That night, after finishing their last few words in the old lama’s room and expressing his intention to leave the next day, the mute oil bottle thanked the old lama, who then escorted him back to his own room. The structure of the temple was quite complex; without a guide, it was nearly impossible for an ordinary person to find their way around. They wandered through the temple, and as they passed a courtyard, the old lama’s oil lamp went out.

In the pitch blackness, the courtyard was particularly dim under the moonlight. The old lama stopped to relight the oil lamp, and at that moment, the mute oil bottle looked up at the sky.

The sky in Tibet was filled with countless stars, beautiful like a dream. For the old lama, who had been exposed to this beauty since childhood, the sky was simply that way; he did not think there was anything special about it.

After lighting the oil lamp, they set off again, but the mute oil bottle stood still, gazing faintly at the sky.

“Esteemed guest, this way please,” the old lama called out. The mute oil bottle came back to his senses and asked, “Master, does your lama temple really have as many as one hundred and twenty-seven rooms?”

The old lama was taken aback; indeed, the temple had one hundred and twenty-seven rooms, something he had known since he first arrived at the temple. Although some of the rooms were very small, the total was still one hundred and twenty-seven. How did the mute oil bottle know this?

The old lama nodded in agreement. The mute oil bottle then said, “Could you please allow me to see each room?”

“Esteemed guest, why this sudden desire to—” The old lama began to ask, but was immediately restrained by the power of his training. No distractions, no curiosity; he shouldn’t take an interest in such matters.

The old lama held back for a moment and suddenly felt that perhaps the mute oil bottle was sent by heaven to test his cultivation, so he nodded and said, “Alright.”

“I remember the starry sky here,” the mute oil bottle murmured to himself. “A long time ago, I must have been here before. I seem to vaguely recall leaving something for myself in one of the rooms.”

“I hope you find it,” the old lama said, his curiosity nearly overwhelming him.
(I thought to myself that it’s not a lack of cultivation; the mute oil bottle’s words could indeed make even the Buddha feel like he was about to vomit blood.)

That night, they went from room to room, searching one by one. The old lama lost track of how many they had seen, only knowing that after more than two hours, they opened a vacant room. As they walked in, the mute oil bottle’s steps slowed for a moment, and he stopped.

The old lama also stood still, but he knew that there must be something in this room that had affected the mute oil bottle.

The mute oil bottle walked into the room, where a wooden table stood in the middle, covered with clutter. He moved the clutter aside, revealing a desiccated corpse among the items.

The corpse lay on the desk, completely dried out, covered by debris, and dressed in monk’s robes, making it impossible to discern its original appearance.

The old lama was taken aback. He had never imagined that there would be a dried corpse in some long-unused room of the temple.

But the people in the temple were accounted for—who was this person? Could it be that this was a lama from the past who died here and had gone unnoticed for a long time?

“W-who is this?” the old lama could no longer contain himself and stammered out the question.

“This is the Derin Lama, my friend. I never expected he would die here.”
“Derin Lama?” The old lama had never heard that name before.
The muffled oil bottle tidied up the table and discovered that the dried corpse was holding a scroll of scriptures. He spread the scriptures open, sighed lightly, and said to the old lama, “Please tidy up this room and give Derin a proper burial. I would like to stay here.”
The old lama did not react at all. He suddenly felt that everything around him had become unfamiliar; he seemed to know less about the temple than the muffled oil bottle. The muffled oil bottle sat down, gazing at the scroll, and stopped speaking to the old lama.
He ended up staying for several months. Later, they researched and discovered something that left the old lama even more distraught: Derin Lama had indeed been registered in the temple, with the first entry dating back to the temple’s initial construction. As they investigated further, they found that almost every generation of lamas had a disciple named Derin, and it was not until this generation that the name Derin disappeared from the registry.
This could not possibly refer to the same Derin; rather, there were many generations of Derins, and according to the records, almost every Derin took on a disciple named Derin.
What does this mean? Is it another tradition of the temple?
It seemed that the name Derin held special significance for the temple, and every generation of lamas had to have a disciple named Derin. The dried corpse of Derin was likely the last of his line; he had died in the room for reasons unknown and had no disciple, leading to the discontinuation of the Derin lineage.
Is this really an ordinary lama temple? The old lama could no longer suppress his curiosity. Besides being able to control his emotions, being a monk had another advantage: if he realized he was lacking in his practice, he could be honest about it. He sensed that the muffled oil bottle had some connection to the temple, so he felt no need to hold back his questions out of politeness.
He approached the muffled oil bottle and inquired about the truth of the matter.
The muffled oil bottle revealed everything to him, seeming to have no intention of hiding anything.
(I almost spat blood upon hearing this because I wondered why the muffled oil bottle was so straightforward with the lama, yet so stingy with me.)
The muffled oil bottle explained that he had a condition where he would forget everything after a certain period, except for some childhood memories; his mind could not retain new memories.
He had indeed come out of the snow-capped mountains and brought a secret with him, but he would inevitably forget this secret shortly afterward.
Long ago, before entering the mountains, he had a very special relationship with the last Derin Lama. They made an agreement that ten years later, he would emerge from the snow-covered peaks with a great secret, but by the time he came out, he would have completely forgotten the agreement. Therefore, the Derin Lama would wait for him in this temple, and he would recount everything that happened in the mountains before forgetting it all, allowing Derin to record it.
The old lama felt a cold sweat break out as he contemplated what he had just heard.

“Does this mean that this decade is not a coincidence, and all the 德仁 (De Ren) are meant to record the memories of the visitors from the snow-capped mountains? Was the temple built here because someone knew that every ten years, a person with secrets would emerge from the snow mountains, bringing secrets to a lama named 德仁 (De Ren)?

Unfortunately, this generation of 德仁 (De Ren) passed away before waiting for the sealed bottle (闷油瓶) to come out from the snow mountains; he didn’t even find a successor for himself.

Perhaps knowing that he would soon be forgotten, the sealed bottle (闷油瓶) told the old lama everything he knew. He revealed to the old lama the reason he came to the snowy plateau.

He was there to find someone.”