The author of the story, Li Qiqing (李启庆), or the Bucket Rider (骑桶人), is a Chinese fantasy writer, who turns to ancient myths and tradition for inspiration instead of imitating Western writers. He published a collection of short stories, a novel, a historical account of ancient Chinese fantasy literature, and a biography of famous Chinese Buddhist Monk, Master Hong Yi. Previously, we have published one of his stories called The Monk of Flower Temple, an exciting story about love and perseverance.
Author’s Note: Ke (柯, tree stem), in Chinese, has a particular meaning. In Tang Dynasty legend, a story called “A Dream of Nangke” (《南柯一梦》) revolves around a man picked to marry a princess, who became a high-ranking official. He conquers neighboring states but eventually fails in a political struggle. In the end, he finds himself waking up from an afternoon nap under a big tree to the south of his house, and realises everything has just been a dream. When I chose dongke (a big tree on the east) for the title of my story, I followed tradition and plot; the fate of the characters were already determined.
Forty kilometers away from Qingcheng County stands the Dongke Mountain. With its high altitude and thick forest cover, the mountain is virtually trackless. Legend has it that the Dongke Temple is somewhere on the mountain. The monks, however, have all become anāgāmin (“non-returner”, practitioners who have reached the penultimate stage to becoming Arhats), and therefore extinguished all earthly desires. A few decades ago, a woodsman accidentally found the temple and dwelled there for several days. He returned, yet remained tight-lipped about the experience. Finally, on his death bed, the woodsman, vaguely, mentioned the “many swallows in the temple”. He went on to say that despite his pleasant stay it would be better for his family to “never seek the temple again”.
On a spring day in the year 808, scholar Liu Xichu took a boat with seven or eight of his comrades up the stream to Dongke Mountain in search of the legendary temple. They found the source of the stream, only to discover untrodden woods and dark ravines. Soon, the sun began to set, alarming the scholars who urged the boatman to go back. The boatman, however, was not used to navigating the mountain stream and steered the boat into a rock where it foundered. The current, though not deep, was swift, and Liu had to grasp the branch of an old tree. On finally managing to lift his head above the water to search for his companions, they were long gone—their faint cries for help gradually fading away. In the end only the chirps of the birds and roar of the apes echoing in the woods remained, a heart-wrenching and miserable sound at the time.
Liu breathed deeply and took a brief moment to collect himself. He crawled onto the bank along the branch. Walking around, he found an old tree to climb up and rest. Thankfully, a piece of nang bread was still safely tucked in his robe. Though it was soaking wet and had be come soft, he tore a piece off and swallowed it. By this time it was dark and the moon had begun rising against the mountain. Liu, thinking of his family, couldn’t help shedding a few tears.
The next morning, Liu climbed down the tree and tried to find his way back, gradually losing all sense of time and direction. Every piece of mountain rock and every branch of every tree looked exactly the same. He fed on wild fruits when he finished the nang bread. His wanderings became dull and tardy, until finally, he fell down at the foot of an old tree, exhausted, not able even to stir a limb. “I can’t believe I will die here!” he said to himself. On seeing a few mountain flowers dancing in the wind not far away, he began sobbing wildly. By dusk, he ceased crying and felt much better; his strength seemed to have returned. Standing up and looking around, he began collecting fruit for dinner. Suddenly, he noticed a faint scent of flowers in the wind.
He was carried away by the scent and carefully followed it. The moon was bright and the wind refreshing. Liu Xichu kept walking till midnight, using reserves of strength he didn’t know he had. The fragrance became rich and pure, sometimes sweet and intoxicating like good wine, sometimes sharp and piercing like a blade. Enchanted, Liu kept advancing, unconsciously into a valley. In the moonlight, he entered an ancient forest, with giant trees several arm-lengths wide. No wild grass was found on the ground, just a layer of gray. The fragrance was beyond a mere scent now, becoming a flowing spring of green jade.
Liu stumbled forward, suddenly noticing a shabby temple. The front gate collapsed a long time ago. There was an azale a tree, three meters tall, in front of the ruined gate. Despite the dim light, he could still see the vivid colors of its branches.
Liu entered the temple shouting: “Is anyone here? Anyone?” Only a faint humming came as reply. Though he walked the whole night, only at this very moment did he notice his feet aching through to their bones. He dropped to the ground, at first sitting, then later sliding down and falling into a deep sleep.
He awoke the next morning to a courtyard full of wild grass. Inside the main hall, spider-webs were draped everywhere. On beams and pillars were stacks of swallow’s nests. A few Buddha statues were barely upright with broken arms or missing eyes, their heads covered with gray bird droppings.
Liu Xichu was so starved, he was light headed. After searching inside and outside the temple, he found a few berries that were sour and sharp, which he gulped down nevertheless. Only when he felt better did he notice that there seemed to be many birds flying above the forest—their wings rustling together. He left the temple and labored to the top of the mountain. Endless bird droppings covered the ground. He managed to collect some forest fruit and saw a wild beehive. He started a fire to smoke-out the bees, and fed himself a hearty meal of honey, before continuing to march upwards. Fortunately, the mountain top was not so far. He moved upward, step by step. A swallow would sweep by from time to time and then lightly fly through the leaves, up into the sky.
It was still morning when he left the temple, but by the time he reached the top it was sunset. The sun shone through the mountain peak on the opposite side and tinged half the valley in deep red, the other half left dark green. Countless swallows swarmed back and forth above the woods. When they flew into the sunshine, they became like the flaming birds of Zhu Rong—the fire god—a blaze of red all through. But once they were in the dark half, they turned into green fish, as if swiftly swimming underwater.
The moon was bright and stars scarce when Liu arrived back at the temple. He made do by dozing off and eating some of the honey acquired the day before. He brightened up again, carefully examining the temple inside and out. Though in ruins, much of the temple’s richly ornamented columns, beams, green rafters, and red tiles remained. Judging by its scale, the temple could have housed more than a hundred monks; the state of its decay was curious.
There were swallow nests everywhere, from the main hall right through to the dining room; the abbot’s chamber, even the toilet, were occupied by birds. The floor covered by their droppings over the years, seemed soft when Liu first set upon them, but were solid as stone at their core.
Swallows flew into the temple from time to time to feed their young, not in the least affected by Liu’s presence. Maybe they were accustomed to the monks here before; the sudden appearance of a human didn’t seem to alarm them.
Liu lived on honey for several days in the temple—becoming, surprisingly, too happy to think of home. In the swallows’ nests lay many eggs, but Liu was not willing to eat them. When the honey was finished, he went into the woods to pick wild fruit. Though they were in mid-spring, Liu didn’t mind their bitter taste.
Just like that, over 10 days passed until one day at noon, Liu heard a vague rustle behind one of the Buddha figures. Turning to check, he found a deep pit in the ground. It was too dark inside to see anything. On the nearby wall there was also a large hole from where the rustling noise seemed to be originating. Liu bent down to examine the hole closely and got a feeling that some kind of monster must be hiding there. He grabbed a stick and poked inside. Suddenly, a bat soared and crashed into his face, leaving him confused and somewhat disturbed. Another bat was barely out of the hole when Liu hastily jumped aside. More dark brown bats flipped their webbed wings, scrambling to make out the opening. In a blink of an eye, these bats clouded the main hall, rendering it in a dull darkness.
Only an hour later did all bats leave the hole, gliding out of the main hall to form a long line. Before Liu could recover from his shock, he heard breathing from the pit. Startled, Liu found a piece of brick and threw it into the pit from afar.
“Argh!” A scream came from the bottom, sounding like a person.
