Khampa family
The horse team galloped across the grassland for a whole day until sunset, when they finally arrived at the territory of the Khamba family.
Qi Diao Yanfei spotted the vast cluster of tents from afar, resembling a makeshift city. The largest golden tent in the center stood out, gleaming in the setting sun, a testament to its owner's distinguished status. Colorful prayer flags fluttered around the tents, wisps of smoke rose, and the air was filled with the unique aroma of burning cypress branches.
The closer they got to the camp, the faster Qi Diao Yanfei's heartbeat grew. She clutched the rosary tightly, her knuckles turning white from the strain. She knew this string of bodhi beads like a fairy tale all too well—the size and pattern of each bead, the knotted pattern, the color and shape of the red coral—exactly as she remembered.
This is the rosary she had woven for Tashi Phuntsok. He was seventeen years old that year, recently confirmed as a reincarnated soul boy. She secretly visited him at the temple, and in the moonlit redwood forest, she placed this rosary on his wrist.
"I hand-wove this using bodhi bead selections, one by one," she recalled, her voice trembling with nervousness. "Each bead is engraved with a Buddhist scripture. May the Buddha bless you."
Tashi Phuntsok stroked the rosary beads, his eyes gleaming with tenderness: "This is the most precious gift I have ever received. I will always wear it and never take it off."
But later, he died in that blizzard. When she personally performed a sky burial for him, the rosary had clearly been transformed into food for the eagles along with him. How could it have appeared here?
"Mercury, we're here." The leading man pulled the reins of his horse, and the voice brought her back to reality from her memories.
At the camp entrance, a group of tribesmen had been waiting for a long time. They were dressed in finery, their expressions solemn, and their gazes towards her were a mixture of awe and fear. Several children hid behind the adults, furtively observing the legendary messenger of death.
A white-haired old man stepped forward. He was the chief steward of the Khampa clan. He clasped his hands together and bowed slightly to her. "Thank you for coming, messenger of mourning. The clan leader has been waiting for you."
Qi Diao Yu Fei nodded gently and dismounted. She scanned the crowd and noticed several young men staring at her warily. They wore exquisite Tibetan knives at their waists, their fingers rubbing the hilts from time to time, clearly unwelcome to her presence.
"Please follow me." The butler made an inviting gesture and led her to the golden tent in the center.
The interior of the tent was even more spacious and luxurious than it appeared from the outside. A thick wool carpet covered the floor, and the walls were hung with exquisite thangkas depicting classic Buddhist stories. In the center, a copper brazier, a charcoal fire was roaring, crackling softly.
On the couch at the deepest part of the tent lay a pale old man. He was the patriarch of the Khampa family, Dorje Gyaltsen.
To Qi Diao Yanfei's surprise, the clan leader didn't look like someone near death. Although his face was gaunt and his breathing was shallow, his eyes were remarkably clear, as if they could see through people's hearts. On his wrist, he wore a string of phoenix-eye bodhi beads identical to Tashi Phuntsok's.
"All of you step back." Although Dorje Gyaltsen's voice was weak, it carried unquestionable majesty.
The chief steward and attendants bowed respectfully and then quietly left the tent. In the vast space, only Qi Diao Yanfei and the mysterious clan leader remained.
"Mercier," Dorje Jianzan raised his hand slightly, motioning her to come closer, "or should I call you Qidiao Yanfei?"
Qi Diao Yanfei's heart trembled. She had wandered for years and had never revealed her full name to anyone. How could this dying old man know it?
"Who are you?" She took a few steps closer, her voice hoarse with nervousness. "Where did you get this rosary?"
Dorje Gyaltsen didn't answer immediately, but instead studied her carefully with his all-seeing eyes. After a long pause, he slowly spoke, "This rosary was given to me by a young man. He told me that if I ever meet a messenger carrying the biography of Tsangyang Gyatso's poems, I should give it to her."
"Young man? What does he look like? What's his name?" Qi Diao Yanfei asked anxiously, her heart beating like a drum.
Dorje Gyaltsen shook his head. "That was three years ago. It was raining heavily that day, and he was soaked. He came to my tent and asked for shelter. I took him in, and he stayed for a few days before leaving. Before he left, he left this rosary, saying someone would come and get it in the future."
Three years ago? Qi Diao Yanfei's thoughts raced. Three years ago, Tashi Phuntsok had already been dead for five years. How could this be possible?
"What does he look like?" she asked again, her voice trembling slightly.
The patriarch closed his eyes, as if reminiscing. "He was very young, probably in his early twenties. He had a handsome face and a special gaze—like a lake on the plateau, crystal clear. He called himself... Nob."
Norbu means "treasure" in Tibetan. This is not Tashi Phuntsok's name, but the description of his eyes is so similar.
"What else did he say?" Qi Diao Yanfei clenched her hands, her nails digging deep into her palms.
"He said..." Dorje Gyaltsen suddenly started coughing and took a while to calm down. "He said that if it was a woman who came, he would tell her - 'In that life, I circumambulated the mountains, rivers, and pagodas, not for the sake of cultivating my next life, but only to meet you on the way.'"
The lacquer sculpture smoked as if struck by lightning and stumbled back a step. This is a line from Tsangyang Gyatso's poem, one of the lines Tashi Phuntsok recited most often to her.
"Impossible..." she murmured to herself, "He's dead, I saw it with my own eyes..."
Dorje Gyaltsen struggled to stand up, took out a small wooden box from beside his pillow, and handed it to her: "This is another thing he left behind. He said he would give it to the person who comes to pick up the rosary."
Qi Diao Yanfei took the wooden box with trembling hands and opened it. Inside was a roll of yellowed paper. After unfolding it, she gasped—it was a portrait. The woman in the painting had cold eyes and brows, holding a sky-burial knife. It was herself. In the lower right corner of the portrait, in her familiar handwriting, was a line of small words:
"I will not let down the Tathagata, nor will I let you down."
It was Tashi Phuntsok's handwriting, she would never make a mistake.
"Where is he?" Qi Diao Yanfei asked anxiously, a light in her eyes that had not been seen in years. "Where did he go?"
Dorje Gyaltsen shook his head. “He didn’t say. But he said that if you come, you might be able to lift the curse on our family.”
"curse?"
The clan leader nodded gravely. "Our Khampa family has been tormented by a strange disease for generations. Men don't live past the age of forty, and like me, they suddenly weaken and die in their prime. My grandfather, father, and my two brothers all died this way. Now, it's my turn."
Qi Diao Yanfei then noticed that although Dorje Jianzan had completely white hair and a haggard face, a closer look revealed that his actual age was probably no more than forty years old.
"The young man said this disease isn't a curse, but a hereditary blood disorder. He said perhaps one day a messenger who understands the secrets of life and death will come and help us." Dorje Gyaltsen's eyes held a final glint of hope. "And now, you're here."
Qi Diao Yanfei remained silent. She did know some medical skills, a bonus skill from her role as a sky burial master. Through her long experience handling corpses, she had learned to identify the characteristics of various illnesses. But curing a living person? She had never attempted it.
There was a sudden commotion outside the tent. The curtains were flung aside, and a young man burst in. He was in his twenties, tall, with features that bore a resemblance to Dorje Gyaltsen's, though sharper and more assertive.
"Father! How could you leave this messenger of death alone with you?" the young man said excitedly. "She will bring bad luck!"
"Gyatso, don't be rude!" Dorje Gyaltsen shouted sternly, and then started coughing violently again.
Qi Diao Yanfei recognized him as one of the young men who had stared at her warily at the camp entrance. He was Dorje Gyaltsen's only son and heir to the Khampa clan—Gyatso.
Gyatso strode to the front of the bed, standing between his father and Qi Diao Yanfei, his eyes sharp as a knife. "Murderer, I don't care who sent you, leave our camp immediately!"
"Gyatso!" Dorje Gyaltsen tried to get up, but fell back onto the couch powerlessly. "She is our guest..."
"Guest?" Gyatso sneered, "She is the messenger of death! Ever since she entered our territory, our people have been in a state of panic. You are already seriously ill, I cannot let her get close to you!"
Qi Diao Yanfei watched the scene calmly, slowly put the rosary on her wrist, and then carefully put the portrait into her arms.
"Chief," she said directly to Dorje Gyaltsen, ignoring Gyatso's hostile gaze, "I need to check on your condition."
Gyatso was furious and suddenly drew the Tibetan knife from his waist: "How dare you!"
At that moment, the lacquer sculpture smoke began to move. Her movements were as fast as lightning. Before anyone could see what was happening, the knife in Jiacuo's hand had already fallen to the ground, and he himself was handcuffed behind his back and subdued on the ground.
"If I wanted to harm anyone, you would have been dead long ago." Qi Diao Yanfei's voice was as cold as ice, and he let go of Jiacuo who was shocked.
The guards outside the tent rushed in upon hearing the noise, immediately drawing their weapons and aiming at Qi Diao Yan Fei. But she simply stood there quietly, her expression hidden beneath her veil unseen.
"Everyone, step back!" Dorje Gyaltsen shouted with all his might, "She is my guest! Anyone who dares to be rude to her will become my enemy!"
The guards looked at each other, hesitant.
Gyatso got up from the ground, rubbing his aching wrist, and looked at Qi Diao Yanfei with complicated eyes. Shocked, he seemed to understand why his father insisted on inviting this mysterious messenger of death.
"Go out, Gyatso." Dorje Gyaltsen said in a tired but firm tone, "Let me talk to the messenger alone."
Jiacuo gritted his teeth and finally left the tent with the guards without saying a word.
Silence returned to the tent. Dorje Gyaltsen smiled wryly and said, "Please forgive my son's rudeness. He was just too worried about me."
Qi Diao Yanfei shook her head slightly, indicating she didn't care. She approached the couch, carefully observing the clan leader's expression, and then gently lifted his eyelids to check.
"When did this disease... start?" she asked.
"According to family records, it has been going on for five generations. Men in each generation will begin to show symptoms around the age of thirty-five: fatigue, shortness of breath, pale complexion, and then gradually weaken, usually before the age of forty..." Dorje Jianzan didn't say anything else, but the meaning was self-evident.
Qi Diao Yanfei pondered. She had indeed seen similar cases in her years as a sky burial practitioner, mostly within closed families. The people on the grasslands called it a "blood curse," but she knew it was a genetic disease.
"I can't promise to cure you," she admitted, "but I can try."
Dorje Gyaltsen smiled slightly and said, "Anyway, thank you for trying. The young man was right. You really came."
At the mention of that mysterious young man, Qi Diao Yanfei's heart tightened again. She touched the portrait in her arms, feeling the texture of the paper, as if she could sense the warmth of that person through it.
That night, Qi Diao Yanfei was arranged to stay in a separate tent. Although the people of the Khampa family still kept their distance from her, they at least provided her with basic living needs.
She sat in the tent, by the dim light of the oil lamp, and unfolded the portrait again. She was a little younger in the painting, her eyes not as dead as they are now. That was the woman Tashi Phuntsok remembered, the woman before he left.
"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, her fingertips gently tracing the outline of the person in the painting.
If Tashi Phuntsok was still alive, why didn't he go look for her? If he was dead, who left these clues?
Countless questions swirled in her mind, causing her to feel an emotion other than numbness for the first time in years - hope.
There was a slight noise outside the tent. Qi Diao Yanfei immediately put away the portrait, extinguished the oil lamp, and moved quietly to the entrance of the tent.
The curtain was gently lifted, and a figure flashed in. Qi Diao Yanfei immediately took action, restraining the person and pressing a cold dagger to his throat.
"It's me!" A familiar voice sounded. It was Jiacuo.
Qi Diao Yan Fei relaxed her grip slightly, but didn't let him go completely. "What brings you here so late at night?"
Gyatso panted in the darkness, "I'm here to apologize, and also to tell you something...something about that young man."
Qi Diao Yanfei immediately let go of him and relit the oil lamp. In the flickering flames, Jiacuo's expression was complex and difficult to discern.
"What about that young man?" she asked eagerly.
Jiacuo rubbed his neck, which was pinched and hurt, and sat down on the felt mat in the tent: "Three years ago, I met the young man who left the rosary."
Qi Diao Yanfei's heartbeat almost stopped: "Go on."
"That night, when I returned from hunting, I saw him talking with my father in the tent. I didn't think much of it until..." Gyatso hesitated, "until I heard him mention your name."
"My name?"
"Yes, Qidiao Yanfei," Gyatso said with certainty. "I heard him say to his father: 'If one day a woman named Qidiao Yanfei comes, please give her this rosary.'"
Qi Diao Yanfei tightly grasped the rosary on her wrist, feeling the warm texture of the Bodhi seeds.
"What else did he say?"
Gyatso's eyes grew deep. "He said he was looking for a way to break the boundary between life and death. He said he had let someone down and had to find a way back."
The tent was completely silent, with only the soft crackling of the burning oil lamp as the sound was heard.
Breaking the boundary between life and death? Qi Diao Yanfei's thoughts raced. Could it be that Tashi Phuntsok was truly not dead? Or... had he been resurrected?
"Which way did he go?" she asked.
Gyatso shook his head. "I don't know. He left early the next morning, and no one saw where he went. But..."
"But what?"
"But a month ago, a shepherd reported seeing a similar figure at the foot of the snow-capped mountains in the northwest. It's near the Holy Lake, the place that legend says connects the worlds of life and death."
Qi Diao Yanfei was silent for a long time. The snow-capped mountains to the northwest were exactly where Tashi Phuntsok had died. Was all this a coincidence, or a hint?
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked suddenly. "You were so against my staying in camp during the day."
Gyatso gave a bitter smile. "Because I saw the rosary on your wrist. That young man once said that whoever comes to take the rosary might be able to break our family's curse. Although I don't like you, I can't gamble with the future of our entire family."
Qi Diao Yanfei looked at the young heir and for the first time saw maturity and responsibility beyond his age in his eyes.
"I will do my best to help your father," she promised, "but after that, I must go to the Snow Mountains."
Gyatso nodded. "I understand. If you need any herbs or help, just ask."
He stood up and prepared to leave, but paused at the tent door and turned back to ask, "Who is that young man to you?"
Qi Diao Yanfei gently stroked the rosary on her wrist, and a trace of imperceptible pain flashed in her eyes.
"He is the one whom I have let go of, even the world, but never let go of."
Jiacuo nodded, not quite understanding, and quietly left the tent.
Qi Diao Yanfei sat alone in the tent, unable to fall asleep for a long time. She took out the "Poetry Biography of Tsangyang Gyatso", turned to a familiar page, and read softly:
"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.
…”
The sound of recitation echoed in the silent tent, accompanying her complicated emotions until dawn.
If Tashi Phuntsok is really still alive, she will find him at all costs.
If the misfortune was just a false alarm, she had to confirm it with her own eyes.
Because in that life, she traveled around mountains, rivers and pagodas, not to cultivate her next life, but just to meet him on the way.
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