Outside Hangu Pass, fierce winds swept yellow dust across the sky, blotting out the sun. The dying sunset hung over the spine of the distant mountains like a flame about to gutter out.
With a bamboo staff and straw sandals, Faxian walked at the head of the group, his steps measured and firm. Behind him, Yangcuo carried the gravely injured, unconscious Yushu on his back, sweat beading on his forehead as he gazed across the boundless Gobi.
Yushu had been imprisoned in the Dragon Horse Bearing the Chart Temple for days, interrogated and tortured day and night without sleep, until not a patch of skin on his body remained intact. Only his rock-firm Buddhist heart had sustained him. When he saw Faxian arrive that day, his mind abruptly relaxed; like a bowstring drawn taut for too long, it snapped on the spot, and he lost consciousness.
Now, draped over Yangcuo's back, with cold wind pouring into his collar, his eyelids trembled. With difficulty, he opened his eyes a sliver.
"Martial... uncle..."
His voice hoarse, he patted Yangcuo's shoulder and spoke in broken breaths. "My... ordination certificate, kasaya, alms bowl, and... the monastery's copy of the Lankavatara Sutra... Emperor Chen confiscated them all..."
Faxian stopped.
He did not turn around. Leaning on the bamboo staff whose edges the years had worn smooth, he merely tilted an ear. The west wind lifted his graying beard, exposing the shriveled lips beneath. Only after a long silence did he slowly speak.
"A kasaya covers the body merely to ward off cold. An alms bowl begs food merely to fill the belly... To a monk, all four elements are empty. Possessions outside the self-if they are lost, let them be lost."
He paused. His eyes, veiled by thick white cataracts, stared straight at the last