The madman, seizing the moment when Tashi Damba was momentarily stunned, snatched the tsampa balls from his hands and turned to flee. Caught off guard, Tashi forgot to give chase. Zhang Li, quick on his feet, grabbed the back of the madman's vest. However, the madman was surprisingly strong, tearing the vest with a loud rip before escaping. Zhang glanced at Tashi, unsure whether to pursue. In the blink of an eye, the madman darted into a narrow alley and disappeared.
Professor Fang Xin, standing beside Tashi and unable to see the madman's chest, sensed something unusual and quickly asked, "The Goba tribe? What did you see on his chest?"
Zhang Li hesitated before responding, "It—it looked like a wolf's head?"
"No!" Tashi Damba corrected him. "It wasn't a wolf. It was the Purple Qilin totem."
"What!" Fang Xin exclaimed, struggling to believe what he had just heard.
Tashi explained, "I told you before, Professor. Don't you remember? The Goba tribe lives further south of my village, deep in the uninhabited regions. The legend of the Purple Qilin originates from them."
Fang Xin nodded as realization dawned. "Ah, yes. You mentioned that before. They're the tribe that, before liberation, still practiced slash-and-burn agriculture and lived in primitive, communal hunting societies."
Tashi muttered, "Exactly. They live in areas inaccessible by road, beyond 7,000-meter-high peaks, guarding the last primeval forests of the high plateau. They are a tribe that coexists with wolves, known as the most formidable hunters of the highland forests. I once planned to seek out their tribe, but my father stopped me. He said they were untouchable, the closest to Zanmoh, the 'Demonic Lords.' According to legend, their ancestors' souls were tethered to Zanmoh, bringing plague, death, and disaster. Later, Zanmoh was subdued by Palden Lhamo, who condemned them to dwell in the 'Fortress of Evil Souls.' The fortress is said to rest on a plain of red copper, surrounded by jagged cliffs, with vultures circling the skies and poisonous serpents slithering the rocks. At its center lies a sea of boiling blood. The Purple Qilin, the divine beast, is said to guard Zanmoh under Palden Lhamo's command. These ancient myths have long been buried in history, remembered only by my father."
Zhang Li interrupted, "Now that he's run off, should we chase him?"
Tashi nodded emphatically. "We must find him. I'm almost certain he knows something about the Purple Qilin."
Zhang, having gleaned bits and pieces from Tashi and Fang's conversation, realized they were going through all this trouble to find a dog. Seeing Tashi's anxious expression, he couldn't help but find it amusing. Fang Xin reassured him, "Don't worry. He's been living here for a while. It shouldn't be hard to find him."
The three got into the car and drove around the area, asking a local for directions. The man pointed out a path and muttered, "What's so special about that mad beggar? People keep coming to find him."
"What!" Tashi and Fang both exclaimed, startled. They quickly asked for more details. The man replied, "Just a few days ago, a young girl—seventeen or eighteen—was asking about that madman. Do you know her?"
Fang shook his head, but Tashi's eyes widened. "A young girl! Did you get a good look at her? Do you know where she went?"
The man, startled by Tashi's intensity, stammered, "I don't know. She was just asking for directions to find someone. How would I know where she went? She wasn't Tibetan."
"Do you know her?" Fang asked, his gaze fixed on Tashi. Tashi quickly avoided eye contact, muttering, "No… No, I just thought someone else might also be looking for the Purple Qilin. If they find it first, it'd be… disastrous."
Fang, who knew his student well, noted Tashi's poor attempt at lying. "Oh," he said knowingly, his tone neutral. Tashi, unable to meet Fang's eyes, looked like a guilty child caught in the act. "Let's just find that madman," he said awkwardly. "If he leaves for good, we'll be…"
The three arrived at the madman's temporary dwelling, a stilted wooden house raised four or five meters above the ground. The roof was adorned with faded prayer flags, and the facade bore traditional Tibetan motifs of the sun, moon, and clouds. White stone stupas flanked the entrance, with a pair of yak horns mounted at the center. The door was unlocked. Inside, the house was empty, wind whistling through the structure. A pungent smell of urine and rotting food lingered in the air. The walls were adorned with traditional Tibetan murals, and one sunlit room housed a shrine, though its altar had long been emptied. Dust covered the interiors, and a pile of tattered clothing in one corner appeared to have been used as bedding. There was no sign of the madman.
As Tashi and Fang grew increasingly anxious, unsure where the madman had gone, Zhang Li called out, "Over here!"
They hurried to the shrine where Zhang had opened a window and pointed outside. Below the window, curled up in a dark bundle that resembled a hedgehog, was the madman. He was so well hidden that it would've been impossible to spot him without looking closely.
The three hurried outside, circling behind the wooden house to block the madman in a narrow alley.
They soon realized their caution was unnecessary. The madman was curled up in a ball, trembling under a thick black blanket of unknown material. He appeared desperate to bury his head under the cover, occasionally peeking out with wide, fearful eyes. The stench around him was overwhelming—he had soiled himself in fear.
Following his gaze, they saw a small, fuzzy creature—a four or five-month-old black puppy, still unsteady on its feet. In Tibet, dogs are revered as sacred. Many regions incorporate canine imagery into their totems and rituals. The locals' respect for dogs is akin to India's veneration of cows. Stray dogs roam freely, sometimes in packs, throughout Tibetan streets and wilderness. Experienced observers can occasionally spot a fine breed, even a mastiff, among them.
But the puppy before them was no such rarity. Tashi and Fang immediately recognized it as a common stray, incapable of posing any threat to an adult. They were baffled by the madman's sheer terror at the sight of the harmless pup.
The puppy was scavenging for food and naturally approached the tsampa dropped by the madman. The man's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and he let out a hoarse cry. It seemed that if the puppy moved any closer, the madman might faint from sheer panic.
Tashi stepped forward, placing a large hand gently on the puppy's neck, stopping it from advancing.
The madman erupted in frantic screams, "Go away! Get it away! Take it! Take it away!" His voice was in a southern Tibetan dialect, one that few could understand—fortunately, Tashi Damba was from that region.
Tashi Damba smiled faintly, holding the small dog in his palm. He waved it in front of the madman's face and said, "What's this? You can talk now?"
The madman's chest heaved violently as his eyes avoided Tashi's hand. He pleaded, "Take it away, quickly! I'm begging you."
Fang Xin raised a hand to block the dog from the madman's view and said to Tashi, "It seems he's genuinely terrified of this animal. Let's not scare him to death."
With a shrug, Tashi handed the small dog to Zhang Li, who was standing behind him. Then he turned back to the madman and asked, "Are you from the Goba tribe? Where is your village? Why are you here alone?"
The madman stared at the dog in Zhang Li's hands, his gaze filled with terror and hatred. His teeth chattered, but he gritted them and said, "Dead! It came, and they're all dead!"
Fang Xin, though unable to understand the madman's dialect, noticed that his left ear was missing a chunk. The wound had long since healed, but the scar suggested a dog bite.
Tashi frowned. "What's dead? Speak clearly."
The madman's mouth drooled, and his eyes turned vacant. He muttered in a detached tone, "All the sheep, they were all bitten to death!" He seemed to be recalling something, his fear mingled with an unsettling indifference to death.
Seeing this apathy, Tashi felt a chill run down his spine. The look in the madman's eyes was so cold, it was as if life itself had never existed. Sensing something deeply unsettling, Tashi grabbed the madman's shoulders and shook him, demanding, "What about the people? What happened to the people in your village?"
The madman's face twisted into a faint, eerie smile. He replied calmly, "All the people… were bitten to death."
Though Tashi had braced himself for such an answer, his heart still pounded wildly. What could have happened in the Goba tribe's village? The sole survivor had gone mad. What horrors had he witnessed? If the man had shown raw fear, Tashi might have been able to console him. But his detached demeanor, treating the loss of an entire village as if it were nothing more than ants crushed underfoot, sent shivers down Tashi's spine.
Suddenly, the madman began chanting in a singsong tone, his voice carrying an incantation-like rhythm in ancient liturgical Tibetan: "The blood of heretical demons stains red, the divine radiance is absent, the guardian beasts of the four gates awaken…"
Zhang Li, watching the madman laugh and cry, sometimes mumbling and other times singing, murmured, "What is this lunatic doing?" Fang Xin quickly gestured for silence, signaling Zhang Li not to interrupt.
While Fang Xin could understand Tibetan, the local dialect was beyond him. However, he could tell from Tashi's grave expression that his student understood every word.
After about half an hour, Tashi finally stood up, his face heavy with concern. The madman, meanwhile, continued his erratic behavior, alternating between laughter, tears, and song. Fang Xin asked with concern, "What did you gather?"
Tashi opened his mouth but found himself momentarily speechless, his throat tight from tension. Swallowing hard, he croaked, "The Purple Qilin… it must be near their village. But… I don't know what happened. Everyone in the village… it seems they're all dead. He's the only one who escaped."
Fang Xin, stunned, interjected, "Killed by the Purple Qilin—" but stopped himself.
Tashi shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't say that directly. It's just my guess. Professor, have you heard of the Four Temples?"
Fang Xin paused, caught off guard. While he was knowledgeable about Tibetan culture, he hadn't heard of these. Tashi, who had learned much unwritten history from his father, seemed to know more.
Tashi explained slowly, "Starting with the 33rd Tsanpo revitalizing Buddhism, Lhasa became the sacred center, with Mount Kailash, Mördo, Kongpo, and Nyenchen Tanglha forming the four divine mountains. They cradle the holy city like a palm holding a precious gem. Jokhang Temple sits at the heart of the old city as the central temple. To the east is the oldest Samye Monastery, to the north is Chonggu Monastery near Nyenchen Tanglha, to the west is Pabonka, and to the south is Sakya Monastery. Together, these are known as the Four Temples."
Hearing this, Fang Xin immediately understood and added, "Ah, I see. These are the Four Temples mentioned in the later Bon sect and Vajrayana traditions. I was initially surprised to hear of this connection, considering Bon is native to Tibet and often at odds with Buddhism. Moreover, the construction dates don't align. Jokhang and Pabonka were built during Songtsen Gampo's reign, while Samye and Sakya came over a century later, and Chonggu even later during the post-Buddhist revival period. How could these temples be connected as one group?"
Tashi's eyes flickered with unease. Gazing at the darkening sky, he muttered, "I don't fully understand either. Maybe my father knows. It's time to go home."
Fang Xin placed a comforting hand on Tashi's shoulder and said kindly, "Let's go home. You'll find answers there. Your mother is waiting for you."