Zanxing (Retranslated)

The rain outside continued to fall incessantly.

The water on the ground always held the same layer of light ripples.

The scent of medicine grew stronger, and the bitter taste settled on her body, causing a strange pain deep in her bones and flesh. The woman looked at the white silk pouch in her hand, and for the first time, she ignored her pervasive pain, her eyes showing a hint of confusion.

In her memory, it seemed someone had once placed the pouch into her hand, saying, “This is a peace charm my mother gave me. I’m giving it to you to keep you safe.”

Who was speaking?

She turned her eyes around in confusion, looking at the familiar surroundings of the past decades, which suddenly felt somewhat unfamiliar.

It was as if another scene was slowly emerging from her mind, replacing her original memories. In this new scene, there were no noisy crowds, no endless bowls of medicinal soup. She looked down at her hands—emaciated hands that couldn’t possibly hold a green staff.

A green staff? The woman was puzzled. Why would she need to hold a green staff?

The embroidery on the pouch sparkled with tiny flecks of light. In front of her was a pale-faced young man in green clothing, crying like a rain-soaked pear blossom. The person beside him said, “Your Highness, please take care of yourself. I’ve heard that Mount Yue is very sinister… If I weren’t in poor health, I would certainly accompany you.”

What kind of place was Mount Yue?

The woman was lost in thought.

“Your Highness… Who is that again?”

A thunderclap shattered the clouds, and the wooden window was battered by the fierce wind, as if it would be violently smashed at any moment. The woman on the bed tightened her grip on the silk pouch, and a flood of painful memories surged up, pushing another entirely unfamiliar memory into her mind.

Endless bitter medicinal soups, a maid who had served her for over ten years.

Crimson rivers in a black fortress, ghostly fires burning silently in an empty great hall.

Always shut doors and windows, a mountaintop adorned with rainbow-colored dawn.

Brightly painted cups, a green hairpin broken into two pieces on the ground.

“Madam…”

“Your Highness…”

“Your health has been poor since you were in the womb…”

“You are the one who can save the demon race…”

Countless voices from afar echoed in her ears like demons whispering, stirring her thoughts into turmoil. She didn’t know who she was or which was the truth. It was as if decades of life were just a long dream, impossible to continue or to awaken from.

Frowning, she seemed to ask others and herself simultaneously.

“Who am I?”

Boom— The rain outside grew even more intense, pounding relentlessly against the windowpane as if to destroy the world.

“Who am I?” she asked again.

With a thunderous crash, a cup on the small table shattered into pieces from the force of the thunder. The rain became distant and prolonged, and at some unknown point, the world fell silent.

A flash of silvery lightning illuminated the woman’s face on the bed.

She lifted her gaze, as if seeing her surroundings clearly for the first time, her eyes calm and clear.

“I am…”

“Yang Zanxing.”

*

The doors and windows were tightly shut. Inside the room, the young man on the sickbed had a serene expression, his brows calm and refined.

The scent of medicine lingered in the air, like an invisible cage that confined the person within.

Yet, the person on the bed remained calm, neither tormented by pain nor showing any trace of confusion. His gaze was tranquil as he silently stared out the window. After a long while, he finally closed his eyes and spoke softly.

“All phenomena are impermanent, all dharmas are without self.”

*

Blood flowed profusely from her body.

Vitality was gradually fading away.

Outside, the sounds of chaotic footsteps and heavy breathing were muffled by the night shadows of the forest.

Robbers had taken her gold and silver and inflicted injuries on her body. The woman lay on the ground, blood continuously oozing from her wounds and lips. Life was slowly slipping away, and the approaching breath of death instilled a primal fear within her.

A fear of death.

Zanxing looked up through the gaps in the branches, where the faint starlight was visible, cold and sharp.

She sighed softly.

Unable to summon strength or alter the situation before her. Unlike illusions, where seeing the truth could revert everything to its original state.

She had transformed into a crying newborn, an elderly person with snow-white hair, a sick woman on a bed, and a traveler holding a candle in the wind. Each one was her, and yet none of them were her.

Everything experienced here felt real, an entire lifetime stretching from beginning to end, as if each day and each year were an eternity. Life within was filled with genuine experiences—joys and sorrows, separations and reunions.

At first, she could recognize who she was and understand why she was here. Yet, as days passed, the time spent as a newborn, an elder, a young woman, and a traveler seemed to surpass the time she spent as “Yang Zanxing.” There were no sects, no demon realms, no conspiracies or rivers of blood here. It was peaceful and serene, and she was only subjected to the suffering of being human, the countless pains of worldly beings.

Buddhism speaks of the Eight Sufferings: birth, aging, sickness, and death, the suffering of separation from loved ones, the suffering of encountering what one hates, the suffering of not obtaining what one desires, and the suffering of the five aggregates’ afflictions

¹.

On that summer afternoon, she had discovered a white peace charm on the small table by her sickbed. The memory had not lied, the charm could alleviate human suffering. And in that moment of pain, clarity returned to her mind.

Zanxing finally understood.

Every cultivator, when reaching the pinnacle of their path, inevitably faces a trial of their Dao heart. Zanxing had seen many such scenarios before, where, in countless tests, the key was whether one could remain true to oneself and not be swayed by the allure of the mortal world, not abandoning the path midway.

The Five Wheels Pagoda was no different.

But it seemed both similar and different.

It didn’t require the test-taker to maintain their true nature through countless cycles of reincarnation, as in this moment, Zanxing already understood that everything was false, yet the true sensation of death was still within reach. The Buddha Tower seemed to require that the one who came for the trial must reincarnate through thirty-six paths, experiencing the sufferings of sentient beings.

Each experience felt incredibly real, and every pain was inescapable.

She was about to die, about to start a new life, Zanxing knew in her heart. She didn’t know how long this reincarnation would last, or how long the reincarnation of each life in reality would endure. It was likely that previous test-takers of the Five Wheels Pagoda had experienced the same. Some might have lost their true nature in the endless trials, gradually forgetting their own lives and the original intent of their cultivation. Others might have persisted to the end, experiencing the sufferings of all beings, and passing the trial.

This was the intention of the Buddha Tower.

Zanxing lowered her eyes. She was dying, feeling as if she were becoming a feather, gradually lighter, her consciousness spreading and merging into the night.

In the crimson hues, a trace of worry crossed Zanxing’s eyes.

Footnotes

1. 
   
   

   The five aggregates or five skandhas in Buddhism are the five aspects of human experience that constitute a person’s existence. Afflictions or kleshas related to these aggregates are the emotional and mental disturbances that cause suffering and hinder spiritual progress. These afflictions are considered to cause suffering and hinder spiritual enlightenment.