Chapter 174

The elusive wolf king, like a white-furred wind in the snow, vanished silently beneath the moonlight. When I was sent to the northeast for re-education, I heard the village hunters say that wolves with white fur are about to become spirits. The harsh survival environment has made wolf packs cunning and ferocious to the extreme. In Tibet, wolves have always been unwelcome—people chase and beat them, dogs chase and bite them. To survive in nature's cracks requires extraordinary will and sinew. This giant wolf surely knew the power of firearms long ago and only revealed itself when it judged weapons posed no threat.

I don't know what strategy the wolf pack will use against us, but for now, our only option is to quickly regroup with the lama and the big guy, using the ruined temple walls as cover, and hold out until dawn. Even if reinforcements don't arrive, at first light the wolves will retreat into the deep mountains.

I held my gun in one hand, constantly scanning the surroundings, guarding against a sudden wolf attack. With my other hand I supported the Gesar medic, moving swiftly toward the ruined wall where the lama and the big guy were hiding. Gesar held her pistol; at this moment her dizziness seemed to have eased a little. We detoured past the weeds where the company commander and signalman had died, finally returning to the edge of the red ruin. These broken walls were only about chest-high. I first lifted Gesar over the walltop, then followed, climbing over myself.

The Iron Staff Lama was tending to the severely wounded big guy. Seeing me bring Gesar back, he said: "May the auspicious Longevity Buddha, the Sky-Walking Mother, bless us—finally the Gesar Army has rescued Gesar Lam." After speaking, he lifted his eyes to the bright moon above. Whether it's the Kagyu (White Sect), Gelug (Yellow Sect), or Nyingma (Red Sect), all believe that a temple bathed in this full, round moonlight should be a "Still Place of the Sky-Walker." Yet in the deep, fog-shrouded places, it has already become a pitch-black hell. The demon moon's divine beings have turned this originally sacred place into a chaotic dance of demons, the eight disasters and eight tribulations of the final kalpa's turbidity. Whom is this punishing?

I anxiously said to the lama: "The wolf pack outside keeps gathering. Our ammunition isn't plentiful—we must light a fire to scare them off, or else before dawn we'll all be eaten by hungry wolves."

The lama sighed: "Everyone's gone mad—now even wolves dare enter the temple to eat people." Then he led his old horse to the wall. The horse had been trembling like a sieve from the constant wolf howls coming from all directions. Wolves from several pastures at the foot of Kunlun Mountain may have gathered outside the temple. The lama and his old horse have never in their lives heard so many wolves howling at the moon together. These desperate, starving wolves won't care whether someone is a karmic disciple of the Buddha. Even chanting sutras is useless now.

Walls of varying degrees of damage form a circle around us. One wall is relatively high, its body pressed down by an overturned beam. Another side holds the temple-guarding hidden-path stele, inscribed with "Holy Edict of the Great Treasure Dharma King." The massive, broken stele stands no less than five meters tall, making it difficult for wolves to cross from these two sides—but we must also guard against them building wolf ladders to leap in from above.

Gesar first examined the big guy's wound. From her expression, it looked like he was more likely to die than live. I picked up several pieces of dry firewood from the ruins, placed them in the fire to make the flames burn brighter, then took the big guy's semi-automatic rifle, handed it to Gesar, and we each took position to guard a low wall.

Suddenly the wolf howls weakened. I peered over the wall and saw more and more wolves descending from the mountain ridge toward the ruined temple. In the broken grass and crumbling walls, several wolf shadows darted about. They had clearly seen the firelight inside the wall and, before the wolf king gave the order, dared not move recklessly—merely circling. The lama took down dried cow dung and fire-marrow wood, lit a fire in the ruin. Our position was the remains of a side hall's old house, turning around the broken temple.

I saw about forty meters away a pair of eyes like green little lamps. I immediately raised my rifle, aligned the three points, aimed between the two green lights, and pulled the trigger. With a gunshot in the silent night, both green lights went out at once. Though I couldn't confirm whether I hit the target, the shot served as a shock to shake the tiger—on these plains, the wolves fear most the report of the Type 5-6 semi-automatic rifle. They were all startled; to them, this semi-automatic rifle is a divine artifact capable of shattering their souls and confidence. The remaining wolves no longer dared linger nearby, vanishing into darkness—but the low howls indicated they were only temporarily retreating, not giving up.

Seeing the wolves retreat, I eased my tense nerves and recalled the strange encounter on the way to the ancient tomb behind the temple. I casually asked the old lama: Were the past disappearances of people and livestock related to that half-buried stone figure, its whole body covered in rotting green flesh?

To my surprise, the lama said he had never heard of any foul, rotting stone statue in this temple. He asked me to explain in detail. I thought: You're asking me, yet you're making me ask someone else? I had assumed the lama knew this ruined temple well, but he turned out to be just an ordinary old fool. So I kept watch on the wolves' movements outside while recounting everything that had just happened.

After hearing me, the lama recited the six-syllable mantra several times, then exclaimed: "Before, we only thought it was the lingering shade of a ghost mother demon empress from the ancient tomb. We built the temple, erected the great Vajra image, hoping to suppress demons with the stupa and white conch. But for so many years, generation after generation of Buddhist masters have been helpless—yet it turns out the stone statue before the tomb is the source of the harm. If not for the earth fissure and lake collapse, and if the Gesar Army hadn't stumbled upon it, perhaps no one would ever have found it. If this thing continues to nurture for another hundred years, it's sure to become a great disaster."

I didn't understand: "Lama Ake, what did you just mean? How can stone become a spirit? Too bad I already used up my hand grenades—otherwise I'd have just tossed it up to heaven."

The lama said: "You Han people call this mountain the Kunlun Pass, but in Buddhist scriptures it's called Ru Bai Jia Ka, meaning 'the eight-petal Suga carried by the turtle-dragon.' Heaven is like the eight blessings' wheel, earth like the eight-petal lotus. This temple's location happens to be right in the lotus's stamen. Eastern Qiema Mountain resembles the yoni of a rakshasa woman; southern terrain like a scorpion grasping food; western rocks like a water demon gazing; the northern ghost lake, before it dried up, was like a shattered dragon mirror. Originally, building a temple on such a superb terrain could awe the four directions' demons and achieve perfect merit."

But due to the lake's drying up, this place has become a playground for fierce gods. In the dried lake, man-eating demon scorpion-fish have grown. The sky of Lang'e Jia has narrowed—originally, it was the "Duo" (the name of water demons in Buddhist scriptures) that grew on the ancient tomb's stone statue, drowning people in rivers and taking their blood and breath.

Listening to the lama, his words seemed like Tantric geomancy, quite different from what I read in that half-burnt book. Perhaps the intent is the same, but the expression differs too much. Back then I hadn't studied geomantic secrets deeply, so complex geomantic configurations were beyond my grasp—I couldn't understand what he meant. I only caught his mention of "Duo," which sounded familiar—I'd heard it not long ago. Then I recalled when I went with the advance team to the unfrozen spring, hearing transport soldiers say that in Qinghai Lake there's a man-eating water monster. Some who saw it said it looked like a round log; others said like a big fish. The only similarity: it reeks and turns green. Soldiers from Tibet told us they're all "Duo"—water devils that attach to objects; flip a switch and they become something else. If caught, they must be smashed and burned, or else, as they grow old, nothing but the Buddha's great Peng bird can subdue them. When I just finished speaking, the company commander heard and sternly rebuked me.

Tibet's taboos and legends are too many—I can't know the details. I secretly thought: Whatever it is, after dawn I'll find a way to burn it. I must avenge my comrades.

The lama said: "By this ghost lake, countless people and livestock have died. Ordinary people can't handle the Duo on the stone statue—we must ask the Buddhist master to consecrate the Great Salt, then have a dharma protector who has cultivated four lifetimes carry the salt jar. First use salt to bury the rotting stone statue, then three days later dig it up, smash it, and burn it—that's the safest method."

We were whispering our plan when suddenly a thick cloud drifted across the sky, covering the moon. Outside the temple, where firelight couldn't reach, it instantly turned pitch black. I, Gesar, and the lama immediately tensed. We understood: the wolf pack surely knows this is the best moment to attack—they'll spare nothing to come surging in.

Only a mournful wolf howl rang out from above—sorrowful, furious, desolate, filled with unspoken resentment. That was the white-furred wolf king's voice. It had finally given the attack signal. Dark winds swept around, flickering with countless little green lamps. I hurriedly grabbed several wooden sticks and threw them outside the wall to illuminate targets for shooting.

This situation is a severe test of skill and mental fortitude—only by shooting one wolf at a time, without being distracted by the leaping horde of hungry wolves, can we endure. Yet we must also withstand the growing fear as the circle tightens, compounded by the moon being blocked by clouds, visibility too low. I fired five shots in a row, all missing, sweat pouring down my forehead. Then, from atop the "Holy Edict of the Great Treasure Dharma King" stele, a giant wolf leapt down, hesitated not at the fire below, and plunged straight from midair at the old horse hiding beneath the wall. Its fangs bared like knives, it looked ready to bite the horse's neck.

The lama swung his iron staff, striking the wolf's mouth just right—snapping off three or four of its hardest teeth. The wolf was knocked over, rolling into the fire, instantly engulfed in flames. The horse, startled, neighed and lunged toward me. I quickly ducked—the horse leapt from behind me onto the low wall, then was immediately knocked down by several giant wolves charging from outside, dragged into the weeds behind.

Another black-maned, thin wolf leapt into our defense circle, lunging at the unconscious, severely wounded big guy. Gesar raised her rifle and shot the black wolf dead. At the same time, two more wolves leapt in. I wanted to fire to support her, but found the magazine empty—I could only thrust forward with my three-edged bayonet. Gesar's rifle was also out of ammo; she tossed it aside, drew her pistol, and fired. The lama chanted the six-syllable mantra, swung his iron staff, and smashed at the wolves continually leaping over the wall. For a moment, shouts, wolf howls, gunfire, and the sounds of breaking bones and tearing sinews from man and wolf combat mixed together inside the temple's broken walls.