Corpse Camel Temple

Duimu's expression was complicated as she said quietly, "My late maba was a blacksmith."

Qu Zan knew that maba meant husband.

"But what of it?" Qu Zan did not understand.

"Blacksmiths forge iron and make weapons of slaughter, helping others kill. Their sins are grave. Their hands are forever stained with iron filth and blood. Theirs is the most unclean of origins."

Duimu's cheeks flushed scarlet, as though she were speaking of the most shameful sin under heaven.

Qu Zan finally understood why Duimu had kept saying she was dirty, kept urging them to leave, and then hurriedly hidden them both inside the tent, terrified that someone might see them.

She was not cold-hearted. She was merely afraid that her own filth would implicate and sully the two clean children.

Those of black bone had lowly status. They could not enter ordinary villages or temples, share bowls and utensils with others, or touch other people's belongings...

Opposite black bone stood white bone: nobles, living Buddhas, and lords, those regarded as clean and noble from birth.

This fucking Mìdì, Qu Zan cursed inwardly.

Qu Zan said, "Aji, you needn't worry. We're both serfs who've lost our home. We don't worry about such things."

"I am without blessings. Aren't you worried I'll bring disaster upon you?" Duimu asked.

Qu Zan said earnestly, "Aji, we're taking shelter with you. All we ask is that you don't disdain us or drive us away."

"Of course I won't!"

Meiduo stepped forward and gently took Duimu's rough hand. Duimu's hands were so very like Mother's.

The taut strings of Duimu's heart relaxed a little. She said softly, "I'll go gather some dried cow dung to get a good fire going."

After that brief misunderstanding, both sides were more open with each other, and most of the distance between them dissolved.

At dinner, they all sat on the ground, drinking black tsampa gruel as they chatted and laughed.

"Aji, do you know what temples there are nearby?"

"Of course I do," Duimu said. "Those villagers might look down on me and refuse to let me near them, but my ears are sharp. I know perfectly well which temples are good and which Lamas are good."

As Duimu spoke, her voice rose, carrying a rare note of pride she could not conceal.

"The largest temple within a hundred li or so is twenty li south of here, on Corpse Camel Ridge. It's Corpse Camel Temple up on the ridge. The Lamas there work the greatest miracles.

"They treat people better than anyone. Once, I fell ill and nearly died. I dragged my sick body all the way to Corpse Camel Temple, making full prostrations along the way. Before I even reached the gates, my illness was cured. It was all thanks to the bodhisattvas' protection."

Corpse Camel Ridge—the meanings of these names in Mìdì sounded horrifying, concealing terror and something sinister.

Full prostrations were the most common way of praying for blessings in Mìdì.

Believers lay flat, with all five points of their bodies touching the ground, measuring the mountain roads with their flesh as they knelt and bowed all the way to the temple.

Naturally, the process was grueling. The greater the suffering, the greater the devotion, and the greater the merit.

Whether Duimu's recovery had been a coincidence or truly the protection of gods and Buddhas, Qu Zan had no way of knowing.

Qu Zan asked, "Aji, have you ever seen the Lamas of Corpse Camel Temple display great powers?"

Duimu thought for a moment, then lowered her voice. "I heard there was a village to the north that worshipped the Outer Dao. The temple's Lamas cast curses, killing over a hundred people and destroying the whole village's crops. Later, I secretly went to look. The crops there were pitch-black, as though stained with poison, and they still hadn't recovered after many years."

"But have you seen it with your own eyes?"

Duimu looked ashamed. "I'm of black bone. I'm not allowed inside temples and can only watch from afar. The High Monks there can withstand the bitter winter cold wearing only a single layer of clothing. Naturally, they have real abilities."

Qu Zan probed further with a few indirect questions, becoming certain that the monks of Corpse Camel Temple did indeed possess extraordinary powers.

Tomorrow, I'll go and see for myself. Qu Zan made up his mind.

Qu Zan barely slept that night. Mìdì was simply too sinister. He fought off his drowsiness and stayed alert throughout. Fortunately, the entire night passed peacefully, without any ghostly intrusion.

After daybreak, Qu Zan ate a little tsampa and left a bag of it as thanks, then set off on horseback for Corpse Camel Temple.

In the distance, snowy mountains towered, majestic and holy. White clouds drifted over their peaks, and the biting wind howled past. Meiduo sheltered inside his roomy local robe, nestled quietly against him.

Pointing at a tall heap of stones beside the road, Meiduo asked curiously, "Brother, why are there piles of stones like that everywhere along the road?"

"Those are Mani Piles, built from stone slabs and rocks, with evil-suppressing incantations hidden inside. They're piled at mountain crossroads, beside lakes, and along rivers to stop evil spirits and ward off disasters..."

At the words "evil spirits," Meiduo shivered. The little girl instantly remembered the hideous, terrifying Vengeful Ghost from that night.

Before long, a magnificent temple came into view atop the distant mountains.

Its walls were painted red and white, rising tier upon tier with the mountainside, like a city built upon the mountain.

At its center, a golden-roofed main hall towered majestically, surrounded by numerous subsidiary compounds at varying heights, each with scripture halls and Buddhist shrines. Banners of every color hung between the walls, eaves, and pointed roofs, fluttering gently in the wind.

The banners and walls were covered in golden incantations that writhed like earthworms, uncanny and mysterious. In this land overrun by ghosts, this place alone exuded an air of peace and solemnity.

Temple buildings occupied the entire summit and slopes of Corpse Camel Mountain. Monks' quarters lined its foot, with ordinary markets and homes on the outermost fringes.

Leading his horse, he walked slowly at the foot of the mountain, looking around, and encountered a party of monks.

These monks wore short tunics and heavily pleated fighting skirts, with leather chains and short blades hanging at their waists. Some held iron staffs, others long spears.

Ironware was a rare and precious commodity in the Tibetan lands. This alone showed how extravagant the temple was.

After asking a passerby, he learned that these monks were Dedu, the temple's own Monk Soldiers.

The Monk Soldiers had muscles like coiled roots, and their bodies radiated martial vigor as scorching as a furnace.

Even Qu Zan, strengthened by the panel, could not help feeling a chill of apprehension before these Monk Soldiers.

One look tells me these are elite fighters who've trained for years, Qu Zan judged from his previous life's experience.

Qu Zan noticed intricate tattoos and incantations on the Monk Soldiers' arms and thighs. When he concentrated on them, he actually felt that the incantations were living things, faintly flowing and shifting.

Whether it was to erase his nangsheng slave status, secure his own safety, or even gain access to extraordinary power, all these reasons guided him toward this goal.

I must enter Corpse Camel Temple and cultivate.

If he could master this world's extraordinary powers, perhaps he could find a way home to Blue Star.

This fucking Mìdì was bloody and cruel.

With his goal settled, he immediately began making plans.

Qu Zan sold both horses for a total of seventy taels of secret silver. Spent frugally, that money would cover several years of expenses.

He rented an old plank house in the market. Though shabby, the wooden house had both a firepit and a wooden bed, and cooking his own meals would be convenient.

Considering that Meiduo was still a little girl, Qu Zan really could not feel at ease leaving her to live here alone, and taking her into the temple was impossible.

Qu Zan immediately thought of Duimu. He hired the Aji to come over, providing her with ample tsampa each month in return for looking after Meiduo.

Old woman though Duimu was, in Mìdì, where the average person did not live past thirty-five, anyone who had reached her age naturally knew the ways of survival well.

Having suffered exclusion and discrimination from the villagers for years, Duimu was naturally overjoyed to move to the foot of the temple mountain and settle there.

Qu Zan looked at Meiduo and said gently, "Meiduo, kneel and kowtow to Aji."

Meiduo immediately knelt and kowtowed. "Aji, you have no children. I'll care for you in your old age."

Duimu was too astonished to speak. She hurried forward to help Meiduo up, yet feared the filth of her own soul would dirty her.

Qu Zan said solemnly, "Aji, from now on, Meiduo is your daughter. Rest assured, when your soul returns to heaven, I'll arrange scripture recitations to deliver you..."

For Duimu, who devoutly believed in Buddhist teachings and had spent half her life lonely and wretched, this promise carried immeasurable weight.

As an untouchable of black bone, she was utterly alone. After her death, there would not even be anyone to collect her body or perform rites for her deliverance. She lived in fear that a lifetime of sins would leave her burdened with grave sins again in her next incarnation.

Now, with Qu Zan's promise, tears immediately filled the eyes of this old woman who had spent half her life in lonely hardship. She wished she could lay bare her heart to repay them both.

Qu Zan provided ample money and food, settling Meiduo's arrangements completely, with no further worries left behind.

He could now plan how to enter Corpse Camel Temple.