After seeing Keiko off, Wu Aizhen and Akikawa returned to the parking lot. Akikawa drove a black, silver-trimmed Maybach 62, a stretch longer than the cars parked on either side, its freshly polished body gleaming conspicuously. On the way to the airport, Keiko had mentioned that her father had had it custom-built; it bore both City A and Macau plates.
“Sit in front,” Akikawa said when Wu Aizhen opened the rear door.
Wu Aizhen did as he asked.
“Do you come to City A often?”
“No, this is my first time. I’ve only passed through before, but people from the Macau branch come often. We run two casinos and a hotel in Macau.”
“Oh.”
The car left the airport. City A’s lights were just coming on. Beneath the dazzling, multicolored neon, the stream of traffic moved like luminous sprites racing through the night, somehow more relaxed and mysterious than in daylight.
Wu Aizhen suddenly realized, for the first time, how beautiful City A’s night could be. Through the car window, the scenery rushed by; under the clear night sky, people and things became a succession of flowing ink-wash paintings, stirring a faint pleasure in her heart and rousing a hazy, girlish spring feeling. She almost forgot that Akikawa was sitting beside her.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. I’d never realized City A’s night was so beautiful.”
“Really?” Akikawa gave her a meaning-laden glance. “You never went out much at night before?”
“Hardly ever. I’ve been in City A over ten years, and nearly half that time I’ve spent in mountain monasteries. The mountain nights are beautiful too, but the city has a different mood.”
“You practiced Buddhism in the mountains?”
“Visiting teachers, making pilgrimages, quieting my mind — my own depth of practice is shallow, so I hoped the surroundings could help a little.”
“So you don’t work?”
“Almost six months of the year I earn money, the other six I spend away. I used to co-own a psychology clinic in City A, but I pulled out completely before going to Tibet. I’d planned never to come back to this place.”
Akikawa glanced at her quietly, a trace of concern in his eyes but more puzzlement. He did not ask.
“I’m a little curious about your way of life. Still, whatever way you choose, as long as it makes you happy, it’s good — just take care of your health. Is there anyone else in your family?”
“I think I mentioned that I have an older brother settled in England, and both my parents are still in my hometown.”
“And the teacher you mentioned — did you meet him here too?”
“Yes. After college I was assigned to City C, but because my boyfriend was in City A, I quit and came here. The first year I arrived, I met my present teacher and began a systematic cultivation and certification practice under his guidance. But I’m a terrible practitioner; I embarrass my teacher. Sometimes I’m ashamed to admit in public that I’m his disciple …”
Wu Aizhen tilted her face slightly, genuinely a little embarrassed.
Akikawa saw her expression and smiled silently. “Is it because of your practice that you never married?”
“No. At first we lived in separate cities, then we had no apartment. By the time we were ready, my boyfriend had fallen for another girl. Though, to be honest, in that period I was completely absorbed in practice and didn’t have much time for him.” Wu Aizhen paused, as if lingering in a memory, then let out a soft breath — so soft, but Akikawa caught it. The image of Ren Qingfei drifted through her thoughts. Why had they parted? … The tides of feeling, the partings and reunions — how could a single sentence or one reason ever say it all?
“Maybe it’s just fate. Just fate.” Wu Aizhen looked at Akikawa as she spoke and smiled faintly, the sadness touched with loneliness and resignation, a flash of luminous insight flickering lightly through the glance.
Akikawa felt as if something had gently tapped his heart. He suddenly thought that Wu Aizhen’s smile just then was very beautiful — like a flower beaten by rain. Though it still bore the marks of a violent storm, in the mist it was already eagerly unfolding its tender petals toward the first rays of light, displaying all its beauty and ethereal grace. Once, on her sickbed in Tibet, he had seen her strong, inward side. In those days she had been like someone drowning; hardship seemed to keep her head bowed in thought. The load in her heart and her thin frame created such a sharp contrast that he had thought she might collapse under the weight. Yet her silence had often burst with an intangible strength, moving him and surprising him. But to be honest, he had not liked her then. He much preferred this laugh of hers now — fragile yet charged with spirit, as though nothing could press her down or bind her anymore, her heart like a beam of light through fog. Perhaps she had learned to face everything with equanimity, to laugh at herself and use humor, to slip through and dodge and navigate the flaws of this time and space, revealing her lightness and agility …
Akikawa suddenly felt an impulse to take her in his arms. But he did nothing. That lightness of hers was fleeting, impossible to seize, like a spirit fox that cannot be kept — it slipped from his heart in an instant. You could never hope to hold it in your arms like a pet.
“During this idle time I’ve been reading some Buddhist books. It seems Buddhism is divided into the Small Vehicle, the Great Vehicle, and the Secret Vehicle — which is better? Is the Secret Vehicle just Tibetan Buddhism? Is it the same as the Japanese Esoteric School?”
“The Small Vehicle, the Great Vehicle, and the Secret Vehicle are simply different dharma doors and teachings that the Buddha opened according to people’s different faculties and capacities; none is better or higher. For those of the highest faculties and capacity, any vehicle can bring sudden realization of the Buddha’s principles. And the Secret Vehicle doesn’t mean only Tibetan Buddhism. The Secret School arose as a Buddhist sect in India around the seventh century. It entered China by three routes at different times. One route came in the Tang dynasty, through the ‘Three Great Masters of the Kaiyuan Era,’ via the Silk Road and sea routes to the capital Chang’an, forming the Chinese-style Tang Esoteric School, and later entered Japan — that is what is now the Japanese Eastern Esoteric School. Another route, about seventy years later, crossed the Himalayas when Padmasambhava brought it to Tibet, forming the Tibetan Buddhism you’ve seen. And yet another branch entered Yunnan, forming the Yunnan Esoteric School. All these can be called the Secret Vehicle. But because Indian Esoteric Buddhism merged with the local culture, customs, and indigenous religions wherever it entered, these branches differ somewhat in their ritual practices, principal texts, and views.”
“I haven’t read that much. I only saw that Tibetan Esoteric Buddhism has practices for controlling desire with desire and subduing greed with greed, and I thought that was wonderful. Since you can enjoy all the pleasures of this world and still attain accomplishment, why do some people still practice asceticism?”
“Trust you to find that dharma door right away. But to practice secret methods directly, you need the empowerment and blessing of an accomplished teacher, and you also need to be a suitable disciple. Not everyone has such extraordinary causes and conditions or the right faculties and capacity. Without all those conditions, it’s very hard to achieve accomplishment in this dharma door.”
“Could your teacher do it? Have you practiced it?”
“If it’s a secret method, can I tell you!” She laughed as she spoke. “I’m not qualified yet. But my teacher is remarkable. Whether it’s the Chan School, the secret teachings, or the Pure Land, he seems to have penetrated every dharma door.” Admiration and reverence flowed through Wu Aizhen’s eyes.
“Could I meet your teacher this time?”
“Yes, I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow.”
“Should we go back to your place or stop at my hotel for a while?” Akikawa asked.
“It’s too late. Take me home first. We’ll have time to talk tomorrow. If you have time, I could show you the sights around City A.”
“I’ll try to make time.”
The car had already entered Wu Aizhen’s residential compound. The security guard on duty at the gate, while copying down the license plate and handing over a parking ticket, cast a strange look at Wu Aizhen through the window, but his manner was extremely deferential. Wu Aizhen recognized the man. Once when she had come back late in a taxi, this very same guard had adamantly refused to let the cab enter, even though she showed her ID and explained that she’d bought a lot of things and hoped the taxi could drop her at her door. But the guard was “iron-faced and impartial,” not bending the slightest bit. In the end she had lugged all her bags from the gate to her apartment by herself … She had long heard that the security guards here judged people by their cars, always treating those who drove luxury vehicles with extra courtesy. And this time the guard had let them through without asking a single question — certainly on account of the Maybach 62. At the thought, Wu Aizhen glanced back at the guard through her rolled-down window. Seeing his snobbish, humble manner, a light flutter of vanity rose unbidden in her heart, but she caught herself at once and silently laughed at herself for being almost on the same level as the guard.
The compound was quiet. One could hear the whisper of tires against the pavement. The high-rise buildings stood solemn and upright; only an occasional lit window showed a scattered light, as if the whole community had sunk into deep slumber.
After entering the compound, Akikawa drove very slowly, almost coming to a complete halt over the speed bumps. A strange sensation suddenly flickered through Wu Aizhen, a feeling that a special mature masculine charm was radiating from Akikawa — something containing care, protection, tenderness, temptation, masculine strength, and calm emotion all steadily reaching her. Akikawa remained silent, his resolute face, caught in the shifting light and shadow of the car, appearing extraordinarily warm and handsome, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Then, between a few trees, he stopped the car. Wu Aizhen looked at him, confused; they were not yet at her door. Akikawa turned abruptly, fixed his eyes on her, pulled her into his arms, and pressed his lips quickly and tightly to hers. After a deep, long kiss, he slowly brushed light kisses over her lips, chin, and neck. His eyes were closed, his face and lips burning hot. He was drunk on the atmosphere of this feeling. Softly, gently, he bit her lips with tight pressure, pushing the tip of his tongue lightly between her teeth. His kiss grew little by little in force, lingering and passionate … His right arm enfolded her waist and back, his left hand holding her shoulder. He did not caress her, but his grip on her shoulder tightened steadily … You could see how hard he was trying to control himself. When Wu Aizhen’s body finally twisted in his arms, he immediately let go, alert, and pressed her gently back into place, as though setting down an object. His hands returned to the steering wheel. His face was flushed, like a man drunk. He drew a deep breath, as if that kiss had drained all his strength. He turned and looked at Wu Aizhen, still sitting dazed in her seat. His eyes were startlingly bright but tinged with a hint of resentment, as if carrying a kind of vindictive pleasure. But quickly he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and rubbed his hands lightly over the steering wheel, as though in repentance or reflection. When he opened his eyes again, he said softly, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t control myself just then.” “Oh, it’s nothing,” Wu Aizhen heard herself say. She tried to smile at Akikawa but didn’t quite succeed. She lowered her head and looked at her intertwined fingers; she could hear her heart pounding. She was not putting on a show of reserve. She had genuinely been startled. When Akikawa had stopped the car, she’d been bewildered and hadn’t known what was about to happen. By the time his burning lips were on hers, she’d come sharply awake — but it was already too late. Akikawa had held her body as though in iron clamps, his kiss, carrying a distinct masculine scent, bearing down on her like a mountainside. She felt she had no strength to resist and was instantly melted by his sudden, erupting passion. He was a man of extreme self-control, and even his kiss seemed to hoard boundless power within his body, releasing it bit by bit, each time harder than the last, giving Wu Aizhen a sensation she had never experienced before. She leaned back lightly against the seat, her mind a blank, feeling drunk too, groggy. She didn’t even know how she’d said goodbye to Akikawa. When she climbed the stairs alone, the night breeze blowing through the landing window still left her feeling as if she were dreaming …
Akikawa returned to his hotel. Lying on his bed, the scene of their kiss kept replaying in his mind — the memory of her soft twisting in his arms, the way her lips had received and hinted during the kiss. From time to time a small, secret delight rose in him, as though he were stealing a woman’s heart, a woman who had not been on her guard at all. Or had she simply staged an “empty city ruse”? Now that he had stepped through the gate, a sudden fear seized him: had he really entered so easily? What would be waiting for him?
He tossed and turned all night, thinking and thinking. At one point he very much wanted to call her, but it was too late. Had she already fallen asleep? Perhaps she was sleeping soundly and hadn’t given the incident a second thought, seeing it merely as a man’s childish impulse. She had been with men before; she wouldn’t take a single kiss to heart. Perhaps with her cultivation wisdom she would easily set it aside.
He thought of every small detail and gesture of her everyday manner. He imagined how in the car he could have kept going—he could have caressed her, he could have asked her to come to his hotel for the night or offered to go to hers. Then he thought of that round bed and the pink mosquito net, imagined her lying inside it, imagined the two of them lying together… But he had stopped abruptly. Wu Aizhen’s squirm had jolted him into startled awareness, and what followed that alertness was, to his surprise, a sense of loss and fear. What exactly was he afraid of? He stared at the ceiling, his mind a tangle… Maybe he feared loss; maybe he feared that what came easily he might just as easily let slip away. He feared cause and effect, remembering how he had once despised all women, and that contempt might now rebound upon himself. He feared that Wu Aizhen would see through him—he did not dare go any deeper. He feared that Wu Aizhen would turn out like other women, losing her original allure once a relationship began, becoming a completely different person. He feared she would disappoint him. He did not want to look down on this woman, did not want her actions to trigger in him the same contempt and despair he had felt for all women before. He would rather keep things with her as they were now. He needed a woman he could confide in, even if she was a wise Chinese woman. He could not see through her; he could not guess what she would give him in love or what she would become, and he did not dare imagine. Yet facing her, he still hadn’t managed to control his feelings! He had already taken that first step. He had kissed her, and she had not refused. From their first meeting in Tibet to that evening’s embrace, she had entered his heart little by little. And he had put up no defenses at all. By the time he became aware of it, a single spark had already set the prairie ablaze. That feeling had gathered force and erupted at the slightest touch, like a volcano bursting forth in an instant, leaving him no time to guard against it, leaving him unable to find its cause or purpose. Even now he could not figure out when he had fallen in love with her, or when he had come to care about her so deeply. Just how had she walked into his heart? What charm had she used to capture him? And what did he love about her? He had never thought she was trying to seduce him! She had none of a woman’s coquettishness; she was not the kind of woman who sparks desire at first glance. She never batted her eyes or flaunted her charms. She was natural, grounded, and calm, with occasional flashes of spirit and wisdom—just suited to be a trusted female confidante. And yet he, who considered himself rarely tempted by women, who had always played the cold-hearted one in front of them, had suddenly rushed in so impulsively…
After returning home, when Wu Aizhen went to charge her phone as usual, she discovered a message from Zheng Meiqin sent around nine o’clock. At that time she had been at the airport saying goodbye to Keiko, and her bag with the phone was still in Yamaguchi’s car, so she couldn’t hear it. It was almost midnight; she didn’t know if Zheng Meiqin was still awake. But after a brief internal debate, she replied. In her text, Zheng Meiqin had asked her to send her email address.
“Sorry, I just saw your text. I’m still a computer illiterate; I don’t have an email address.” Zheng Meiqin replied right away—she was clearly a night owl, not yet in bed.
“For the sake of your online fans, you ought to learn how to use a computer soon.”
“Yes, you’re right, President Zheng.” Wu Aizhen mimicked the tone Ren Qingfei had used back then. Zheng Meiqin immediately called her. She said she was very grateful for the books and the disc Wu Aizhen had sent, that she’d been reading and listening for days. The Mi Lang matter was settled; she would not pursue him further.
“Is that Ren Qingfei singing on the disc?” She had clearly recognized his voice and asked over the phone.
“Yes!”
“His singing is quite moving. Give him my regards. I hope he’s happy!” Clearly Zheng Meiqin assumed Wu Aizhen was still with Ren Qingfei, and Wu Aizhen did not correct her. Then Zheng Meiqin hung up. Wu Aizhen gave Zheng Meiqin her home address, and Zheng said she had already written a letter and would mail it to her.
When Wu Aizhen lay in bed, the hour of zi had already passed. Closing her eyes, Yamaguchi, Ren Qingfei, Zheng Meiqin, Ding Yiming, Mi Lang, Keiko, and all the events of the past days surfaced one after another in her mind. Inwardly she examined the arising and movement of her thoughts, the sensations, in each encounter, each situation, and asked whether she could stand aside and observe calmly, as her master had taught—observing others and observing herself. But she felt she still fell short; sometimes she was still pulled along by circumstances. Yet she sensed that her one real improvement was that she could now quickly summon mindful awareness, and that the impact of many past and present events could dissolve swiftly without lingering in her heart. She no longer harbored too many worries about the future. She was able to spend more time focused on whatever she was doing in the present moment, and from that she found peace and happiness.
As for Yamaguchi’s kiss, after she took Zheng Meiqin’s call she had already fully cooled down. When she stepped into the bathroom and stood under the showerhead, letting the hard spray of water pour down from her head, in that moment she recalled the feel of Yamaguchi kissing her. She felt that neither her former boyfriend nor the Little Shramanera had ever kissed her like that. His kiss seemed to carry an irresistible force, seeping in slowly from her lips and mouth, little by little kindling the desire in her heart. For one moment she had felt a rush of impulse; she suddenly remembered that scene during her illness. Her arms had wanted to reach up and wrap around his neck, the way she had clung to that dragon. But the moment her body twisted and struggled slightly, Yamaguchi had immediately pushed her away. It was as if he had teased her—just when a stirring of desire had begun to rise in her, he suddenly pulled back and withdrew. Now, as she slowly recollected, she felt a flicker of irritation at being toyed with, or a pang of innocent grievance at a pleasure left unfinished. But she quickly calmed down. She realized she was not a woman who gave herself wholeheartedly to her own romantic life. By now she regarded her own emotions very lightly. Perhaps Yamaguchi had only wanted to show his affection, like the way people hug when they meet overseas. Of course there was some uncontrollable rush of attraction in it—maybe it was because he’d had something to drink. A kiss might have meant nothing to him, but the help he and Keiko had given her when her life hung in the balance was something she would engrave in her heart. And after all this time together, she had come to regard father and daughter as friends. She might not fully understand what kind of underworld organization his family was, but that did not affect her trust in them or her gratitude. Whether he acted out of fondness or a drunken impulse did not matter very much. She no longer wanted to guess what his intentions were when he kissed her. What mattered was herself—whether she was willing to accept him. She believed that toward their relationship, he possessed the same sincerity and goodwill that she did, and she thought the answer was yes. Though from their first meeting—and perhaps even now—she had always sensed a very cold side within Yamaguchi, people could change. Hadn’t he agreed to let Keiko meet her mother? Maybe that coldness was a quality required by a life in the underworld. Although she wholeheartedly revered what was true, good, and beautiful, she did not particularly reject or despise cold-hearted people. The cold-hearted could possess a stillness and a strength—only that stillness and strength could easily turn into cruelty and destruction. At that thought, her heart suddenly tightened. Perhaps she still did not truly know Yamaguchi, had not really touched the dark side of society. All she could imagine was nothing more than conjecture drawn from movies, TV, and novels. She remembered Yamaguchi saying in Tibet that when he caught the man who had killed Keisuke, he would use the man’s head as a sacrifice to his friend, and the dark, cold look on his face at that moment made her wonder if she was being too naive. But she quickly swept away all negative thoughts about him. He had once done her a kindness, and that alone was enough—enough to keep her connected with him. Even if his help came with some purpose, it didn’t matter. To doubt a man’s motives before you had even repaid his kindness was hardly the act of a noble person. Besides, she had nothing, was no devastating beauty. What could he possibly hope to gain by associating with her, or what improper designs could he have on her? Her heart settled. She put everything out of her mind and soon slipped into sleep…
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