Announcer of Death
She is a wandering sky burial master, and everyone is afraid of her and tries to avoid her as much as possible.
Qi Diao Yanfei walked with heavy steps across the boundless grassland, dragging a simple wooden cart behind her. On the cart were all her belongings: several knives of various shapes, shining with cold light, a roll of yellowed shroud, and a collection of poems with worn corners - "The Biography of Poems of Tsangyang Gyatso".
The wind blew, lifting her dark red cloak, revealing the dark Tibetan robe beneath. The cloak had been washed white, and the edges were frayed, as if gnawed by countless days and nights of wind and frost. Her face was covered by a thick veil, revealing only a pair of eyes as deep as a cold pool. There was no light or warmth in those eyes, only a dead silence.
In the distance, several herders spotted her, hurriedly packed up their tents, and drove their cattle and sheep away in the opposite direction. The children were hastily dragged into the tents by their parents, not daring even to take a curious look.
Qi Diao Yanfei had long since grown accustomed to such scenes. She was the herald of death on the grasslands, the voice of death. Wherever she passed, flowers and grass lost their color, and birds fell silent. People believed that the mere sight of her would bring disaster.
But she didn't care. She had buried countless people, men, women, young and old, monsters and demons, chopping their remains into small pieces and feeding them to crows and vultures. She knew every joint in the human body, knew how to neatly separate muscle and bone, how to restore a complete body to its most primitive components.
"We eat all kinds of living things when we are alive, and after we die, our bodies will be returned to nature, and our souls will return to heaven and earth." This is what she often said to the dead, although few people were willing to listen to her.
At dusk, she arrived at a small village. Beneath an old locust tree at the village entrance, several elderly people sat chatting. At the sight of her, they fell silent and hurriedly left. Only a white-haired old woman stood motionless, her cloudy eyes fixed on her.
Qi Diao Yanfei walked up to the old woman and nodded slightly.
"Mercy Announcer," the old woman's voice was hoarse, "my old man is dying. Please give him a ride."
She nodded and followed the old woman into a low earthen house. The room was dim, lit only by the faint flickering light of a butter lamp. On the kang lay a gaunt old man, breathing weakly and with a vacant look in his eyes.
"He bathed in the holy lake, circumambulated the mountains and pagodas, and lived a life of piety," the old woman whispered, stroking her husband's forehead with her rough hand. "He hoped to be sky-buried after his death, so that his soul could ascend to heaven on an eagle."
Qi Diao Yanfei said nothing, but quietly observed the old man's condition. She could judge the approach of death from a person's breathing and eyes. This was her innate ability, and also a curse she could not escape.
"He still has a quarter of an hour." She said softly, her voice hoarse like an instrument that had not been used for a long time.
The old woman's eyes were moist, but she didn't cry out loud. She lit a stick of incense and inserted it into the incense burner at the head of the bed, then stepped aside and recited scriptures silently.
Qi Diao Yanfei took a clean cloth from the wooden cart and spread it on the edge of the kang. Then she took out the biography of Tsangyang Gyatso's poems and gently flipped it open. The pages were yellowed, and the corners were noticeably worn, showing that it had been read countless times.
"That day, with my eyes closed in the fragrant mist of the scriptures, I suddenly heard the true words in your chanting..." She recited in a low voice, her voice so soft as if she was afraid to disturb the soul of the deceased.
The old man's breathing gradually became steady, his eyes no longer distracted, but focused on a distant place. His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end no sound came out.
Qi Diao Yanfei continued to recite: "That month, I shook all the prayer wheels, not for salvation, but just to touch your fingertips."
When the last word fell, the old man's breathing stopped. His eyes slowly closed, and a peaceful expression appeared on his face.
The old woman finally couldn't help sobbing.
Qi Diao Yanfei closed her poetry collection and began to prepare. She first cleansed the old man's body, then wrapped him in a white shroud. The entire process was solemn and skillful, without a trace of haste or hesitation.
"From the day you returned to nature, everything in the world is you. The blowing wind is your caress, and the falling snowflakes are your light dance." She whispered to the body.
The next morning, just after dawn, Qi Diao Yanfei carried the wrapped remains to a nearby sky burial platform. It was a highland ringed by prayer flags, the air thick with the scent of mulberry smoke. Several vultures were already waiting on the nearby cliffs, witnesses and performers of the sky burial.
She placed the body in the center of the sky burial platform, lit mulberry incense, and began chanting scriptures, a crucial part of the sky burial ritual, guiding the deceased's soul out of the world and on to the afterlife.
As the smoke from the mulberry trees rose, more and more vultures and crows gathered, waiting quietly, as if they also understood the solemnity of the ceremony.
After the chanting, Qi Diao Yanfei began to prepare the body. She unwrapped the shroud, revealing the old man's emaciated form. Then she picked up a sharp knife and began to cut up the body. The blade gleamed in the morning light, each strike precise and sharp. She knew every joint in the human body and knew how to efficiently separate the flesh from the bones.
"In the past, nothing in the world was as good as you. Now, everything in the world is you." She chanted softly while working.
When the last piece of meat was separated, she stepped back and blew a bone flute. The sharp sound cut through the morning silence, and vultures and crows flew towards the sky burial platform to enjoy the "feast".
This is a sky burial custom in Tibetan Buddhism. It is believed that offering the body to the vulture is a merit that can redeem the sins of the previous life and benefit the reincarnation of the soul.
The old woman stood at a distance, her hands clasped together, silently watching all this. When the eagles had eaten all the remains, she walked over and scattered a handful of barley on the sky burial platform.
"Thank you, Announcer." The old woman handed her a small bag of barley and dried meat. "This is your reward."
Qi Diao Yanfei took the food, nodded slightly, and then turned to leave. She didn't say goodbye because she knew no one wanted to see her again.
Leaving the village, she returned to the boundless grassland. The wind blew, lifting her veil, revealing a youthful yet lifeless face. She was only in her early twenties, but her eyes held a vicissitude far beyond her years.
She pulled out the biography of Tsangyang Gyatso's poems from her bosom and gently stroked the worn cover. This book was her only companion, accompanying her through countless days and nights, and visiting every corner of the grassland.
No one knew that she had buried her lover with her own hands.
How long ago was that? She couldn't remember. Time had long since lost its meaning to her. She only remembered those smiling eyes, that warm embrace, and the vow to "live up to the Tathagata and live up to you."
She shook her head, trying to shake off the memories. Memories are poisonous, the sweeter they are, the more hurtful they are.
At dusk, she set up camp beneath a redwood tree. It was a massive redwood, its trunk so large it would take five or six people to hug it, its crown like a canopy, blotting out the sun. Countless prayer flags were tied to the tree, rustling in the wind.
She built a small fire and heated the rations the old woman had given her. Then she took out the book of poems and read by the firelight.
"It's best not to meet each other, so that we won't fall in love.
The second best thing is not to know each other, so that you won’t miss each other.
Thirdly, it is best not to be together, so that you don’t owe each other anything.
Fourthly, it is best not to care about each other, so that you won’t remember each other.
…”
She recited softly, her voice drifting across the silent grassland. This was Tsangyang Gyatso's "Ten Commandments," a poem that spoke of the sweetness and pain of love.
"Once we have met, we have known each other. How could meeting be better than not meeting?
I wish I could say goodbye to you, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about you for the rest of my life.”
When she finished reading the last sentence, a tear slipped down quietly, dripping onto the page and blurring the ink. She wiped it away hastily, fearing that she would damage this precious collection of poems.
Late at night, she leaned against a redwood tree, gazing at the starry sky. The prairie night was exceptionally quiet, with only the sound of the wind and the howling of wolves in the distance.
She recalled the first time she met Tashi Phuntsok. It was at a Dharma assembly. He, one of the candidates for reincarnation, sat on a high throne, his expression solemn. And she, just an ordinary shepherdess, squeezed in the crowd, looking up at him.
At that moment, their eyes met in the air. His eyes were as clear as a lake on the plateau, as deep as the night sky. With just one glance, she knew that her heart could no longer belong to her.
Later, he was recognized as the reincarnated spirit boy and was welcomed into the temple for training. Meanwhile, she, due to an accident, became the apprentice of a sky burial master and began a life accompanied by death.
Two people who should have no connection with each other fell in love due to a trick of fate.
That time was the brightest memory in her life. They met secretly under the moonlight, sharing their hearts on a hillside where prayer flags fluttered. He recited poems by Tsangyang Gyatso to her, telling her, "I have let go of the world, but I have never let go of you."
He said: "I will not let down the Tathagata and you."
But fate never favors lovers. Their secret love affair was discovered, causing an uproar. As a reincarnated soul boy, he was supposed to sever worldly ties and focus on spiritual practice. However, she, as a sky burial master, was considered unclean and unworthy of the noble soul boy.
In the end, he chose to return to secular life and gave up his status as a spiritual child. He said, "If I don't have you, what's the point of becoming a Buddha?"
Together they fled the temple and wandered the grasslands. Although that time was difficult, it was the happiest time of her life. They traveled during the day and slept in each other's arms at night, counting the stars in the sky and planning their future lives.
However, happiness is always short-lived. A sudden snowstorm trapped them in the mountains. In order to save her, he gave her all his clothes to keep her warm, but he himself caught a cold.
On that snowy night, his condition worsened rapidly. She carried him on her back, trudging through knee-deep snow in search of help. But the vast snowfield was nothing but a vast expanse of white.
"Yan Fei," he leaned on her shoulder, his breath weak, "I don't regret it. I didn't let down Tathagata and I didn't let you down. I did it."
She burst into tears and could only hug him tightly.
"Don't cry," he raised his hand to wipe away her tears. "Remember Tsangyang Gyatso's poem? 'In that life, I circumambulated the mountains, rivers, and pagodas, not to cultivate my next life, but only to meet you along the way.' In this life, being able to meet you is enough for me."
His body gradually grew cold, and he finally stopped breathing in her arms.
She held his body in her arms, sitting in the snow for a whole day and night. Only when the snow stopped and the sun began to shine again did she realize that he was really gone.
According to Tibetan Buddhist custom, she held a sky burial for him. It was the most difficult sky burial in her career, and every cut was like cutting her own heart.
"From the day you returned to nature, everything in the world is you," she whispered as she prepared his body. "The wind blowing is your caress, the snow falling is your dance."
When the eagle took his body away, she felt her heart go with him.
Since then, she has never left the grassland. She has become a wandering sky burial master, carrying his poetry collection and reciting his poems over and over again, as if she could feel his presence.
"In the past, nothing in the world was as good as you. Now, everything in the world is you." She whispered to the night sky.
A gust of wind rustled the leaves of the redwood trees, as if answering her whisper. She closed her eyes, feeling the touch of the wind, imagining it was his hand.
Late at night, she wrapped herself tightly in her cloak, leaned against a tree trunk, and gradually fell asleep. In her dream, she returned to that moonlit night, where he held her hand and recited softly:
“At that moment, I raised the Wind Horse, not to beg for blessings, but only to wait for your arrival.
That day, I built the Mani pile, not for cultivating virtue, but just to throw a stone into the lake of my heart.
That month, I shook all the prayer wheels, not for salvation, but just to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed and crawled on the mountain road, not for an audience, but just to feel your warmth.
In that life, I circumambulated mountains, rivers, and pagodas, not to cultivate my next life, but simply to meet you along the way.
She smiled in her dream, but tears rolled down from the corners of her tightly closed eyes.
The next morning, she was awakened by the sound of horse hooves. She opened her eyes and saw a group of people galloping towards her. She immediately became alert, as people usually avoided her rather than approached her.
She stood up, adjusted her veil, and waited quietly.
The cavalry stopped in front of her, led by a middle-aged man in an elegant Tibetan robe. He dismounted and nodded slightly at her.
"Mourner," the man said with a respectful yet anxious tone, "I am from the Khampa clan. Our clan leader is in critical condition, and he hopes you can perform a sky burial for him."
Qi Diao Yanfei frowned slightly. The Kangba clan was one of the most powerful families on the grasslands, and the clan leader's funeral should have been presided over by a highly respected master sky burial master, not a wandering sky burial master like her.
"Why are you looking for me?" she asked directly.
The man hesitated for a moment, then took out an object from his arms. When Qi Diao Yanfei saw what it was, her breath almost stopped.
It was a string of phoenix eye bodhi prayer beads, each bead inscribed with a detailed scripture. A small piece of red coral was tied to the knot of the beads, gleaming warmly in the morning light.
This was Tashi Phuntsok's rosary, and she was very familiar with it because she had woven it for him herself.
"The clan leader said you recognize this rosary," the man whispered. "He said it belonged to an old friend. You'll understand once you see it."
Qi Diao Yanfei's hands trembled slightly. She took the rosary and felt the familiar touch. This was the rosary that Tashi Phuntsok always carried with him. How did it end up in the hands of the Khampa leader?
Could it be...he is still alive?
The thought made her heart race, but then she denied it. No, she had witnessed his death and disposed of his body with her own hands. He couldn't be alive.
But why is the rosary here?
She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.
"Lead the way," she said briefly.
The man, visibly relieved, gestured for his men to bring a horse. Qi Diao Yanfei hid her wooden cart under a redwood tree, took only the necessary tools and the poetry book, and mounted the horse.
The cavalry turned and galloped eastward. Qi Diao Yanfei followed behind, her heart filled with questions and a hint of unrealistic anticipation.
The wind blew up her veil, revealing her tightly pursed lips. Her eyes, which were usually dead, now sparkled with a complex light.
"Zaxi Pingcuo..." She silently repeated the name in her heart, feeling the long-lost heartache.
If this was another joke of fate, she didn't know if she could bear it.
But no matter what, she had to face it, because it was the only clue he left behind, and it might be a ray of hope in her long reincarnation.
The horse team galloped across the grassland, raising a cloud of dust. Qi Diao Yanfei clutched the rosary tightly, as if it were a life-saving straw.
"In that life, I circumambulated mountains, rivers, and pagodas, not to cultivate my next life, but only to meet you along the way."
The verses of Tsangyang Gyatso echoed in her heart. If there really was reincarnation, if she could really see him again, she would pay any price.
Even if that meant she had to face the pain of losing him all over again.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com