Chapter 5: The Three Sacred Vessels
The setting sun slowly descends to the horizon, and the evening breeze makes the summer no longer scorching hot.
In front of the mourning hall behind the Kucha Palace, mournful music was played, and myrrh and frankincense were thrown into the blazing flames in front of the hall.
Amidst the strange fragrance that spread into the royal city, the people of Kucha gathered in front of the mausoleum from the streets and alleys, following the footsteps of Qiandeng, escorting King Changhua into the mausoleum to worship the ancestral temple forever.
The Crown Prince, along with his ministers on their western tour, was invited to watch the ceremony. Together with the King of Kucha, they waited on the steps of the mausoleum for the thousand lamps to arrive to carry the spirit tablet.
Cui Fufeng and Ji Linyou each held the clothes and hat of King Changhua, standing behind the thousand lights, and followed her up the stairs step by step into the mausoleum.
Thousands of candles are burning in the hall with a high dome, reflecting the solemn and majestic spirit tablets of the great rulers and important figures of Kucha throughout the dynasties stacked in layers.
On the walls of the palace are hung life-size portraits, some old and some new. They are the deceased ancestors of Kucha, whose faces are still recorded on old papers.
Qiandeng walked up the steps slowly and placed his grandfather's spirit tablet uprightly beside the previous King of Kucha. When he turned around, everyone in the hall was stunned.
Her figure was approaching a portrait in the hall, making the painting and her like shadows, complementing each other.
Unlike other solemn and majestic portraits, the woman in this painting is dancing gracefully in front of snow-capped mountains and lakes with a very agile posture - she is Queen Guishan who led Kucha to submit to the Tang Dynasty and ended a century of war.
The people from Kucha were fine, but the Crown Prince, Cui Fufeng, Ji Linyou and others who saw Qiandeng for the first time couldn't help but feel inexplicable waves of emotion in their hearts, thinking that Qiandeng was quite similar to this great-grandmother.
In fact, her grandfather's deep, fair, exotic complexion, after being mixed with two generations of maternal blood, made Qiandeng more delicate and beautiful, with facial features quite different from those of her legendary great-grandmother.
It's just the unparalleled expression between their eyebrows that makes them have too many similarities.
In this ancient and solemn hall, two women separated by a hundred years overlapped as if by fate, shocking those who looked up below.
The hall was very quiet, and everyone's eyes were filled with complicated emotions.
Ji Linyou also found this strange. He approached Cui Fufeng and whispered, "Sir Cui, why is it that only this portrait of the queen is different from the others?"
Cui Fufeng lowered his voice and said, "I heard that Queen Guishan's husband was from the famous Sunali family in Kucha and was very skilled in painting. I believe this must be the portrait he painted for his wife."
"Which side is the Sunali family...?" Ji Linyou's eyes swept across the various families in the spirit hall.
"They've disappeared," Cui Fufeng said calmly. "Ten years ago, their entire clan was wiped out because they colluded with the Western Fan."
Behind them stood the Grand Commandant, whose position in Kucha was equivalent to that of a prime minister and who was naturally fluent in Chinese. Seeing them discussing domestic affairs, he quickly explained, "It was precisely because of the Sunali family's misfortune that his paintings had been stored away in the warehouse. This time, because the queen's portrait was accidentally damaged by fire, they were temporarily taken out and hung."
Then you should get a more dignified one.
Ji Linyou thought so, but then he thought again: he is a husband, not a painter, so how could he draw his wife in a correct posture?
However, it seems that the couple had a good relationship. Unfortunately, their descendants were not so good and were actually exterminated by the clan.
Ji Linyou's gaze shifted from the portrait to Qian Deng, watching the fluctuating light and shadow cast on her by the slightly flickering light, which made him look three points more captivating and lively than the woman in the painting.
He only felt that the blood in his heart was swaying slightly with the light, like fire, like water waves, and he couldn't control himself.
Turning his head away and not daring to look again, Ji Linyou turned his head and saw Xue Xiyang not far away.
He was hidden in the darkness of the lamplight, and his expression could not be seen clearly. Only his eyes were frighteningly bright as he stared at the painting, which was filled with complexities that he could not understand.
Could it be that this talented and romantic man who is good at painting was aroused by the sight of such an outstanding painting?
Before he could sort out the thoughts, he heard the imperial teacher on the high platform cough lightly, breaking the strange atmosphere in the hall, and signaled to bring out the three sacred objects that protect the country and offer them before the heroic rulers of all generations to celebrate and comfort the heroic spirit of King Changhua who had returned to his hometown.
Outside the hall came the cheers of the people, like waves coming from far away.
Looking out from the temple gate, I saw everyone in the square bowing in worship. In the center of the crowd were monks holding the three sacred vessels, slowly approaching the shrine.
It was the first time that Qiandeng saw the three sacred treasures of Kucha. She stood at the bottom of the steps and admired with everyone the national treasures that had been treasured for hundreds of years and not easily shown to others.
The first sacred object was the glazed lotus that Kumarajiva held in his hand when he was preaching on a golden lion.
The lotus is made of thin green glass. The azure color is the color that best represents Kucha. It is as clear as the water in a mountain lake and like the earliest blue at dawn.
Because it is so thin and transparent, each lotus petal seems to be condensed with a faint light, and the layers are filled with different shades of brilliance. Each petal's reflection is a gorgeous and magical world.
Supporting this rare lotus is a slender emerald green lotus stem, fixed on a white jade base carved into the shape of water waves, making it as fresh as if it had just emerged from the water.
In order to protect the fragile and thin glass, the Kucha craftsmen made a round golden cage with a moderate density, and used gold wire to weave exquisite cloud patterns to cover the lotus. Each cloud-shaped hollow can barely hold a petal, so that it can be supported while never escaping the protection of the golden cage, keeping it safe and secure.
The second sacred object was placed on a tall agarwood base and was carried out by two tall monks.
It was a golden colored glass Dharma wheel, approximately six feet in diameter and three inches thick. Despite its massive size, it was a golden, clear object, a rare and large piece of transparent colored glass.
The center of the Dharma Wheel is a sixteen-petal lotus as its hub, with eight spokes radiating outwards, symbolizing the Eightfold Path. These spokes are connected to an outer ring decorated with a beaded band, and extend outwards to an octagonal glazed blade.
The most impressive feature is the outer ring, where the craftsman has delicately crafted a relief glaze pattern. Beneath a dense Bodhi tree, a pair of sika deer lie on the ground, listening to a sutra, their postures elegant and tranquil. Meanwhile, in the sky, gods preach, celestial maidens scatter flowers, and auspicious clouds unfold in a myriad of changing scenes.
In the hall's candlelight, the golden light on the Dharma Wheel swirled in circles, shining like the sun and stars. This massive and exquisite glassware was nothing short of a miracle.
The third magical instrument is a red glazed vajra.
On the cylindrical handle in the middle of the vajra is a gilded Sanskrit forbidden mantra written by Kumarajiva. Nine dragons are coiled on the left and right ends, holding up layers of lotus platforms. Nine strands of scarlet colored glass extend out, twisting into the shape of lotus flowers with their backs facing each other in front and back of the handle, just like the legendary red lotus of karma fire.
The pointed petals of the red lotus are clustered together, forming a sharp blade that symbolizes the elimination of ignorance. The blade holds out a jewel in the middle, which rotates around in the heart of the flower and spins with slight turbulence.
For ease of grip, this crimson vajra is not large, no more than the length of two palms. Yet, it embodies both movement and stillness, its sharpness and roundness blended into one, perfectly embodying the unity of emptiness and wonder.
Amid the chanting of monks and the wisps of incense smoke, the national master led the monks in burning incense and praying, lighting the huge sea-jar lamps on both sides of the incense table.
They are called sea lanterns, but in fact they are two huge stone jars, big enough for two people to hug, filled with clear fragrant oil.
They have been burning in the temple for thousands of years, with lamp oil added every day. The eternal flames are like the ancient and long-standing country of Kucha, burning continuously and never extinguished.
Amidst the silence that filled the hall, the Imperial Master sat cross-legged before the golden lapis lazuli Dharma Wheel, with a blue lapis lazuli lotus blossoming on his left and a red lapis lazuli vajra in his right hand. After reciting the Diamond Sutra, he proceeded to lecture on the Lotus Sutra.
The door of the shrine was open, and the people outside knelt and listened devoutly, while those inside sat cross-legged and listened quietly to the scriptures.
After the lecture was over, everyone chanted the profound meaning of the sutra together. The Imperial Master stood up, and the monks held up the three sacred vessels and placed them on the incense table in front of the spirit tablet.
The high steps and the even higher incense table meant that people in the hall could only see the highest golden cage. Even Qiandeng, who was standing near the bottom of the steps, had to stand on tiptoe to see the flat Dharma wheel and the smaller vajra.
Cui Fufeng stood beside her. He was a head taller than her, so he easily caught a glimpse of the three sacred vessels. He whispered to her, "These are sacred vessels dedicated to heroic spirits. We mortals below us cannot examine them."
As Qiandeng nodded silently, he heard bursts of mournful music, which was the music of the Tang Dynasty.
She looked up and saw that the person who was slowly walking up the steps and standing next to the sea-tank lamp and leading the people in playing funeral music was none other than Xue Xiyang.
He served as the Minister of Music in the Tang Dynasty, and came to supplement the Western Region music scores that were lost during the turmoil. The Prince of Changhua was a prince that the Tang Dynasty relied on, so it was natural that Tang funeral music would be played during the ceremony.
The sound of the flute was sad and gloomy. He led the newly taught Kucha musicians to play the Central Plains Elegy, but he did not put down the flute in his hand. He just changed the tune, and the Kucha Requiem filled the entire hall.
Along with the mournful sound of the flute, the pipa, konghou, ruanxian, jiegu, xiao and sheng all started playing in the hall.
Kucha, which was once praised by Master Xuanzang as "the best in orchestral music among all countries", connected the Tang Dynasty, India and Persia. The fusion of East and West gave rise to the most brilliant source of music on the Silk Road. The music was desolate and desolate, as if it came from another world, which was very different from the Central Plains.
Xue Xiyang was extremely gifted in music, and he was proficient in many other musical instruments. His flute sound merged with the many musical instruments of Kucha, becoming clearer and more melodious.
Even though the sounds of more than a hundred musical instruments in the temple were magnificent, the sound of the flute, like a wisp of golden and iron wires, continued to flow throughout, like a cry or a complaint, making everyone who heard it burst into tears and unable to control themselves.
Qiandeng raised his hand to cover his mouth, trying to suppress his sobs when he heard Cui Fufeng beside him say "Huh" softly.
She turned to look at him, her eyes questioning.
Cui Fufeng pondered for a moment, but finally said, "I just find it a little strange. Xue Lecheng's rhythm today is too dangerous. Generally speaking, music played at ceremonies should be low and deep, not this high."
Hearing him say this, Qian Deng also felt that it was a little inappropriate, but then they all understood Xue Xiyang's intention of changing the rhyme.
When the funeral music was about to end, the sound of the flute gradually rose in sobs, leading all the instruments like waves and clouds, allowing everyone who was originally immersed in sadness to gradually withdraw, and use the vigorous and upward force to wade out of the darkness and depression, not afraid of hardships, not afraid of death, and continue to rush forward.
Qiandeng could tell that this was no longer funeral music, but had turned into the tune commemorating her grandfather.
This passionate music not only trembled everyone in the hall, but also silenced the thousands of people waiting outside. The noisy voices gradually faded away, and the chorus of voices converged, one voice overlapping and one wave higher than the other. They were singing the song praising King Changhua.
The little prince who ran away from the snow-capped mountains is the descendant of Queen Guishan.
The King of Changhua who returned from Chang'an was the glory of the Tang Dynasty in Kucha.
The eight tones, ranging from low and subdued to powerful and high-pitched, were repeated again and again among the crowd, their overlapping sounds shocking the mind.
The music inside the temple led the people outside, and the people's singing also penetrated the solemn temple.
Qiandeng listened silently until all the music stopped. Then she felt her cheeks were cold. She raised her hand and touched them, and found tears streaming down her face.
Xue Xiyang, who had put down his flute, was bathed in the light of the ocean-tank lamp, staring at her from the steps.
He was dressed in plain white clothes, shedding all his past splendor. His charming eyes and eyebrows also lost all their charm at this moment, leaving only a concerned gaze at her.
Qiandeng pursed her lips and nodded at him, then turned her head away and wiped away her tears, so as not to let others see her fragile and helpless appearance.
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