The young monk Yangduo shouldered his bundle and set off back to Drepung Monastery, carrying a copy of the Record of Knowledge and Practice that Wei Zhilin had given him.
Sparring with He An and Fan Dazhi had benefited him greatly. Neither Academy Head Wei nor Academy Head Cheng of the Knowledge and Practice Institute had slighted him for not being their disciple. Instead, they had come over in their spare time to offer insights into cultivation and teach him Confucian thought. He could vaguely sense a breakthrough approaching.
He headed west, eating in the wind and sleeping beneath the open sky. Gazing at the vast earth and heavens and the shifting winds and clouds, Yangduo seemed to grasp something. This journey had truly not been in vain.
After traveling for many days, he crossed desolate mountains and wild ridges and finally reached an ancient road through the wasteland. The rugged road seemed endless, with dry riverbeds and weathered gravel faintly visible along the way.
Yangduo had no idea how long he had walked. Exhausted and thirsty, he looked up at the sky. The sun was a hazy gray, shedding a dim yellow light. Such weather was common in the Northwestern Lands. Sometimes fierce winds swept dust and sand across the sky, shrouding everything in a murky haze in which a person could not be seen a hundred paces away. The locals called it a "sandstorm."
A black crow perched atop a lifeless, withered tree beside the road. As Yangduo approached, it gave an eerie cry and flew away...
A faint aroma of food drifted through the air. Yangduo's spirits lifted, and he strode forward.
In the distance stood a flagpole with two camels tethered beneath it. Beside them was a crude shelter containing a few tables and chairs.
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