A week later, Wu Aizhen appeared on the streets of Nyingchi, Tibet. It is said that Nyingchi is one of the regions in Tibet with a lower altitude. She had long desired to visit Tibet, but since her lung function had been poor since childhood, the threat of altitude sickness had always made her hesitate. This time, however, following yet another instance of becoming indifferent toward emotional love, she seemed to have swept away this life obstacle from the depths of her heart. She had become fearless.
Nyingchi is known as the “Little Jiangnan” of Tibet, and its scenery is exquisite. The city itself is not large; the Niyang River flows gently past one side of the town, while distant snowy mountains reflect the brilliance of the nearby peaks blanketed in fresh flowers and green grass. The lofty blue sky and white clouds lent a sense of vastness to her heart. Having previously studied Esoteric Buddhism and encountered many Lamas, she was not a stranger to the cultural environment of Tibet. She quickly found a comfortable Tibetan restaurant in the city center and began coming here at the same time every day to drink butter tea. The owner proudly informed her that this was the most luxurious restaurant in the city, having been open for only two years. Looking around, she felt the owner was not boasting. The restaurant was spacious, featuring exquisitely carved beams and painted rafters that fully displayed Tibetan flair. The butter tea was also prepared in an authentic, traditional way. However, Wu Aizhen had little heart for admiring the scenery. She simply brought a book on Tibetan Buddhism every day, reading as she sipped her tea. When hungry, she would have a simple meal at the restaurant. Over time, the staff and the owner became familiar with her lifestyle and rarely disturbed her, leaving her alone to read, drink tea, and sit in a daze.
One day, two guests arrived at the restaurant: a young girl of about seventeen or eighteen, and a man dressed in black casual wear. They took a seat at the table next to hers. The man appeared to be around forty-five or forty-six years old, with a cold, solemn countenance and a distinguished air in every movement. He wore a black silk casual suit with a tightly buttoned mandarin collar. His clean face appeared slightly somber and cool, with a high, prominent forehead and not a single wrinkle between his brows. His eyes were calm and settled; if they showed no signs of fatigue, his gaze would surely be unfathomably deep. Upon entering the restaurant, he seemed to have no specific purpose, yet after a brief, slight glance around, everything was clearly understood and settled within his mind. He took his seat steadily. Once seated, he took notice of the neighboring table only with his peripheral vision. Wu Aizhen was certain that everything about her had already been swept into his field of vision. Relying on her years of Dhyana-samadhi cultivation and her sharp insight as a psychologist, Wu Aizhen could not help but look upon this man with newfound respect.
After this person sat down, Wu Aizhen felt an invisible pressure radiating from his seat. She was somewhat startled; this was something she had never experienced before. His black clothing could not have caused such an impact—it had to be his “stature” and his “mental energy.” His “stature” likely stemmed from years of professional immersion; he certainly possessed a very noble and influential status. But where did his mental power come from? To her, he did not look like a practitioner. In this era, even a highly realized master would usually bear some traces or “frost” of their long years of cultivation. Yet, this man appeared to have a robust physique with his essence and energy introverted and restrained. Moreover, his face was smooth and radiant, the skin clearly having been meticulously maintained. Wu Aizhen settled her mind. Suddenly, she felt as if there were a cosmic black hole beside her—within it lay destruction and death. A powerful gravitational pull was being transmitted toward her from that black hole. It was the “Mara-king.”
She smiled and let her guard down. Once the mind relaxes, it is like a flower blossoming. She resumed sipping her tea with leisure, and immediately, her surroundings became bathed in brilliant sunshine, with gentle breezes and white clouds flowing around her. However, as she picked up that heavy, thick book, the lingering traces of emotion still present in her heart made her feel a sense of exhaustion and heaviness, causing her to let out a sigh unconsciously.
The “Mara-king” heard her sigh, and his body gave a slight, almost imperceptible tremble. His “mind” leaned toward her direction, though he did not look at her. Yet, Wu Aizhen immediately sensed a flicker of undetectable flusteredness in his gaze—an insight granted by her proficient Dhyana-samadhi power. The young girl was ordering food, switching between Japanese, English, and Chinese. From the girl’s way of addressing him, Wu Aizhen realized she was the “Mara-king’s” daughter. Based on his flawless Japanese replies, she gathered that the father and daughter were Japanese. It appeared the “Mara-king’s” Chinese was quite good; whenever his daughter struggled to express something clearly, he would supplement her words in a low, warm baritone. Though his Mandarin pronunciation was not perfectly accurate, it was pleasant to the ear. When the beautiful Tibetan waitress made a joke with him, the “Mara-king” let out a small laugh. That smile actually appeared remarkably innocent, like that of a young child, even carrying a hint of shyness. This expression caught Wu Aizhen completely off guard. Could she have been mistaken in her judgment?
Brother Nyima, the owner of the Tibetan restaurant, had returned. The owner was a very busy man and rarely made an appearance at the restaurant. However, Wu Aizhen had already chatted with him twice and had even gifted him some Pu-erh tea she had brought from City A. Brother Nyima possessed considerable attainment in the cultivation and realization of Tibetan Buddhism and enjoyed discussing the Dharma with Wu Aizhen.
As soon as he entered the door and saw Wu Aizhen, he greeted her with warm enthusiasm. He quickly made a round through the kitchen in the back, then emerged carrying a pot of freshly boiled butter tea, which he placed on Wu Aizhen’s table.
“Have you had lunch yet?” Brother Nyima asked.
“I didn’t have breakfast until ten-thirty, so I’m not hungry yet.”
“Then let’s have some tea together. I haven’t seen you in quite a while,” Brother Nyima said, his eyes shining brightly with sincerity in his dark-complexioned face.
“Mhm! It’s been about ten days, hasn’t it? What have you been busy with lately?”
“Ah! I accompanied a few businessman friends from Guangdong to a Tibetan Mastiff base to look at the dogs. They wanted to buy some, but they were too expensive, and the breeds weren’t pure. The roads were rough, and the car even broke down halfway there—we almost didn’t make it back.”
“You have the Bodhisattvas protecting you, so how could anything happen?!”
“Haha, yes, the Bodhisattvas protect me… indeed, the Bodhisattvas protect me.” Brother Nyima took a few sips of tea, a flush appearing on his weathered face.
“Bring some beef jerky and toothpick mutton,” Brother Nyima called out to the waitress, casting a glance toward the “Mara-king” at the neighboring table. The “Mara-king” nodded with a polite smile. Brother Nyima then offered an enthusiastic greeting; his brand of warmth suggested that as long as people shared a smile, they were all one family—all good friends.
The waitress brought a plate of beef jerky and a plate of toothpick mutton. Brother Nyima picked up a piece of mutton with his hand and popped it into his mouth, repeatedly urging Wu Aizhen: “Eat, eat! It’s delicious!” Wu Aizhen picked out a tiny piece of beef jerky and chewed it slowly; it looked as though she was having a hard time swallowing.
Having finished his meal, the “Mara-king” stood up and began to stroll about the restaurant. His gaze seemed to be captured by a Tibetan knife hanging on the wall; he was asking the waitress whether he might take it down to admire it.
Seeing that someone admired his treasure, Brother Nyima immediately set down his teacup. After a hurried wipe of his hands with a paper napkin, he crossed the room in a few swift strides and readily took the Tibetan knife down from the wall. From its appearance, the scabbard and hilt were inlaid with turquoise and silver filigree, appearing quite exquisite and luxurious. As he unsheathed it, the tip of the blade revealed a slight curve. The steel was somewhat rusted and not particularly sharp, yet the knife possessed a significant “heaviness”—the specific type of steel used remained a mystery.
Brother Nyima said with pride that this was a family heirloom left to him by his grandfather, and that this very knife had once been used to kill a leopard. Wu Aizhen had previously heard Brother Nyima mention that his family had once held an illustrious status in the Tibetan region, his ancestors being one of the several prominent great families. However, few of the treasures passed down by his forebears remained, and this knife was one of them.
“It seems this knife has even killed a few people,” Brother Nyima whispered mysteriously to the “Mara-king,” though Wu Aizhen was certain everyone in the restaurant could hear him. Most of the guests, however, had already finished their meals and left; only a young couple remained in a far corner, sipping tea and gazing out the window as if admiring the scenery, seemingly uninterested in their conversation.
“Oh!” The “Mara-king” pretended to be provoked by his words, letting out an excited smile.
“Do you know?” Brother Nyima’s interest was piqued. “This knife used to hang in my bedroom. I heard that such a blade could ward off evil. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, the knife would let out a sharp clanging sound—zheng!—giving everyone a fright. Perhaps ghosts or spirits really were coming around. What’s more, I would frequently have nightmares—bloody dreams of killing people.” As Brother Nyima described this, the dreams seemed to linger in his mind, leaving him with a sense of lingering fear.
The “Mara-king’s” smile deepened even further. His gaze wandered, resting tenderly upon the unsheathed blade as he took it from Brother Nyima’s hands. He gently and repeatedly caressed the rusted edge, even giving it a light flick with his finger. His demeanor was like that of a father stroking a slumbering infant, or one softly tapping on a beloved child’s door, fearful of disturbing him.
“Are you selling?” the “Mara-king” spoke.
“Selling?” Brother Nyima was taken aback. “This was left to me by my grandfather. If I sold an ancestral relic, wouldn’t I be nothing but a spendthrift disgrace to my lineage!”
Brother Nyima’s response nearly made Wu Aizhen burst out laughing.
“Besides, you’re Japanese.” This addition caught Wu Aizhen completely by surprise.
“You have a national prejudice,” the “Mara-king” replied, his face still brimming with a smile.
“Not at all. My grandfather was suppressed by the People’s Liberation Army; I was only two years old then. When I was a child, my mother would curse the Communist Party. But I don’t curse them, nor do I hate the Han people. My wife passed away early, and I have a son studying at a university in Beijing; I even plan to send him abroad for further studies in the future. This is the fortune the Communist Party has brought to the Tibetan people. The Japanese killed Chinese people back then, but that was the business of your ancestors—it can’t be blamed on this generation. I can see things clearly enough to let that go.”
“I will pay you more than what it is worth,” the “Mara-king” said.
“What would I do with the money? I am very affluent right now; I’m even preparing to open another Tibetan restaurant in Lhasa. I am only one person, and my son doesn’t need much from me—I have more than enough to spend.” As he spoke, Nyima hung the precious knife back onto the wall.
The “Mara-king” smiled magnanimously, said no more, and turned back to his seat. Nyima returned to his seat across from Wu Aizhen, but he warmly struck up a conversation with the “Mara-king.” He inquired about the customs and local conditions of Japan and introduced the once-flourishing Bon faith of the Nyingchi region. He also shared the legends of the early arrival of Buddhism in Tibet—how Guru Rinpoche engaged in a spiritual battle of powers with the Bon leaders and subdued various mountain and lake spirits across the land. The “Mara-king’s” daughter was fascinated by these stories and pleaded with her father to stay for a few more days. The “Mara-king” looked at his daughter with affection, neither agreeing to nor denying her request.
As the conversation drew to a close, the “Mara-king’s” daughter actually exclaimed, “Tibetan big brother, you are truly amazing! You are so lovely and so wise. Could you take us to visit the places you mentioned? I have so, so many more questions for you. I’m studying the History of World Religions at university, and the reason I came to Tibet this time was to collect materials on the history of Tibetan Buddhism for my graduation thesis. Please, help me! I just love listening to you talk.”
As the young Japanese woman spoke, despite her broken Chinese and heavy accent, she radiated sincerity through her polite body language. The eager thirst for knowledge and genuine admiration shining in her eyes, combined with that sweet, endearing charm unique to a girl her age, made it impossible for anyone to find the heart to refuse her. Sure enough, Brother Nyima blushed. Clearly swept off his feet by the young woman’s flattery, he readily agreed on the spot to take her to see those places tomorrow. Who knew if his car was even fixed yet, or if it could survive another full day of driving around.
Seeing Brother Nyima looking so flustered, Wu Aizhen couldn’t hold it in and burst into laughter.
Nyima immediately grew self-conscious and quickly invited Wu Aizhen to come along with them. This caught Wu Aizhen completely off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.
Nyima’s bright eyes looked at her earnestly, his face a picture of embarrassment and innocence, as if pleading for her to rescue him. The young girl chimed in with her heavily accented Mandarin, “Please, you have to help me out too!”
Only the “Mara-king” remained impassive. He stared at Wu Aizhen with a slightly scrutinizing gaze, seemingly turning something over in his mind, appearing just the slightest bit perturbed.
Wu Aizhen felt her heart tighten under the intensity of his gaze. On impulse, she immediately accepted Nyima’s invitation. She felt as though she had a duty to protect and uphold Nyima. On the surface, she might be unable to do anything and might even require Brother Nyima’s care, but the feeling persisted. They agreed to meet in front of the restaurant at five-thirty the next morning.
← Previous: (VI) Storms in the World of Emotion | Contents | Next: (VIII) Encountering Rain while Traveling Together →