1611 Chapter 1

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(Currently, you are reading the online serialized version of “The Hidden Sea Flower.” The first volume of the physical book version of “The Hidden Sea Flower” is available for online reading (note that the chapter content and story progression may differ):

======================= I am a magnificent dividing line ============================

Chen Xuehan did not understand Tibet. After being discharged from the army, he came to Tibet. He spent more than a year in Naqu and three years in Motuo, but he was merely staying there. His understanding of Tibet was limited to what he had seen, and the reason for staying there was simply that he had gotten used to it.

In his eyes, listing everything about Tibet in words was a way of seeking the end while neglecting the essence. He did not need to understand Tibet because, to him, Tibet was not a concept; what he liked was the place itself, not the name. He was indifferent to the visitors who spoke of revering Tibet’s mysterious culture. Why come here? The reason lay in the fresh and thin air, in the vast snow-capped mountains, in the serene, almost heavenly wilderness of snow, not in those extravagant, advertisement-like words.

In the earlier years, he made a living by occasionally doing odd jobs for tourists and working as a porter. After arriving in Motuo, he opened a shabby restaurant. At that time, not many wealthy and intellectual people came to Tibet to seek the meaning of life; most of his customers were military families visiting relatives and local border defense personnel.

Motuo was snowbound for eight months of the year, and the majestic Xiongla Mountain was known for its fierce snowstorms. During the months when the mountains were closed due to heavy snow, there were very few guests. He lived alone in the back hall of the restaurant, and the tranquility fascinated him, with very few people disturbing his peace.

He did not know where this desire to escape the world came from; perhaps it was because, in his childhood dreams, he had once dreamt of standing on the summit of a snow mountain, experiencing that kind of calm, which led him to pursue it.

However, he could not enjoy this peace every year; the winter of 2000 was an exception.

That winter, Chen Xuehan could not remember the month, only that it had snowed continuously for three days. When he got up to shovel the snow in the morning, he saw a lama standing at his door.

This was a lama from Jila Monastery, seemingly named Zhaji, who had shared a drink with Chen Xuehan in the past. Jila Monastery was a lama temple on the snow mountain, situated at a not very high altitude. When he worked as a porter, Chen Xuehan often went there and was quite familiar with them.

It took half a day to get from Jila Monastery to here. At that time, the sky was just starting to brighten, and the snow had not yet stopped. Zhaji was covered in ice flowers, clearly having descended the mountain during the night. Even for a lama familiar with the mountain paths, descending at night in heavy snow was extremely dangerous. Chen Xuehan guessed that something must have happened that forced him to take such a great risk.

Zhaji seemed to have exhausted all his strength, standing there unresponsive. Chen Xuehan asked him in somewhat awkward Tibetan what was wrong.

Zhaji did not respond but took out some money and said, “Please get me something to eat, anything will do; I still have to continue my journey.”

Chen Xuehan asked him, “Where are you going?”

Zhaji replied, “I am going to Mapu Monastery.”

Mapu Temple is a large monastery located outside of Motuo. Chen Xuehan was very surprised because crossing the Duoyongla Mountain at this time of year is exceptionally dangerous. Even with very good reasons, one should wait until the snow stops and find someone to travel with; otherwise, it’s easy to encounter small avalanches, and many mountain paths are already hard to see at this time.

So, Chen Xuehan let Zhaji into the house, prepared a few barley cakes for him, and asked if something had happened at the temple. Zhaji secretly asked him for a few pots of wine and then said, “It’s like this, we have guests, and the master wants me to go to Mapu Temple to inform them about this matter.”

Chen Xuehan found it strange, “Guests? Where do they come from? Are there tourists coming into the mountains?”

At this time of year, is there anyone who would enter Motuo? Now, to cross Duoyongla Mountain, even the locals wouldn’t dare to move recklessly unless there were large groups coming from outside. But if there were such a thing, he would definitely have heard about it, and clearly, there wasn’t. Moreover, this is a temple on a snow-capped mountain; it’s even stranger to have guests.

Zhaji shook his head, wrapping his barley cake as he said, “They are not guests from outside the mountains.” He pointed to the distant, rolling snow-capped mountains, “They are guests from inside the snow mountains.”

Zhaji’s Tibetan had a strange accent, and Chen Xuehan found it odd; Zhaji must be an outsider sent by his parents to become a lama here. Although Jila Temple is a very small and dilapidated monastery, the geshe lama there is a well-known wise man in the area, said to be nearly a hundred years old. Many people send their sons to this monastery in the snow mountains to learn great wisdom.

Guests from the snow mountains might be a kind of secretive expression; many of the lamas’ words are obscure and difficult to understand, containing profound origins. Chen Xuehan knew that discussing temple matters would not make sense to him, and asking more questions would be impolite. So he helped Zhaji pack his belongings, placing the wine and food properly.

According to his habit, he accompanied Zhaji for a while, helping him carry the package. This was also a way of paying respect, and although Chen Xuehan did not believe in Buddhism, he enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere that this method brought.

The snow had eased a bit; the distant Duoyongla Mountain was a pure white, blending seamlessly with the gray-white sky. This scenery made one’s heart flutter. They walked in silence, listening to the sound of snow crunching underfoot. After an hour, Zhaji stopped, and Chen Xuehan couldn’t help but ask if it would be better to find a few villagers to go with him.

Zhaji smiled at Chen Xuehan and shook his head, saying, “Don’t worry, I will be just fine.” He spoke calmly, and it was clear that although he was very tired, his heart was filled with joy. After saying this, he bowed to Chen Xuehan, indicating it was a farewell.

Chen Xuehan returned the gesture but felt a bit puzzled about what had happened at the lama temple that made this young lama show such a serene expression.

He became a bit distracted, quietly watching Zhaji walk away. After Zhaji took a few steps, he suddenly turned back and said something to him.

He didn’t understand what it meant. That sentence was blown away in the snowflakes. By the time he thought to chase after him, the lama had already disappeared into the white snow, as if he had never existed at all.

Years later, when he recalled this situation, he would always ponder it deeply. In fact, the events that followed had already shown signs at that time, but he was completely unaware.