of the few Chinese casualties.
The doctor and his orderlies tended to the wounded quickly, as they had trained to do, while the soldiers pitched their camp for the night. Only when the perimeter was secure and all the wounded had been treated did Fu Sheng give permission to collect the spoils of war. The bodies of the dead were stripped of armor and weapons and searched for gold, silver, gems, and any other items of value. The Uighurs’ supplies and mule carts were added to their own and their horses rounded up and led into a makeshift corral.
The battle had been easier than expected, but there was little celebration among the soldiers. The bloodlust had left them now and they were weary to the bone. Some spoke in hushed voices of the captain’s exploits and shivered in the icy wind of the plains. What they had witnessed filled them with a gnawing unease. No ordinary man could have done what he had, and some whispered that a spirit from the underworld walked among them.
Fu Sheng sat apart, cleaning and resharpening his sword. Even his officers left him alone as he tended to his blade with infinite care. Only Lieutenant Pai approached to inform him that his tent was set up and his meal was ready to be served.
“You took your time today, Lieutenant,” Fu Sheng said without looking up.
“We came as quickly as we could Captain, I assure you.”
“You didn’t stop in a tavern on the way?”
Lieutenant Pai waited in silent dread until he saw the smirk playing on the captain’s lips.
“We searched, because we were parched, but there’s nothing in this godforsaken place,” he said dryly.
“You did well today Lieutenant,” Fu Sheng grinned. “It will be mentioned in my dispatch to General Lo.”
“I was only doing my duty, Captain.”
“Nevertheless, it will be noted.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Fu Sheng wondered about inviting Pai into his tent to dine with him. They could discuss the battle and savor their victory together. But Pai was uncomfortable in his presence, that was clear. No, he would dine alone and compose his report to General Lo instead. It was better that way. Better to be feared than to be loved.
A Second Vision
The Venerable Ananda’s assistant brought juice for him, as he did every day at that hour of the evening. He found the old master sitting in his favored spot by the window and set the juice down beside him. Normally The Venerable Ananda never failed to thank him and often exchanged a few pleasantries too, but this time he was silent, lost in some deep reverie. The assistant left quietly, not wishing to disturb the great man over a trifle.
However, when he returned an hour later, he found the juice untouched and his master’s eyes wet with tears. He touched Ananda on the shoulder, concerned, and inquired if he was unwell. Ananda turned slowly, seeing him for the first time, and assured him that he was fine. The assistant was reluctant to leave him in such a state, but Ananda insisted, so the assistant complied.
But The Venerable Ananda was not fine. The vision he’d spoken of to Bodhidharma and Yin Chiang had changed, and ever since their departure, a new vision had taken its place. It returned to him each day, entering his mind during meditation and invading his dreams when he slept, and each time the vision was more vivid than the last. In it, he saw his greatest desire would be fulfilled. Bodhidharma would bring The Way to China. But far from making him happy, the vision filled him with dread.
He could still make out Bodhidharma’s powerful figure on a slope of startling green in a place that could only be China. Bodhidharma was walking with two companions. They were entering a monastery together, the same little red monastery he had seen before. Everything was as it should be.
But then the eye of his mind descended from the sky, and settled closer to the gates of the monastery. From here he could see that Bodhidharma’s followers were not the same two who had left Nalanda with him. Ananda stretched his mind, hoping for a glimpse of their faces, but that much he could not see. All he knew was that the Indian hermit and the Chinese scholar were no longer with Bodhidharma. He searched for them on the green mountainside and followed the rocky road from the temple to the main highway, all the way to the long river that cut China in two, but there was no sign of them. He searched the countless towns and cities of the Empire, the vast grasslands and endless deserts, the high mountains and the deep lakes, hoping to find them, but he searched in vain.
And finally, he prayed for them, and wept for what he had done.
PART 2
Monks Go East
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