Professor Fang Xin ran his fingers through his white hair, pausing to recollect, and then it dawned on him. Yes, that day—it all came flooding back.
The massive lecture hall, capable of accommodating 3,000 students, was nearly empty on the first day of class, with fewer than 50 students scattered sparsely around the room. The vast space felt hollow and unnervingly quiet. Fang Xin didn't mind; students rarely opted for this elective course. They didn't yet understand its value or significance. Straightening his files, he began his lecture with his trademark humor:
"Today, all the students who were meant to be here have shown up," he said, pointing at a student asleep in the back. "And some who weren't meant to be here are also here. That's already exceeded my expectations. I know I'm not particularly handsome. I heard that yesterday Miss Lang from Biology—the one with the, shall we say, exaggerated measurements—had her class so packed that students were standing at the back."
The room relaxed a little, and Fang Xin shifted gears. "Now, I know many of you think my research topic is too niche and too simple. Dogs—what's so interesting about dogs? They're everywhere—big ones, small ones, barking ones, biting ones. But let me ask, does anyone here feel like they don't understand dogs and need to study them?"
Murmurs broke out in the room, but no one admitted ignorance. Fang Xin smiled faintly and said, "Alright, let's test that. I'll start with something simple. Here are some slides. Can anyone tell me the common names of these dogs?"
Slide after slide appeared on the screen, but no one could name the dogs. To the students, a dog was just a dog; who cared what breed it was? Fang Xin thought for a moment and said, "Perhaps that was too advanced. Let's try something easier. In your opinion, what's the most ferocious dog in the world?"
The room buzzed to life. Some shouted "wolfdog," others "hunting dog," "bull terrier," "Siberian husky," or "Eskimo dog." Everyone had an opinion. Fang Xin noticed a tall student sitting in the middle of the room, silent, with a faint, disdainful smile on his face. It was the first time Fang Xin noticed Tashi Damba.
When the chatter subsided, Fang Xin displayed a photo of a Tibetan Mastiff—a purebred lion-head Iron-Backed Gold variety. Immediately, someone shouted, "That's a lion!" At that time, Tibetan Mastiffs hadn't yet gained widespread fame, and few people even knew they existed. Fang Xin explained, "This is recognized as the most ferocious dog in the world. Its name is Mastiff." He turned to the blackboard and wrote the word in bold strokes. "This breed originates from the Tibetan Plateau in China. The best-built Mastiffs come from a place called Hequ at the first bend of the Yellow River. The one in this photo is a standard Hequ Mastiff.
"The fiercest and most loyal Mastiffs, however, are found near Dama County in Tibet. This area, located on a high plateau, has an extremely harsh environment. There are many stories about Mastiffs. According to the Kangxi Dictionary, Mastiffs are defined as dogs measuring over four feet, known for their ferocity, loyalty, and ability to fight wild beasts. Simply put, a large, fierce, and loyal dog is called a Mastiff. In the sparsely populated Tibetan Plateau, where predators abound, Mastiffs are raised to guard sheep and protect against the cunning and vicious highland wolves. It's often said that one Mastiff can hold off three wolves. A good Mastiff can single-handedly fend off three wild wolves."
With the room now captivated, Fang Xin delved into more stories about Mastiffs, their origins, and their legends. The students listened intently, enchanted by the tales of such an extraordinary breed. Suddenly, the tall student in the middle spoke up:
"If you're an expert in canine studies, Professor, then tell me—among Mastiffs, which one is the strongest?"
The question caught everyone's attention. No one had expected Mastiffs to have ranks of strength or capability. Fang Xin looked at the student with newfound interest. It wasn't often a student challenged him. Smiling, he replied, "That's an excellent question. Yes, Mastiffs have different subspecies and bloodlines. Current research identifies three primary types, five subspecies, and eleven major lineages, originating from Tibet and spreading to Eastern and Northern Europe.
"The most physically perfect Mastiff is the Hequ Mastiff, as I just mentioned. The most combative and fierce is likely the Tangut Mastiff. However, due to their close genetic ties, their speed, strength, and combat instincts don't vary significantly. But in Tibet—only in Tibet—there are Mastiffs more formidable than any other. These aren't born strong; they're raised strong through human intervention. Tibetans call them Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff. That's the legend."
The room buzzed with curiosity. Everyone wanted to know what "Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff" meant. Fang Xin explained:
"It's a form of brutal selective breeding. To cultivate the finest Mastiff, ten pups of the same age are placed in a pit with no food—or just enough for one pup. These ten must compete ruthlessly, and only one will survive. This survivor may subsist on scraps or devour its siblings. As you know, dogs descended from wolves, retaining many lupine traits. In wolf packs, it's common for the dead to become food for the living, especially in extreme climates. This trait is most evident in Siberian wolves, known for their ferocity and adaptability. It's this ruthless survival instinct that enables them to thrive in the harshest environments. The lone surviving Mastiff from such a trial becomes a Mastiff of Mastiffs, possessing unparalleled survival instincts and vitality."
The students were mesmerized, hanging on Fang Xin's every word. But the tall student in the middle still wore that faint, disdainful smile, making Fang Xin uneasy. He pondered briefly and recalled another version of the legend, one even more obscure.
"There's another explanation for 'Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff,'" he began, "an even older, more mysterious, and crueler legend. It's said that if a female Mastiff gives birth to nine pups—a rarity, as most Mastiffs bear only four to six per litter—one among them is destined to become a Divine Mastiff.
"Since a mother Mastiff has only eight teats, one pup will inevitably starve. This pup must fight and kill its siblings, eventually consuming its mother to survive. It becomes a Mastiff of Mastiffs, possessing unmatched ferocity. As an adult, it can hunt gray bears and dominate the plateau as the apex predator, surpassing wolves and tigers. But this legend is poorly documented and remains unverified. I prefer the human-driven Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff explanation."
Finally, the tall student's expression shifted to one of approval, though he quickly followed with another question:
"Professor, what's stronger than a Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff?"
The room erupted into murmurs. Some thought the student was nitpicking, others admired his persistence, and most marveled at the endless mysteries surrounding Mastiffs. All eyes turned to Fang Xin, awaiting his answer.
Professor Fang Xin wiped the sweat from his forehead, surprised at how deeply this student seemed to understand Tibetan Mastiffs. It was obvious—the tall, broad-shouldered young man sitting in the middle of the classroom, his face ruddy from the plateau sun, with coarse skin and sharply defined features, bore all the unmistakable marks of a Tibetan. Even if he wasn't Tibetan by ethnicity, he was undoubtedly someone who had spent a long time living on the plateau. Discussing Mastiffs in front of a Tibetan felt somewhat like showing off carpentry skills to a master carpenter. However, Fang Xin was a professor. He couldn't afford to stumble in front of his students, especially not a freshman attending his class for the first time.
Adjusting his glasses—a habit he had whenever preparing for a serious discussion or deep thought—Fang Xin gathered himself. The room fell completely silent, the students holding their breath as if watching a duel between two experts. No one dared interrupt, fearing they might disturb the atmosphere.
After a moment of thought, Fang Xin fixed his gaze on the tall student, reluctant to utter the word. Finally, he spoke slowly, "Indeed, there is something more formidable than the 'Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff.' In Tibet, it holds the highest regard. It is called—the War Mastiff."
As soon as the word left his mouth, several students let out quiet exclamations. Fang Xin continued, "As the name suggests, a War Mastiff is a mastiff bred for combat. In Tibetan culture, its status is comparable to the divine mounts of Buddhist deities in ancient Chinese mythology or the sacred elephants of Thailand. Such a creature could only be kept by those of the highest standing in Tibetan society. Ordinary people neither possessed nor dared to possess one.
"The War Mastiff is essentially a refined product of the 'Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff' selection process, honed further through the wisdom and experience of generations of master trainers. It is the epitome of intelligence, loyalty, aggression, and combat prowess. Let me give you an example: you've all seen wolfdogs and are familiar with police dogs. If a regular household wolfdog were to fight a police-trained wolfdog of the same size and build, the police dog would almost certainly win. Why? Because it has undergone rigorous training to deliver the most effective attacks. The principle is the same with us humans: while we're all people, an ordinary person cannot match the strength of an Olympic weightlifting champion."
Fang Xin's tone grew somber. "A 'Nine-Dog-One-Mastiff' is said to be one of the three hardest animals in the world to tame due to its feral nature and arrogance. Yet, once tamed, a War Mastiff's loyalty to its master surpasses that of ordinary mastiffs and is even more touching than the most romantic of love stories."
Pausing, he shared a personal anecdote. "When I was conducting research in Tibet, I encountered a legendary War Mastiff named Dorje, owned by Awang Pucai, a former hunter who once trained War Mastiffs for a chieftain. Later, Awang became the leader of a Tibetan hunting team. One year, during a hunting expedition, Awang met with an accident and died. When his teammates brought his body back home, Dorje, chained to a stone pillar with an iron chain as thick as a thumb, broke free in a frenzy.
"Dorje's presence was so commanding that six or seven seasoned hunters were overwhelmed. Three were thrown to the ground, and the others didn't dare approach. Dorje licked Awang's nose and forehead, seemingly sensing the finality of death. From then on, it refused to let anyone near the body. It stood guard like a statue, its mane bristling in warning at any approach. Dragging Awang's body to the doorway, Dorje began a five-day vigil. It refused food and water, emitting a low, mournful whimper as though trying to awaken its master. When the bravest hunter finally approached again, he found Dorje had died, sitting upright with its head tilted toward the sky. That image has haunted me for years."
By the time Fang Xin finished, his voice was thick with emotion, and many students were moved to tears.
Just then, the bell rang. Exhaling deeply, Fang Xin spread his hands. "There are many more stories about Tibetan Mastiffs, but we're out of time today. I'm afraid I'll have to leave you with a tragic ending for now. If you're interested, come back tomorrow." The students groaned, reluctant to leave but resigned to the fact that the classroom was needed for the next session.
As they filed out, Fang Xin called out to the tall student who had been asking the questions. "Wait a moment, young man. What's your name?"
"He's Tashi Damba," someone answered for him.
But Tashi Damba raised his head proudly and corrected, "I am Damba. Tashi Damba."
Fang Xin nodded. "Ah, a Tibetan. Which part of Tibet are you from?"
Tashi Damba smiled and replied, "Guwi, Dawanuco Village."
Fang Xin's expression shifted. "Ah, no wonder you're so knowledgeable about Mastiffs—you're from the land of Mastiffs." Guwi was one of the most remote areas in Tibet, known as the homeland of purebred Mastiffs. But Dawanuco Village? Even Fang Xin had never heard of it. In a region spanning 2 million square kilometers with a population of fewer than 2 million, many villages covered areas larger than entire prefecture-level cities.
Tashi Damba exhaled and said, "Professor, your knowledge of Mastiffs is impressive, but I wanted to ask if you've ever heard of the legend of the Purple Qilin. It seems you haven't."
Fang Xin frowned, searching his memory. He was confident in his recall and would remember if he had ever come across such a term, but there was nothing. Finally, he bowed his head—a first in front of a student. However, as a scholar, he was always willing to admit his limitations, especially regarding a subject within his field of study.
He said lightly, "It seems I truly know nothing about this. Would you care to join me for a meal and tell me about the Purple Qilin? Is it a type of dog? Another Mastiff variant? To my knowledge, Mastiffs don't have purple coats."
Tashi Damba grinned. "Thank you for the invitation, Professor. Let's go."
Over the meal, Tashi Damba began recounting the story of the Purple Qilin. "In the early days, the Tibetan people were unrefined, living in barbaric conditions and prone to endless disputes and conflicts. It wasn't until Avalokiteshvara appeared to enlighten the ancestors with Buddhist teachings that peace began to take root. In 629 CE, the 33rd king, Songtsen Gampo, centralized power, unified the tribes, and established Buddhism as the guiding principle…"
Fang Xin interrupted, "Wait, I understand. Songtsen Gampo was the 33rd king, founder of the Tibetan Empire, who unified the plateau and spread Buddhism. But what does this have to do with the Purple Qilin?"
Tashi Damba clarified, "No, I'm not recounting Tibetan history. I'm quoting a scripture, which I've translated into modern language. The story of the Purple Qilin is recorded in this scripture."
Fang Xin nodded, signaling for him to continue.
Tashi Damba continued, "In the year 641 CE, an event of monumental significance occurred in Tibet. In January, Princess Bhrikuti Devi of Nepal arrived, bringing with her the eight-year-old likeness of Buddha Shakyamuni, one of the most renowned Buddhist icons. Then in March, Princess Wencheng of the Tang dynasty entered Tibet, carrying an equally revered twelve-year-old likeness of Shakyamuni. This marked the beginning of King Songtsen Gampo's adherence to Buddhism, initiating a new era of Buddhist development in Tibet…"
Tashi Damba paused frequently, clearly unfamiliar with translating such material, often stopping to gather his thoughts before continuing.
Professor Fang Xin, unable to contain his urgency, interrupted again. "You don't need to translate—just recite the original scripture. I can understand both Classical Tibetan and Proto-Tibetan. I've studied the major schools of Tibetan Buddhism, including Red, White, Flower, Yellow, and Proto traditions."
Tashi Damba's face lit up with joy. "Ah, so the professor has studied Tibetan Buddhism! In that case, I'll speak directly."
Switching to fluent Tibetan, he began to recount: "At that time, it was as if the palace gates of Indra had opened, revealing treasures capable of fulfilling all desires, bringing the four great fruits: Dharma, wealth, desire, and liberation…"
Professor Fang Xin understood the general meaning. The scripture described how Songtsen Gampo unified Tibet, ended warfare, and called upon the populace to embrace Buddhism. This was the rationale behind his marriages to Buddhist princesses from Nepal and Tang China. Later, Songtsen Gampo propagated the four miraculous laws and became the first Dharma King of Tibet. He dispatched four stewards to guard the southernmost, northernmost, westernmost, and easternmost regions of Tibet while spreading Buddhist teachings.
These stewards, known as Dharma Protectors, held high positions and were charged with safeguarding Tibetan history and Buddhist scriptures in remote regions. This ensured that the teachings of Mahayana Buddhism and historical records would survive even during times of war or dynastic upheaval. Tashi Damba's ancestors were among these protectors, stationed in the southernmost region of Guwi. The scripture he referenced was a sacred text preserved by his family for generations.
Tashi Damba elaborated at length on the origins of the scripture, but he spoke with modesty, not pride. Fang Xin realized that Tashi was presenting this history to establish the scripture's authenticity. Finally, Tashi said, "The Great King Langdarma loved hunting and took pleasure in chasing wolves across the plains. Upon ascending the throne, he declared Buddhism abolished, forced monks to renounce their robes and take up hunting, and desecrated sacred sites.
"In the fifth year of Gonghong's reign, he led a hunting party to the southern plains with ten War Mastiffs, 500 cavalrymen, and 300 archers. Traveling 100 miles eastward, they encountered a great rainstorm. His advisor, Bazong, warned that ominous clouds lay ahead and advised against proceeding, but the king ignored him.
"They pursued a lone sheep for three hours, reaching a forested plateau. The terrain grew dense with grass and trees, and suddenly, their warhorses stopped, snorting and stamping nervously. The vegetation swayed violently, concealing an unknown presence. Alarmed, the king ordered the Mastiffs to be released. To everyone's shock, the ten War Mastiffs crouched low, their eyes filled with reverence. Despite being whipped, they refused to advance.
"Then came a low growl, echoing across the mountains. The Mastiffs howled in unison, their cries resonating like thunder. The horses reared in panic, throwing the king to the ground. He commanded the archers to fire, but none dared to draw their bows."
At this point, Fang Xin felt a surge of questions rising within him. Langdarma, the last Tibetan king of the Yarlung dynasty, was notorious for his hostility toward Buddhism, overthrowing the faith championed by his predecessor, Ralpachen. Historically, Langdarma was assassinated by a Buddhist monk, and Tibet descended into a century of chaos. Fang Xin wondered why a king so opposed to Buddhism would have his deeds recorded in Buddhist scriptures. Could this text truly be authentic?
Meanwhile, Tashi continued, "Enraged, the king took up his bow and prepared to shoot into the forest. Suddenly, a thunderous roar shook the heavens. The sky darkened, and a creature emerged—a being the size of a colt, its body shimmering with a golden-purple hue. Its head was massive, its eyes gleamed like bronze bells, and its four legs stood firm like pillars.
"The men and Mastiffs were paralyzed. The creature's presence was overwhelming. It gazed directly at the king, who could not hold its stare and cried out, 'Divine Dog!' Dropping his bow, he and his men fell to their knees, worshipping the beast as a deity. After three bows and nine prostrations, the creature vanished.
"The king returned from the hunt, gravely ill, muttering about the 'Purple Qilin'—a divine creature under Buddha's protection. He declared that its appearance was a rebuke for his actions and vowed to turn toward goodness. Days later, while visiting Jokhang Temple to perform a purification ritual, he was assassinated in front of a stele."
Fang Xin recalled how, after hearing this story, he had raised numerous questions about its authenticity. In the days that followed, he and Tashi frequently debated the plausibility of the legend. However, Tashi always remained noncommittal, treating the discussion as irrelevant. To him, questioning the existence of the Purple Qilin was as futile as debating whether dinosaurs ever existed.
When Fang Xin pressed for the source of Tashi's certainty, his answer was simple: villagers in Dawanuco had witnessed the Purple Qilin. According to local lore, this sacred creature, said to be Avalokiteshvara's mount, descended to the mortal realm and remained hidden in Tibet's desolate regions. Those with pure hearts and a commitment to goodness could summon its aid in times of great need.
Tashi had once asked if the Purple Qilin could be a rare variant of the Tibetan Mastiff, but Fang Xin dismissed the idea. Such a large creature with such distinct features would have been documented in the modern scientific record. Yet, outside the oral traditions of Tashi's village, there was no evidence to substantiate the legend.
As their research continued, Tashi speculated that the Purple Qilin might be connected to Fang Xin's hypothesis on latent generational inheritance. This theory posited that certain traits in a species might skip generations, lying dormant in genetic material until reemerging under specific conditions. Fang Xin had applied this principle to canine studies, hypothesizing that an exceptionally rare genetic combination could result in unprecedented evolutionary traits.
Tashi argued that the Tibetan Mastiff's high-altitude environment necessitated unique adaptations, such as enhanced oxygen efficiency, powerful limbs, and increased sensory acuity—all of which aligned with the descriptions of the Purple Qilin. Despite these arguments, Fang Xin remained skeptical, unwilling to accept the legend without tangible evidence.
Now, staring at the photograph in front of him, Fang Xin felt a tremor of doubt for the first time. Could this image be real? Could the creature it depicted truly be the mythical Purple Qilin? His heart raced with a fervor he hadn't felt since receiving the invitation to the Matthieu-Leia Symposium.
Sensing his mentor's hesitation, Tashi seized the moment, calling out passionately, "Professor, come with me! You've devoted your life to studying canines—why? Why do we tirelessly promote Tibetan Mastiffs to the public? For me, Mastiffs are not just animals; they are my faith, my purpose. To find the most perfect, the most powerful Mastiff—that is my life's mission. Professor, I need your help!"