Odd, Huxian thought. Very odd. He looked around and noticed everyone was busy. Curious, Huxian walked to the second person he’d spoken to, Li. Hello, Monk Li, Huxian said. How are you doing today?
“Pardon, Benefactor, but I believe this is the first time we’ve met,” Li said. “Is there something I can help you with?”
A chill ran down Huxian’s spine.
Don’t you remember me? I asked you about powerful monks, Huxian said.
“I am certain we’ve never met,” Li said. “As for powerful monks, there are many around here. I myself am a resplendent monk.”
Huxian, concerned, continued their discussion. You’re a resplendent monk? Why are you sweeping the plateau?
“It is my duty to serve, just as it is anyone’s,” Li said. “Powerful or weak, big or small, everyone must do their part.” It was almost the same response, but not exactly.
Have you heard of a city full of ghosts? Huxian asked, slightly changing the nature of the question.
“Ah, that city,” Li said, sighing lightly. “They are bound by karma to never change.”
Can you help me free them from their curse? Huxian asked.
“I cannot,” Li said, shaking her head. “If you are needing nothing else, I will continue my duties.” She continued sweeping, and Huxian observed as she did so for an entire day, never stopping. He observed the other monks as they worked and meditated, taught children, and learned. Mentors taught their students and junior monks consulted with their masters.
Huxian continued observing, and by the third day, he finally noticed his shadow had gone missing. There was no sun in the sky, despite the light. The monks didn’t cast shadows either. Yet unlike the city of ghosts, the monks did seem to change. As time passed, they shifted between roles. Ao began sweeping, and Li went to meditate. Teachers finished teaching children and returned to their chambers, where they recited mantras.
As he observed, everything seemed to blur together. One action led to another, and the children began to grow before his very eyes. Older monks went about their daily lives, growing older and older, until finally, some either transcended or died of old age in meditation. This all happened very quickly, almost impossibly so.
Those who’d started as children soon became full monks, but no children came to replace the old. Unperturbed by this, almost expecting it, these full monks continued their meditation, and one by one, they died off or transcended. Finally, no one remained.
What the hell just happened? Huxian thought. He felt as though he’d experienced five hundred years in only a few hours. It was madness, pure madness. He walked around, looking over the buildings the monks had left behind. They were well-maintained and clean, just like the monks had left them. Simple statues of the Buddha could be seen everywhere, and inside each dwelling sat a rosary, abandoned by the monks as they died, their bodies transformed into motes of light as they rejoined the cycle of reincarnation.
All was quiet. And with this quiet came great exhaustion. Huxian’s eyes began to droop. He tried to keep them open, to see just a little more of the curious vision, but it proved too much for him, so he closed his eyes and slept.
He woke to familiar words: “Greetings, Benefactor.”
Greetings, Benefactor. He let those words wash over him, and the monk eventually lost interest as Huxian ignored him. The monk sat down in meditation, the same as he always did.
Huxian tried avoiding the sweeper, but the sweeper still found him and found a way to introduce herself. He could only sigh and let it wash over him. Was it the hundredth time he’d seen the vision? The hundred and eighth? He didn’t feel any older, despite having lived through many of these lifetimes. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either. After the second repeat vision, Huxian had decided he’d had enough. He’d tried to walk away from the plateau, but to his surprise, he couldn’t leave. When he’d tried walking outside the shadow boundary, he’d found himself reentering it. He’d given up after several dozen tries.
Something was happening, a mystery he needed to solve. Just like the ghostly city, the plateau was home to a large temple, the same temple the monks visited every day. Huxian had gone there many times as well. Unlike the gaudy golden statues of a fat man he saw in his inherited memories, these statues were simple. From what he knew, they were also more accurate renditions of the Buddha.
These Buddhists were different from those ghosts that had clung to eternal life and tried to chain the sun. They spent every waking hour trying to shed their karma, yet here they were, living out their entire lives over and over. What kept them here? Regret? Had they been cursed for failing to avert the disaster? He’d tried asking, but naturally, no one paid attention to the ravings of a mad demon.
So he watched. Huxian watched a half dozen more times, and every time, he saw it less like a real occurrence and more like a memory. A shadow of what had once been.
A shadow? he thought one day. It had been a long time since he’d seen his own shadow. He, like every monk, was also reliving his life. Does my shadow have anything to do with this? No one here had shadows. The sun was obscured, despite its presence in the east. The setting sun was invisible here, in the shadow of the mountain. That wrong shadow that gave him chills every time he remembered it.
If this side has a shadow, what of the other side? he suddenly thought. He’d never tried going to the other side of the mountain. He’d
