her face—yet plaster was lifeless, whereas this nose was brimming with vitality and spiritual aura. Her mouth was somewhat large, with sharply defined contours, firmly closed with a hint of fortitude, the corners curving slightly upward. Keiko felt that this face was not unfamiliar at all; it seemed as though she had seen it somewhere in her memory. Her hair was a bit disheveled; normally, she wore it gathered up into a bun, but now it fell somewhat loosely and scatteredly over her shoulders, with a single strand draped across her forehead—among which a conspicuous white hair caught the eye.
“She is only thirty, yet she already has white hair.” Through this single strand, Keiko felt as if she could glimpse a faint trace of sorrow lingering within Wu Aizhen.
Auntie Aizhen is truly beautiful, Keiko thought to herself. She found herself at a loss as to whether she should call her “Sister” or “Auntie.” Calling her “Sister” would mean her father belonged to an older generation, yet calling her “Auntie” felt inappropriate since she still looked so young; neither option seemed quite right. In the end, she decided to stick with “Auntie”—not because of her age, but because Keiko felt that her profound knowledge and immense talent more than earned her the status of an elder. Moreover, Keiko genuinely took a liking to her from the bottom of her heart; she felt that she was just like a mother. Keiko had never seen her own mother. In her father’s eyes, she could see affection, but that affection was always laced with a stern majesty that kept her from acting spoiled or throwing fits of whim. Furthermore, whenever she looked closely into her father’s gaze, beneath that gentle surface seemed to lie a heavy, profound abyss or a black hole; the light of his affection was merely a faint reflection caught at the mouth of the cavern. She could never fathom the bottom of her father’s heart, and the darkness lurking down there filled her with an underlying dread.
But Wu Aizhen gave her an entirely opposite feeling. Having already turned eighteen, Keiko was no longer a naive child; she had already experienced her first love, and she was not so simple-minded as to blindly like or trust a foreign woman met by mere chance. Yet, Wu Aizhen provided her with a unique sensation she had never felt before. In Wu Aizhen’s own words, this was Yuanfen—karmic affinity. It was a bond that transcended age, crossed national borders, and bypassed time and space. Wu Aizhen’s wisdom deeply captivated her, for she held brilliant and insightful perspectives on many matters. What Keiko cherished most was her complete lack of affectation; she was natural, upright, and open. Her words seemed to trickle forth smoothly from the depths of her heart, free from the excessive concealment of worldly cynicism or social pleasantries. Although Wu Aizhen had once mentioned that this was merely one aspect of her, she had, at the very least, displayed this side to her. Moreover, Wu Aizhen possessed a natural aura of gentleness. She was nothing like those other women who spoke in affected, high-pitched coos, walked with a swaying, ostentatious gait, or carried themselves with calculated coquetry and flirtatious glances. Wu Aizhen was different; everything about her was natural. Her every smile, every frown, every slight display of anger or joy allowed Keiko to perceive a charm unique to women—a tenderness born of effortless non-action (Wu Wei). It was like water, like moonlight, like the shadow of a willow tree, like drifting cottonwoods, like white clouds, and like bells swaying gently in the wind. Most of the time, she was perfectly tranquil. Keiko loved sitting with her when she was in this state, for that tranquility possessed an infectious power, making her feel the exact peace and comfort of an infant cradled in a mother’s embrace. Of course, Keiko had never actually experienced such a sensation during her own infancy; she was simply sharing a portion of joy and serenity from this quietude. Being with her made her heart feel incredibly warm and at ease, to the point where she wished she could close her eyes and rest eternally within that atmosphere.
Keiko had heard of the expression “Great love speaks without words.” Perhaps the serenity emanating from Wu Aizhen was another form of love—a silent, wordless affection that left Keiko completely awestruck. It encompassed and transcended the boundaries of human language, dissolving into nothing but a silent perception and a profound experience.
Wu Aizhen had once spoken to her about the nothingness and emptiness that follow a deep descent into tranquility. Keiko had been unable to grasp it then, but now, from this silent perception and experience of a love completely devoid of action, she suddenly felt the “Emptiness” Wu Aizhen had described.
Once Auntie Wu recovers, I want to study the Buddha-Dharma with her, a sudden thought popped into Keiko’s mind. If it’s possible, I want to stay in China. At that moment, her thoughts drifted to her mother in Macau—a mother she had heard her grandmother mention, and whose existence had been confirmed by Uncle Ozo. But would Papa agree? At the thought of Akikawa Yamaguchi, a sliver of shadow crossed Keiko’s heart. Her father had virtually no other family besides her; the thought of leaving him brought a wave of bittersweet ache to her heart.
If only Papa liked Auntie Wu Aizhen, Keiko thought naively. There was no shortage of women around her father, yet he never seemed to genuinely care for any of them—a fact that Keiko had always found impossible to comprehend. Her father was simply too powerful, possessing none of the tender gallantry that men usually showed toward women. A few years back, a friend of his had introduced him to a famous actress who happened to be Keiko’s idol; she not only starred in excellent films but also sang beautifully. Yet, Keiko had heard her father dismissively state that he utterly despised that kind of “beauty.” She couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of woman could ever make her father fall in love. Keiko glanced at Wu Aizhen, who was fast asleep, and felt that while Auntie Wu was wonderful, her circumstances were far too ordinary. Her father would never like her the way she did. Moreover, with the vast geographic divide between them, they might soon be separated by thousands of miles. At this thought, a wave of melancholy washed over Keiko.
Wu Aizhen had already been hospitalized for over half a month, and Keiko had attended to her by her bedside almost without ever undressing for a proper rest. A simple cot and a small table had been added to the room; when she wasn’t accompanying Wu Aizhen through various medical checkups and treatments, Keiko would sit at that small table to write her thesis. Believing that Wu Aizhen possessed profound accomplishments in Buddhist studies, Keiko had come to look upon her as her mentor and had already changed her form of address to “Teacher.” Wu Aizhen did not bother with false modesty either; she simply shared the realizations gained from her more than ten years of Buddhist cultivation and realization with Keiko, hoping merely to help her produce a thesis with a fresh, innovative perspective, asking for nothing else in return.
Akikawa Yamaguchi often dropped by during the day, during which times Keiko would head out to buy a few things or take a short stroll. Due to pneumonia complicated by a pleural infection, along with pleural effusion and inflammation spreading to her bronchi and trachea, Wu Aizhen had been confined to her sickbed for over ten days, relying on an oxygen supply. Nevertheless, her condition was improving day by day.
Today, Nima arrived, accompanied by a woman in her early thirties and a tall, thin boy. Nima had visited once since Wu Aizhen was hospitalized and had called a few times; today marked his second visit to the hospital. Both Wu Aizhen and Keiko had guessed correctly: the woman was indeed the civil servant nine years Nima’s junior whom he had mentioned before, and the boy was his son. Though they didn’t look entirely alike in features, the boy shared a striking spiritual resemblance with Nima. In Keiko’s words, the boy was “drop-dead gorgeous.”
“This is my girlfriend, Dolma, and my son, Xuedan,” Nima introduced them to Keiko and Wu Aizhen. “They heard me talking about you and both wanted to come see you and Keiko. Where is your dad?” Nima asked. Keiko, holding a large bouquet of carnations brought by Dolma, was looking for a place to set them down. “He stepped out,” she replied.
“Your dad is truly capable. Xuedan is graduating from university this year; he doesn’t want to study anymore and wishes to return to Tibet. I wanted to ask your dad to help introduce him to a job. It seems your dad has some very strong connections here in Tibet.” Nima unexpectedly got straight to the point, revealing the purpose of his visit today.
Keiko was delighted and said immediately, “I’ll talk to Papa. He should be back any minute now.” Just as the words left her mouth, Akikawa Yamaguchi pushed the door open and walked in.
“Brother, you’re back! I came here today to ask you for a favor. This is my son, Xuedan, who’s been attending university in Beijing. He doesn’t want to study abroad anymore and wants to work back in Tibet. Didn’t you mention you have a branch company in Tibet? Are you hiring? Or perhaps you could help introduce him to a job.”
Nima’s approach to asking for a favor—so eager, impatient, and blurting it all out at once—genuinely opened Wu Aizhen’s eyes. Xuedan felt a bit embarrassed by his father’s way of handling things; he merely nodded at Akikawa Yamaguchi and said politely, “Hello, Uncle!”
Yamaguchi looked at Xuedan, a trace of a smile appearing on his face as he mumbled, “Good, good! I will help.” He didn’t seem to find anything inappropriate about the situation at all.
Nima immediately turned to Dolma and said gleefully, “See? I told you, whenever I run into trouble, a benefactor always appears to help me.”
Dolma smiled and replied, “Yes! You always seem to run into benefactors.” It was hard to tell whether she was expressing genuine admiration or teasing him.
“Keiko and her dad are truly good people. They only met Dr. Wu by chance, yet they’ve done so much for her. And they are foreigners, too—even fellow compatriots might not have done as much,” Nima praised from the bottom of his heart. “I really like Brother Mingchuan; there’s no need to beat around the bush when talking to him. He’s a straightforward man.” Dolma and Xuedan both looked at Akikawa Yamaguchi with deep admiration, as if they were looking at China’s “Lei Feng.” Yamaguchi simply smiled, offering no explanation whatsoever.
“Brother, I’ve also brought a gift for you.” Hearing this, Dolma took out an object wrapped in red silk from a large backpack beside her and handed it to Nima; judging by its shape, it was a short dagger.
As Nima unwrapped the cloth, both Wu Aizhen and Akikawa Yamaguchi were secretly startled in their hearts. It was Nima’s ancestral Tibetan knife—the very item Akikawa Yamaguchi had once tried to purchase at a premium price.
“Brother, a precious blade belongs to a hero,” Nima said. “Although this knife has been passed down from my ancestors, hanging it at home always gave me nightmares, which means I am simply not destined to have it. Since you like it, I shall give it to you. But apart from my admiration for you and my desire to make you a friend, I also hope you can help Xuedan find a job—so consider this a little token of gratitude in advance.”
Akikawa Yamaguchi accepted the knife. As if reuniting with a long-lost friend, a gleam of pleasant surprise flashed in his eyes as he gently stroked the sheath and the hilt with his hand.
“Excellent, Nima! Since you are so straightforward, I won’t stand on ceremony with you. I will accept the knife, as I truly do admire it,” Yamaguchi said. “You have my word on the boy’s job.”
Akikawa Yamaguchi wrapped the knife back up in the cloth; it now belonged to him. Wu Aizhen could not quite process the scene for a moment and watched, somewhat dumbfounded. This crisp, direct, and stark exchange between the two men—which nevertheless seemed to carry a sense of honor and loyalty—felt to her just like a “gangland transaction” between sworn brothers in the movies. Did Nima truly understand Akikawa Yamaguchi? How could he trust him so easily, readily giving away an ancestral heirloom to someone who, in Nima’s own previous words, was a Japanese man? But Wu Aizhen immediately felt ashamed of this thought. How could she think this way? No matter what Akikawa Yamaguchi did for a living, and regardless of the dark, cold side she had discovered within his heart, the meticulous care this father and daughter had shown her over the past ten-plus days—especially Keiko’s round-the-clock nursing—was already something she could never fully repay. Although Keiko had hit it off with her from the very beginning, feeling as close as sisters, they were, after all, strangers met by chance with very little time spent together. The fact that they could perform such acts of rescuing the endangered and helping the wounded, offering such devotion and love, was more than enough to earn Nima’s deep admiration.
Keiko and Xuedan struck up a conversation. Keiko appeared unusually excited today; as she listened to Xuedan speak, her usually poised and dignified posture leaned slightly forward, and her eyes flashed with an irrepressible eagerness, as if she were longing to understand every single detail about him. Their conversation turned to the teachings of the Buddha-Dharma. Xuedan mentioned that he found the Buddhist concepts of time and space absolutely mind-boggling, prompting Keiko to ask him to explain exactly what made them so incredible.
Xuedan said, “In the Buddhist scriptures, the very term Shijie—meaning ‘world’—inherently encompasses the concepts of both time and space. It is said that Shi refers to continuous change and flow, while Jie refers to orientation and direction. The north, south, east, west, southeast, southwest, northeast, and northwest constitute the Jie; whereas the past, future, and present constitute the Shi. Whenever Buddhism speaks of the world, it refers to the Three Thousand Great Thousand Worlds. Do you know just how vast a Three Thousand Great Thousand Worlds is? The Buddhist explanation goes like this: one single world illuminated by the same sun and moon is considered one basic unit. One thousand of these basic units make up a Lesser Thousand World. One thousand Lesser Thousand Worlds form a Medium Thousand World. One thousand Medium Thousand Worlds constitute a Great Thousand World. Because a Great Thousand World contains three distinct tiers of thousands—the lesser, the medium, and the great—it is called the ‘Three Thousand Great Thousand Worlds.’ This is calculated by taking one basic world and multiplying it by one thousand to the power of three, which equals one billion worlds.”
Having reached this point, Xuedan paused for a moment, glanced at Keiko who was listening intently, and continued, “In Buddhism, distance is measured in Yojanas. Some say a Yojana equals thirty Li, while others say sixty Li. According to Master Xuanzang, it refers to the distance an ancient Indian army could march in a single day. Let’s assume for a moment that one Yojana is sixty Li. The scriptures state that the distance between the centers of two basic unit worlds is 1,203,450 Yojanas, which amounts to 72,147,000 Li. Thus, the space encompassed by one billion worlds—that is, a Three Thousand Great Thousand Worlds—is truly vast beyond imagination.”
“Moreover, the Three Thousand Great Thousand Worlds, which are as numerous as the grains of sand in the Ganges River, merely constitute a single, larger ‘Buddha-World.’ Taking this ‘Buddha-World’ as a basic unit, it requires another Ganges’ worth of grains of sand of such ‘Buddha-Worlds’ to form a ‘Buddha-World Ocean.’ Then, it takes yet another Ganges’ worth of grains of sand of ‘Buddha-World Oceans’ to form a ‘Buddha-World Seed.’ Finally, an infinite, boundless array of these ‘Buddha-World Seeds’ across the ten directions culminates in a single ‘Reward Buddha-World.’ A single ‘Reward Buddha-World’ is equivalent to infinity itself, and the ‘Buddha-Lands’ or ‘Lotus Store Storehouses of Worlds’ composed of these infinite worlds are in turn omnipresent throughout the ten directions—boundless, countless, and beyond comprehension.”
An expression of utter amazement washed over Keiko’s face.
“The concept of time in Buddhism is even more mind-boggling,” Xuedan continued. “It is usually measured in Kalpas, which are categorized into Lesser Kalpas, Medium Kalpas, and Great Kalpas. Some say that a single Kalpa is equivalent to 4.32 billion human years, while others state that a Lesser Kalpas lasts for 16,798,000 years. Twenty Lesser Kalpas make up one Medium Kalpa, and four Medium Kalpas constitute one Great Kalpa, which amounts to 1,343,840,000 years.
This represents their concept of vast expanses of time. On the other hand, the shortest unit of time is expressed as a ‘Kshana’ (instant). It is said that within the brief span of a strong man snapping his fingers, sixty-five Kshanas pass by—which has been calculated in modern times to be approximately 0.013 seconds.”
“When it comes to space, Buddhism also frequently speaks of the Thirty-Three Heavens, which can be understood as thirty-three dimensions of space.
Meanwhile, in its descriptions of microscopic space, Buddhism asserts that ‘a single mustard seed can contain Mount Sumeru,’ or that ‘upon the tip of a single hair, the Buddha-lands of the ten directions are manifested, and sitting within a speck of dust, the Great Wheel of Dharma is turned.’ It is truly mind-boggling.”
“I know, I know! Teacher Wu said that this is because both the mustard seed and Mount Sumeru are empty in their inherent nature, which is why they do not obstruct each other,” Keiko chimed in.
Xuedan stopped speaking and looked at Keiko with deep admiration in his eyes. Keiko blushed instantly, stuck out her tongue playfully, and turned her head to look at Wu Aizhen, asking, “Teacher, am I right?”
Wu Aizhen smiled slightly and said, “That’s correct. However, if we truly look at it from the perspective of Buddhist multidimensional space, there is actually no such thing as a mustard seed containing Mount Sumeru, nor Mount Sumeru containing a mustard seed. Both the mustard seed and Mount Sumeru manifest naturally and independently within the Dharma-realm (Dharmadhātu). It is only from a human perspective that it appears as though the mustard seed is placed inside Mount Sumeru, or Mount Sumeru is tucked inside the mustard seed; in reality, everything in the Dharma-realm is a phenomenon that manifests independently.
Take a glass of water, for instance. From a human viewpoint, it looks like water contained within a glass. Yet, from the perspective of the Dharma-realm, it is merely that the water and the glass manifest simultaneously at a certain dimensional level, within a specific time and space—one could just as well say the glass is placed inside the water. Taking this a step further to human beings, if one observes a person from the perspective of multidimensional space, every organ, blood drop, breath, bone, nerve, and even every single cell of this person is a phenomenon manifesting independently in multidimensional space in the forms of Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind. Seemingly, there is no connection between them, and there is no ‘self’ to be found within.
These naturally manifesting phenomena show up simultaneously at a specific point in human time and space because of the ‘self.’ Moreover, in the human realm, they exhibit the laws of mutual generation and overcoming, acting as the dependent origination (pratītyasamutpāda) for one another—and this is what constitutes a ‘person.’ The ‘self’ is the ‘dependent origination’ of this ‘person,’ and at this moment, this ‘self’ is a ‘self carrying karma,’ or what we call a ‘karmic consciousness.’ If the ‘karmic force’ vanishes, this ‘self’ ceases to be merely the dependent origination of a specific individual; instead, it becomes ’emptiness’ (śūnyatā), turning into the dependent origination of all ‘Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind’ within the Dharma-realm. At this very moment, one attains the state of the Buddha’s Dharma-body (Dharmakāya), realizing that all sentient beings inherently possess the wisdom and virtuous characteristics of the Tathāgata—that all sentient beings are Buddhas, and achieving the great loving-kindness and compassion of the equality of all beings.”
“Teacher, could you please write all of this down for me so I can take my time to contemplate and understand it?” Keiko pleaded. “I have always found myself unable to comprehend the concept of ‘selflessness of persons’ in the Buddha-Dharma.”
Xuedan stared at Wu Aizhen, his eyes bright and wide, his face filled with bewilderment. Clearly, he had not fully grasped much of the perspective Wu Aizhen had derived from observing problems through the lens of multidimensional space.
“Alright, I will help you organize and write it out. You two carry on with your chat,” Wu Aizhen said with an apologetic smile to Xuedan. She then scanned the other people in the room, only to discover that Akikawa Yamaguchi alone seemed to be deeply reflecting on her words. Everyone else looked completely blank, having no inkling of what she had just been talking about.
Keiko’s attention had already drifted back to Xuedan. Her voice carried a hint of exaggerated excitement as she praised him loudly, “Wow, Xuedan! How can you remember all that so clearly? All those numbers completely made my head spin. You truly live up to being a mathematics major, and your eloquence is just fantastic!”
Hearing Keiko praise Xuedan, Nima beamed with joy instantly, his face radiant with pride. He said boastfully, “Xuedan has been excellent at math since he was a boy, and his memory is exceptionally remarkable—he has a near-photographic memory. That’s why he chose the mathematics department when he took the college entrance examination. But it was only after graduation, when he started looking for a job, that we realized the scope of applications was too narrow.” At this point, Nima glanced at Akikawa Yamaguchi, his spirit visibly dampened by the stark reality. Yamaguchi merely gave an indecisive look, seemingly lost in thought.
“Dad, back then you were actually pushing me to go to a sports school,” Xuedan interjected, entirely unconcerned with the anxiety and helplessness weighing on his father’s mind.
“That’s so true!” Nima teased his son. “Xuedan used to run incredibly fast. The head of the municipal sports school happened to be a friend of mine, and he took a keen interest in Xuedan’s potential, insisting on recruiting him as a talent to groom. But Xuedan absolutely refused. Maybe if you had gone to that sports school back then, you’d be a world champion long-distance runner by now.”
“When I was a kid, I really did run like the wind, and I was quite mischievous too,” Xuedan said. “Once, I was chasing a dog. The dog eventually came to a dead stop, propped its front paws on the ground, stuck out its tongue while panting heavily, and turned its head to roll its eyes at me. It looked exactly as if it were saying: ‘I’m wiped out. You’ve got guts, kid, running this fast—go on, keep running if you dare!'”
As Xuedan said this, he mimicked the dog’s disgruntled, eye-rolling expression with absolute perfection. Keiko was so amused that she collapsed over the edge of Wu Aizhen’s hospital bed, staying completely still for a good while. Dolma, laughing along, hurriedly went over to pat her on the back, thinking she had lost her breath from laughing so hard.
When Keiko finally lifted her head, tears were streaming down her face from the laughter. Everyone in the room was thoroughly entertained by Xuedan’s story and performance. Yet Xuedan himself didn’t laugh; he just quietly gazed at Keiko, who was doubled over with laughter, his eyes gleaming with a boyish innocence and sharp alertness. His eyes were exceptionally handsome, crystal clear, and full of expression. He truly is a Tibetan boy blessed with both brains and looks, Wu Aizhen thought to herself.
Wu Aizhen noticed that Akikawa Yamaguchi wasn’t laughing either; a faint trace of a smile merely played on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, watching this boy who used to race with dogs with genuine amusement. Wu Aizhen had no idea what was crossing his mind, but it seemed as though his heart remained deeply and permanently sealed away. It was as if this shallow hum of laughter, warmth, and friendliness from the mortal world could never pierce through his fortified barrier; he was utterly detached, unable to integrate into this peaceful, mundane life.
Keiko and Xuedan’s chat had reached a point where they could talk about absolutely anything. It was clear that Xuedan’s humor, wit, and talent had completely won Keiko over.
“Who gave you your name? ‘Xuedan’ is very special,” Keiko asked.
“I did! It was snowing on the day Xuedan was born, and ‘Dan’ is the first character of my wife’s name, Tenzin Dolma,” Nima immediately answered on behalf of his son.
Hearing this, Dolma looked at Nima with eyes full of reverence and adoration; it seemed the deep, lifelong affection for his wife conveyed in Nima’s tone filled her with great respect and envy. After finishing his sentence, Nima also cast an affectionate glance back at Dolma and smiled…
Nima and his family were now ready to take their leave. Akikawa Yamaguchi instructed Xuedan to prepare a copy of his resume and asked whether he would like to work abroad or move to some cities in the south, such as Macau, Hong Kong, Guangdong, or Shenzhen. Xuedan replied that he hadn’t given it that much thought; if possible, his absolute first choice would still be to return to Lhasa, Tibet, but he would go home and consider the other options.
Keiko felt somewhat reluctant to see him go, so she said cleverly, “Xuedan, if you are free tomorrow, could you bring over those Buddhist books you mentioned? I’d really love to take a look at them.”
“Sure, I’ll bring them over tomorrow afternoon,” Xuedan replied. A sliver of joy welled up inside Keiko’s heart.
Once everyone had left, Keiko said to Wu Aizhen with sheer excitement, “Teacher, do you know what? Xuedan looks exactly like the Japanese pop star, Itsuki Yukikawa! He is so incredibly cool—he’s my absolute idol. Actually, he might be even more talented than Itsuki Yukikawa.”
“You must have a lot of idols, don’t you?” Wu Aizhen asked.
“Mhm! Itsuki Yukikawa just debuted a few years ago, but he’s wildly popular and has tons of fans! Teacher, do you know him?”
“No, I don’t,” Wu Aizhen replied.
“The song that first made him famous is called ‘Cherry Blossom Love.’ Both the lyrics and the melody are incredibly beautiful,” Keiko said, and began humming the tune in Japanese. Wu Aizhen couldn’t understand the lyrics she was singing, but the melodious yet somewhat simple and rustic tune made her feel as if she could see the cherry blossoms drifting and dancing across the sky, returning to the earth without a single shred of regret.
“Keiko, you sing beautifully,” Wu Aizhen praised her.
“This is my favorite song. It always stirs up an inexplicable sense of melancholy and tenderness from the bottom of my heart. I always feel like something from the deepest corners of my memory is trying to surface. But I know whatever it is, it must be beautiful, because it fills my soul with a soft, radiant light.”
“You will find out what it is one day,” Wu Aizhen said, her eyes turning slightly moist.
“Teacher, I really like Xuedan,” Keiko said, making no attempt to hide her true feelings, and there wasn’t a single shred of maidenly shyness on her face as she spoke.
“And? Xuedan is indeed very lovely.”
“Teacher, I want him to be my boyfriend.” Upon hearing this, Wu Aizhen was thoroughly taken aback. Isn’t this moving a bit too fast? They’ve only met once.
“But does Xuedan like you back? You don’t even know that yet. Besides, does he already have a girlfriend?” Wu Aizhen pointed out.
“I’ll find out. If he’s not willing or if he already has a girlfriend, it’s fine if he just becomes my adoptive older brother.” It appeared that Keiko had fallen in love with Xuedan at first sight, and she was absolutely determined to forge a lasting connection with him.
“Keiko, you need to be cautious when it comes to matters of the heart; think carefully before you act,” Wu Aizhen said in the tone of someone who had seen it all. “After all, you and Xuedan are separated by such a vast distance, and your upbringing, habits, outlooks on life, and core values are entirely different. Thinking this way is far too naive and impulsive.”
“How could there be that many obstacles? If two people love each other, any problem can be solved,” Keiko countered. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to have a Chinese boyfriend.”
“Why is that?”
“Because deep down, I feel a mysterious calling that my true love is in China.”
Wu Aizhen was left speechless. She suddenly felt that she had grown old, no longer able to keep pace with the stride of “love” in this modern era.
What Akikawa Yamaguchi would think if he found out was something Wu Aizhen couldn’t begin to guess. For the first time, she felt that her judgment and insight regarding people had become incredibly dull.
The following afternoon, Xuedan arrived at the hospital quite early. Fabricating a quick excuse, Keiko immediately had Xuedan accompany her out of the room.
Leaning back against her hospital bed, Wu Aizhen watched with a smile as Keiko’s joyful figure vanished through the doorway. In her heart, she offered a silent blessing: Keiko! May you find true love, and may you be happy in this lifetime!
Keiko was gone, and the hospital room fell into a dead silence. Sunlight filtered through the leaves outside the window, casting fragmented shadows across the clean marble floor. Everything was clad in white, making the carnations on the windowsill the only source of vibrant life amidst the monotony. In this quiet isolation, Wu Aizhen suddenly felt a wave of oppression; a sense of deep loneliness and solitude crept into her heart. Since she began cultivating and realizing the Buddha-Dharma, she had thought that loneliness and solitude were things of the past, as the joy of meditative concentration (samādhi) usually kept her company whenever she was alone. Yet, the torment of this illness, her physical frailty, and the distinct atmosphere of the hospital had brought her right back to the various perceptions she used to experience before her spiritual practice. At this moment, her thoughts drifted to her mother. No one knew she had come to Tibet, and she had not notified her family or any of her friends since falling ill.
She dialed her mother’s number. Upon hearing her voice, her mother choked up with pleasant surprise, and it took quite a while before she managed to ask where she was. Tears were already streaming down Wu Aizhen’s face. She lied, saying she was in Tibet and that due to geographical reasons, there had been no signal, which was why her phone had been turned off all this time. She tried her best to make her voice sound light and cheerful, constantly clearing her throat with a cough to mask her sobs. Her mother asked anxiously, “What’s wrong with you? That’s a terrible cough.” “It’s nothing, really. I was just drinking water, and I got so excited to hear your voice that I choked on it.” “How could you be so careless…” Her mother wished she could reach through the phone to pat her on the back. “Your lungs have been weak since you were a child, and the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau lacks oxygen, so you must be careful! When do you plan to come back?” “Oh, it’ll still be a while. I came here with some friends.” Wu Aizhen thought saying this would put her mother more at ease. “Didn’t Qingfei go with you? He called a while ago looking for you, and I thought something had happened to you.” “No, I came with colleagues from work; he couldn’t get away.” She was fabricating a lie. Her mother clearly misunderstood, adding, “Qingfei is a good boy too, don’t be too picky and lose your chance.” Wu Aizhen wanted to hang up now. “What did you go to Tibet for? Are you looking for some master again?” “No, I wanted to find myself.” “Find what?” Her mother didn’t quite catch it. “You must take care of your health! Call home if anything happens.” “Don’t worry!” Wu Aizhen finally hung up amidst her mother’s tearful, endless stream of loving admonitions.
Wu Aizhen had been physically frail since childhood, and her mother had always worried about her health. To practice the Buddha-Dharma, she had started a vegetarian diet and occasionally engaged in prolonged fasting. With tears welling up in her eyes, her mother had once told her, “Whether you become a Buddha or a Bodhisattva, Mom will support you. But Mom just wants you to be a healthy human being first.”
As these thoughts rushed back, Wu Aizhen’s tears flowed freely once more. It was as if all the grievances and a myriad of tangled emotions accumulated during her journey from City A to Tibet had erupted all at once. She wept softly, crying out for her mother. That was the only place since her childhood where she could weep and pour out her grievances without facing resentment or weariness. It was a sanctuary of love that she never, ever had to fear losing…
When Akikawa Yamaguchi walked in, she hadn’t yet managed to compose herself. Still immersed in her melancholy, tears were streaming down her face, leaving her crying uncontrollably in a complete mess.
Yamaguchi stood a few steps away from her bed, watching silently. After a while, he handed her a face towel.
“Are you facing some kind of difficulty?” Yamaguchi asked once she had finally quieted down.
She shook her head.
“Where did Keiko go?” Yamaguchi asked, attempting to change the subject to shift her mood.
“She went out with Xuedan.” Wu Aizhen didn’t want to hide anything; she wanted Yamaguchi to be mentally prepared as well.
“Oh! Are you feeling much better?” Yamaguchi clearly hadn’t read too much into it; his attention remained focused on her.
“I must have made a fool of myself, letting you see my vulnerable side. I am fine.”
“I am going to Macau and Hong Kong tomorrow. Something happened at the branch offices there. Keiko can stay here to keep you company. I just came to say goodbye.”
“Hearing the word ‘Macau,’ Wu Aizhen’s heart stirred. Keiko had already entrusted her with the task of persuading her father to see her mother.
‘I am fine. I’ve caused you and Keiko so much trouble during this period that I don’t even know how to repay you. The future is long, and I will always keep your kindness and friendship in my heart,’ Wu Aizhen said.
‘Don’t be so polite. Keiko likes you a lot, and I can tell she is genuinely happy when she is with you. In this life, if one can have a soulmate, what more could one possibly ask for?’ As he spoke, Akikawa Yamaguchi actually took a deep breath and exhaled, as if striving to restrain and suppress something. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he struggled to keep them from spilling over.
‘What happened?’ Wu Aizhen asked in astonishment.
Yamaguchi’s tears could not be contained after all, and they finally streamed down silently. But he quickly got up and wiped them away with a tissue.”
“A man does not shed tears easily, except when he reaches the point of heartbreak.” Seeing a man as cold and ruthless as Akikawa Yamaguchi weep, Wu Aizhen was stunned, utterly at a loss for words.
There was a fleeting moment of silence, during which Wu Aizhen could distinctly hear her own breathing.
“My best friend died,” Yamaguchi said. “He was my childhood friend, someone I grew up with. He died a terrible death; he was murdered.”
Wu Aizhen’s eyes widened in shock. “Has the killer been caught? Why did they kill him?”
“It was due to some entanglements over the company’s business affairs; he offended certain people. But those matters had already passed long ago, yet those people still refused to let him go.” Yamaguchi fell silent, his jaw clenching tightly.
Wu Aizhen wanted to comfort him, but for the moment, she couldn’t find the appropriate words.
“Miss Wu, I remember you mentioning that in Buddhism, performing certain rituals for the deceased can help deliver their souls from suffering,” Yamaguchi said.
“Yes, temples in the Han region frequently conduct such services.”
“Do they actually work?”
“I cannot say for certain. However, I believe that if pure and disciplined monks perform the ritual, even if their own spiritual capacity falls short of fully liberating the deceased, the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas will still bestow blessings upon the dead through the monks’ body, speech, and mind. That is why so many people are eager to submit the names of their deceased relatives for every service. In truth, no matter what, it offers a sense of solace to the hearts of the living.”
“Is it enough just to know the name of the deceased?”
“Yes.”
“Then, if you have the opportunity in the future, could you help me arrange this? Let me know whatever else is required. His name was Keisuke Yamaguchi.”
“I will absolutely get it done for you,” Wu Aizhen promised earnestly, typing the name into her phone.
“Are you going back to attend his funeral?”
“No, the mourning period has already passed. I am going to handle some of his unsettled affairs.”
“Has the killer been caught yet?”
“Not yet. But I imagine they will be found very soon.” Akikawa Yamaguchi’s eyes turned terrifyingly cold, filled to the brim with fury, despair, and grief.
“I will use his head as an offering to Keisuke,” Yamaguchi blurted out.
A sudden, sharp chill swept through Wu Aizhen, leaving goosebumps all over her skin.
“You must restrain yourself,” she urged. “Buddhism teaches that life and death are governed by the laws of cause and effect. Hatred cannot solve problems.”
“What cause and effect? He merely broke the rules of the game just this once. We already made massive compensations, yet they still refused to let him go. Aren’t rules made by men anyway? Why couldn’t they just give him a chance and forgive him this one time?”
“Mr. Yamaguchi, this doesn’t seem to align with your usual style of handling things,” Wu Aizhen challenged him. “Have you ever forgiven anyone else?”
Akikawa Yamaguchi froze for a moment. He didn’t quite grasp what Wu Aizhen was implying, but he realized that his anger had spiraled out of control and he had said far too much. Even so, he no longer held his guard up against Wu Aizhen; the suffocating grief and pain of losing his friend were simply too agonizing to bear, and he desperately needed someone to confide in or vent to.
“Miss Wu, you are a clever woman, and I have no desire to hide anything from you,” Akikawa Yamaguchi said. “You once asked me what I did for a living, and at the time, I told you that I ran an import-export trading company in Japan. You laughed and said I looked more like a mafia boss, and that when you first met me, you mentally dubbed me the ‘Demon King.’ Those words truly astonished me. Perhaps my mind and body have indeed been tainted by the habits of a lifelong career in the underworld, allowing you to see right through me. Have you ever heard of Japan’s ‘Sakura Syndicate’? I am the leader of that organization, and Keisuke was my long-time deputy. This time, while handling some of the ‘organization’s’ affairs in Hong Kong, he was betrayed by someone from within our own ranks and killed by our rivals.”
After finishing his words, Yamaguchi looked at Wu Aizhen. She listened with an unblinking stillness, as if this were no longer a piece of shocking news, but merely a story told by him.
以下是为您翻译的英文段落：
【English Translation】 “I respect you deeply, Miss Wu. That is why, before my departure, I pondered for a long time whether or not to tell you the truth. Now that I have told you, your reaction is exactly what I expected. I only hope that in your eyes, my image won’t become any worse than it already is.”
“Are you going back this time to personally investigate the murderer? Why not report it to the police?”
“Don’t be so naive. What would the motive for the murder be, and what about the evidence? If these matters could be made public, we wouldn’t be called the underworld in the first place.”
“I hope you won’t kill anyone.”
“Then how else am I supposed to resolve it? Miss Wu, yours is but the sentimental mercy of a woman. The finest compassion for a ruthless beast is a shotgun.”
As Wu Aizhen looked at the ferocious tone and chilling smile on Akikawa Yamaguchi’s face, she knew with absolute certainty that the man standing before her was by no means a compassionate hunter.
“You mentioned just now that it was your friend who first broke the rules of the underworld’s game,” Wu Aizhen urged. “Now that things have come to this, even if you kill the murderer, when will this cycle of vengeance ever end? It would be far better to handle the aftermath by offering solace to the deceased’s soul, compensating his family, and allowing the killer a chance to atone for their sins.”
Akikawa Yamaguchi chuckled. “You don’t understand, Miss Wu. Disposing of my subordinate for any reason without my explicit command is a direct insult to me. Furthermore, the other party showed a complete lack of integrity; they distinctly stated they would not pursue this matter any further, yet they still struck in the shadows, violating the code of the underworld. Do you understand?” It was evident that Yamaguchi had already used an immense amount of patience to explain this to Wu Aizhen.
以下是为您翻译的英文段落：
【English Translation】 Wu Aizhen decided not to argue any further, but there was still one thing she felt compelled to say. She thought of Keiko; Akikawa Yamaguchi was about to leave, and she had no idea if they would ever meet again. If she didn’t speak up now, there would be no time left.
“Your friend died, and you are deeply grief-stricken. You complain that your rivals didn’t give him a single chance to reform, and you wish your friend had been granted leniency. I understand your feelings completely,” she said. “But can you extend that same leniency to Keiko’s mother? Can you let mother and daughter reunite, and fulfill this one wish for Keiko?”
Hearing this, Akikawa Yamaguchi froze. He had never expected Wu Aizhen to bring up this matter at a time like this, and he was utterly at a loss for a reply. Suddenly, he remembered how Keisuke had once cautioned him against killing Shinko Yamashima. He shook his head vigorously, as if trying to banish these painful memories into oblivion.
“Why is Keiko so obsessed with seeing her mother? That woman doesn’t even love her,” Yamaguchi muttered.
“How could there be a mother who doesn’t love her own child? A parent’s love is the most beautiful and selfless love in this world.”
“That is only because you have seen nothing but the good side of this world,” Yamaguchi replied. “You haven’t seen the other side.”
“What is the other side of parental love?”
“Do all parents in the world bring their children into this life out of love?”
“Perhaps not. Yet, there is the debt of upbringing—something everyone must repay.”
“Repay? Repay in what way? With your theory of karma? My mother conceived me solely to possess my father completely; when that failed, she wanted to abort me. It was only because my father gave her a sum of money that she let me be born. I was raised by a cold, indifferent old nun; I have no idea what maternal love feels like. When I was subjected to brutal physical and psychological training, no one cared about my feelings or asked if I was willing. In the darkness and solitude, I longed for her to save me, but found only fear and despair. How, then, am I supposed to repay a mother like that?”
When Akikawa Yamaguchi spoke these words, his tone was completely cold, and his pace was steady and unhurried. He displayed no agitation, and there was no hatred in his eyes—only the innocence of being misunderstood and a profound indifference toward human relationships.
Wu Aizhen remained silent. Suddenly, she felt as though she had gained a brand-new understanding of this man, and a desire to truly comprehend him welled up inside her.
“After Keiko’s mother got divorced, she immediately reunited with her old lover and never once came back to see Keiko. Does a woman like that deserve my respect?”
“Perhaps she was afraid of you, and didn’t dare come back to see Keiko.”
“If she loved Keiko,” Yamaguchi paused for a moment, forcing the next few words out with difficulty, “if she loved me, would she be afraid?!”
If there is love, would there be fear? Wu Aizhen fell into deep thought; she didn’t know the answer.
“But, if you loved her, would you have made her afraid?” Wu Aizhen countered.
Akikawa Yamaguchi fell silent as well.
Yamaguchi left, offering no further answer regarding the question of Keiko seeing her mother.
Xuedan visited the hospital a few more times. Evidently, Keiko’s hopes had fallen short; despite his care and affection for her, there was a noticeable hint of distance in his demeanor. Keiko told Wu Aizhen that Xuedan already had a childhood sweetheart, a girlfriend who was currently working in Lhasa.
Keiko had asked Xuedan for a photograph of himself. In the evenings, while keeping Wu Aizhen company during her IV drips, she would hold it in her hands, gazing at it intently while gently tracing Xuedan’s face with her fingers. Watching this filled Wu Aizhen’s heart with a sharp mixture of ache and pity for her—what a pure-hearted, devoted girl.
Keiko had shown Wu Aizhen that photograph the moment she got it. Set against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains and white clouds, Xuedan was reclining casually on the grassland, propping his body up on one elbow. Right beside him, half-crouching, was a magnificent and powerful Tibetan Mastiff.
“Xuedan is bound to be as loyal in love as a Tibetan Mastiff,” Keiko said.
Wu Aizhen teased her, saying, “Perhaps. But there are plenty of great guys in China; there’s really no need for you to suffer from unrequited love over this.”
“I won’t! I just like him, and besides, he’s already like a brother to me now.”
After Akikawa Yamaguchi’s departure, Wu Aizhen suddenly felt a sense of emptiness in her heart, which remained weighed down by a lingering heaviness. She shared some of her anxieties with Keiko. Regarding Keisuke’s death, Keiko had already learned about it from her father and had grieved for a while. She shared with Wu Aizhen a few amusing anecdotes about the friendship between Keisuke and her father, adding that her father must be deeply heartbroken. However, Keiko wasn’t worried about her father; she remarked that he was already well-accustomed to all the fighting and killing, and since he was highly intelligent and never acted rashly, Wu Aizhen shouldn’t worry.
Wu Aizhen was somewhat astonished by Keiko’s calm composure; such a pure and lovely girl had grown completely indifferent to the brutal killings within the underworld.
“Teacher, you won’t look down on me and my father because of this, will you?” Keiko asked.
“No, I won’t,” Wu Aizhen replied. “Life naturally has both its yin and yang sides. From the very moment he was born, your father had no choice but to follow the laws of survival within that darker side. Yet, even within the dark, there is light. Your father’s deep regard for his friendship with Keisuke and his sense of loyalty to his associates are qualities I admire. However, punishing evil and promoting good is a fundamental human virtue, and the laws of the state exist to protect justice and the side of goodness. Those who commit wrongdoings will eventually face retribution under the law. The net of heaven has large meshes, but nothing slips through. Even if someone manages to exploit a loophole in human law, there is still the law of cause and effect—good deeds bring good returns, and evil acts breed evil consequences.”
“Teacher, I believe what you say,” Keiko said. “And yet, some things in reality are truly dark, while those who do bad things live wealthy and happy lives. If the Buddhist concept of karma brought immediate retribution, it could serve as a warning to the world, but instead…” Keiko hesitated, checking herself before asking, “What exactly is the underlying basis of Buddhist karmic retribution?”
“In the human realm, it is human nature to long for goodness. If a person commits an act that harms others or compromises their interests, the retribution might not necessarily come from the victim themselves, but from other areas of that person’s life. Therefore, retribution actually occurs quite swiftly; it is simply that because it is not a direct, one-to-one retaliation, people remain completely unaware of it even when they are undergoing it.
In the cosmic realm of the Dharma, however, retribution is determined by the impressions left within a person’s mind. Whether good or evil, as long as a mark is left upon the heart, one must experience its fruition. Sometimes, a person might do something wrong without leaving a trace in their own mind, but if the victim clings to the memory and refuses to forget, then once the conditions and causes align, retribution will still take place. The Buddhist law of karmic retribution spans dozens of dimensional levels and involves the transformation of merits and blessings over many lifetimes. Furthermore, for a human being existing in this world, everyone is interconnected and coexists with all creation; this also introduces the issue of how collective karma influences individual karma. For instance, when many people are killed in a war or infected during a plague, some are actually bearing the catastrophes brought about by collective karma. Thus, the law of cause and effect in the Buddha-Dharma is highly intricate—it is not something that can be explained in just a few words, nor is it something that can be discerned by human eyes alone.”
“But no matter what, in the human realm, one must first be a good person. If we take Benevolence, Righteousness, Propriety, Wisdom, and Trustworthiness from Chinese Confucian culture as the basic standards for being human, then a person who loses these qualities can no longer truly be considered a qualified ‘human being.’ To be precise, their mind has already, in that very instant, plummeted into other realms. If an individual’s personal blessings are completely exhausted, or if the collective blessings shared by humanity are dried up—you know, the collective merits of mankind rapidly deplete along with the degeneration of human hearts—then according to the Buddhist law of cause and effect, the catastrophe and destruction of humanity will not be far off.”
Keiko smiled faintly and said, “Humanity won’t be destroyed. Science tells us that humans will continue to evolve. Maybe we’ll evolve into beings with just a massive head and tiny limbs, or perhaps when science becomes highly advanced and Earth’s resources are completely exhausted, humanity will migrate to other planets in outer space. Do you think it will happen like that?”
“Perhaps,” Wu Aizhen replied. “Let’s hope that human intelligence and wisdom will reach that level before disaster strikes. But then again, could that being still be called a ‘human’? When that time comes, maybe there will be ancient texts recording: ‘In remote antiquity, there existed a type of animal with elongated limbs and a tiny head, known as humanity.’ And then they would attach a picture of a human fossil—except they’d make a mistake and put a monkey’s photo there instead. Future scientists would then dedicate themselves entirely, working to the point of absolute exhaustion yet with sheer delight, just to uncover the traces of the humans of our era.”
Keiko laughed and said, “Teacher, you are so witty.” Wu Aizhen smiled along with her.
“Teacher, some aspects of ancient traditional Chinese culture truly are the words of sages,” Keiko remarked. “If there’s an opportunity, I’d love to study it too. Could you help me buy some books on this subject first?”
“I actually have the English editions of the Four Books and Five Classics at home. I’ll bring them to you later.”
“Thank you, Teacher. I want to study the Buddha-Dharma as well,” Keiko added.
“You are being too greedy.”
“But being greedy for learning is a good cause, isn’t it? It should bear good fruit.”
“Not necessarily,” Wu Aizhen countered. “If you only learn it on the tip of your tongue and use it to chase personal gain, it won’t yield any good results. You must take it to heart and apply it to your actions—only then can you truly say you’ve mastered it.”
“Teacher, I feel like everything you say is always so full of philosophy,” Keiko said, flattery dripping from her voice.
Wu Aizhen was quite pleased by the compliment, feeling a warm, pleasant glow in her heart.
“To save humanity, I will study hard and become a person of noble character!” Keiko declared jokingly, raising her arm as she proclaimed her oath.
“Just a few days ago, you said you would give up everything for love, and that you wouldn’t even fear climbing mountains of swords or plunging into seas of fire. Today, you are already swearing to save humanity?”
“Teacher, those two things don’t conflict at all.”
“What if love or family ties conflict with morality? Which one would you choose?” Wu Aizhen challenged.
Keiko blinked, flashed a mysterious smile, and remained silent. In truth, Wu Aizhen was asking herself the very same question: Could I actually place justice above my own family? Could I truly view all sentient beings as equal? That was the Path of the Bodhisattva, not the path of ordinary humans; human beings are bound to have selfish desires. In ancient China, if a father broke the law, his children had the right to shield him; stepping forward to denounce him was instead viewed as an act of unfilial piety. This perspective perhaps stemmed more from human nature, taking human sentiment into account. Yet, the law is impartial; it safeguards the rights of victims and should not be swayed by personal feelings. Could a truly great legal system be one that executes the Bodhisattva Path within the human realm?
At that moment, she thought of the wrathful deities of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas in Tibetan temples—wearing crowns of skulls, holding human hearts in their hands, dripping with blood, and bearing ferocious expressions. They were the subjugators of demons, conquering both external demons and the demons of the mind. However, whether utilizing benevolent or wrathful means within the human realm, the wisdom and power of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas could deliver human souls from suffering, purifying and elevating them—achievements that the law could never attain. Even so, Wu Aizhen often heard of eminent monks, great virtues, and spiritual mentors around the world visiting places like hospitals and prisons to propagate, spread, purify, and uplift the principles of the soul; such endeavors truly brought immeasurable merit! Wu Aizhen thought silently to herself. Reflecting on her own life, she realized she still felt sorrow and blamed heaven and earth over her own petty personal feelings and desires, all while constantly professing her grand Bodhicitta before her Master—vowing to seek enlightenment above and transform all sentient beings below. How truly insignificant and unworthy of mention she felt.
“Teacher, what are you thinking about?” Keiko asked.
“Just let my mind wander—trying to align my body, speech, and mind.”
“Well, then it’s just a matter of practicing what you preach.”
“Some things are manageable, but there are certain matters where acting matches the words is easier said than done.”
“What’s so difficult about that? If you already know you can’t do it, then simply don’t say it and don’t think about it.”
“You really are clever,” Wu Aizhen smiled. “But people always think a lot, say a lot, and do very little. Sometimes, our feelings simply get the better of us, and we find ourselves trapped by circumstances beyond our control.”
Hearing the word “feelings,” Keiko mistakenly thought Wu Aizhen was teasing her again about her situation with Xuedan, and she couldn’t help but blush…
The hospital finally notified Wu Aizhen that she could be discharged; she had spent a total of twenty-three days there. Keiko busied herself with handling all the discharge paperwork. There was still a remaining balance from the hospital deposit left by Akikawa Yamaguchi, and Keiko insisted that Wu Aizhen keep it. Wu Aizhen did not refuse. She had a faint, lingering feeling that her karmic connection with Keiko and Akikawa Yamaguchi was far from over, and that she would eventually have to repay this debt of gratitude.
Keiko had been blissfully happy over the past few days because her father had agreed to let her go to Macau to see her mother, and he had extended an invitation for Wu Aizhen to join them. When Keiko relayed her father’s invitation, Wu Aizhen’s heart stirred for a moment, but she ultimately declined. Her time in the hospital had allowed her to see many things clearly, and the emotional knots she had carried were now completely unraveled. She wanted to go back and see Ren Qingfei; she needed to seek answers to a few matters, offer him some words of advice, and then sincerely wish him happiness. For the sake of her mother, for everyone who loved her, and for her own faith, she was going to pull herself together. She would return to City A. She no longer wanted to run away from anything; she was ready to embark on a new journey in her life.
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