Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 3 2018 | Page 58

The wind continued to howl around me, as it flung my bags back and forth. The cold was slowly
devouring me, eating away at my warmth and slowly gnawing at my soul. I didn’t care though. My soul had
died already. All I wanted now was to join them. I strode on another few miles, working my flimy and frail
legs as I dragged myself forward, aimlessly.
“There’s no point in trying, just accept it,” the icy wind whispered as it inched closer to my ear.
“Join us, join us,” the wind chanted in a steady rhythmic beat, slowly surrounding and mesmerising me, as
their freezing bodies encased me in a ring.
I could feel it coming now. The cold had done its work. The cold thrust itself into my chest, as I
lurched backwards, falling onto the snow. This long torture was finally at an end. I closed my eyes, as I felt
my spirit pushing through the wreck that was once my body, entering a sphere of calm darkness. Death was
close. Suddenly I was interrupted by a gleaming yellow shape. It started swirling and taking on a familiar
humanoid shape before started to resemble the body of Wukong.
“How...”
“Have you come this far just to die?” he questioned angrily, cutting me off. “We gave our lives for
you yet you give up steps away from the glory you’ve been searching for,”. His body shone brightly like
gold, as he jabbed at my face. “You’ve endured all this pain. For what?”
“I can’t carry on,” I rasped. “I’ve lost too much.”
“If you are knocked down seven times, get up eight times. Eventually, you will reach your goal.
You need to keep getting up. People need you to show them the true Buddhism, the true Buddha. They
need you most at this moment. I chose to die for you, because I believed in you. I sacrificed myself for your
mission. I will not see it fall apart now. If you stop here, I would’ve died for nothing. If you continue to
head down this path, and bring glory to your name, I would’ve died for a greater cause. We all need you
more than anything now”.
The vision of a bloody battlefield suddenly enveloped me, with two armies clashing viciously. The
brutal carnage spread like an octopus’s tentacles as fleeing villagers were hacked down as they begged for
mercy. Soldiers who had lost their weapons resorted to their fists as they lunged at their enemies, caked in
dried blood. Then the cavalry came charging down as they mowed over the injured, reducing the field to a
bloody pulp of death, as torches were flung against the thatched roofs of huts.` The huts were like weary old
men as they slowly melted under the fierce burn of the fire.
“Where is this hellhole?” I gasped before trailing off after recognising a familiar temple, with
corpses littered across the steps. This was where I had grown up and studied and where I had first
experienced the lull and calmness of Buddhism. Now it was in ruins, my family, friends and fellow monks all
massacred brutally and the whole place annihilated. A tear rolled down my cheek as the sadness
overwhelmed me. Instead of just the chasm of despair however, I felt something else. I felt the weight of all
of China on my back as I felt my grief evaporate, replaced by the steel of determination. China needed me
more than anything now. I was the one who could fix all this. If I died, so would Buddhism in China.
“Seven times down, eight times up,” I muttered as I smashed myself out the sphere, pulling myself
into my body and ignoring the excruciating pain that tore at me like a wolf. It was freezing, yet I could feel
the fire burning inside me and wrapping me in a blanket of warmth and determination. China needed me
now. My head spun as I pushed myself off the powdery silky snow and slung the heavy baggage over my
back. I started down the path, my eyes glowering with determination and finally, since the last few months I
felt there was a purpose dragging me forward.