Only then did the older monk speak. “Miss, our humble temple is honored by your presence. But may I ask the purpose of your visit?”

That was a pretty direct question. However, since I couldn’t possibly tell him the real goal, I made up something. “I got lost.”

“Lost, climbing up a steep path to the top of a remote mountain?” His eyes were large as an owl’s and sharp as a wolf’s.

“I’m… writing a novel. There is a scene about a hermit living on a mountain.” I smiled inside. Wow. How did I just come up with something so clever?

He stared at me curiously. “Climbing here alone in the twilight doesn’t intimidate you?”

“I didn’t come here intentionally; I got lost. A panic seized me so I kind of… lost my mind.” I laughed nervously, feeling completely befuddled. “So… Master, why a temple here?”

“Because we’re hermit monks. We want to be as far from the trivial affairs of the world as possible.”

“That’s what I want, too.” I gave out another nervous laugh. “If that’s possible.”

I looked around, but there was not much to look at—an altar with offerings placed before a wooden Buddha, and rough walls decorated with a few paintings of Buddha and Guan Yin, the Goddess of Compassion.

Although this square-jawed, broad-headed monk was robust and in fact not bad looking, I didn’t feel much warmth for him. He seemed careful not to show his emotions—if he had any. But that emotionless mask could have just as easily concealed boiling passion.

The monk spoke again. “It’s already dark, so you cannot go down the steep hill now. You will have to stay here overnight.”

That was exactly what I wanted. “Thank you, Master. I’m Violet Chen from Taiwan. May I have the honor to know your name?” I thought it was very clever of me to change my name and country.

“Floating Cloud.” He pointed to the young monk who now sat in a corner listening intently to our conversation. “My disciple, Pure Wisdom.”

After I made a slight bow to both of them, Pure Wisdom excused himself to fix the bed in an adjacent room.

I took the chance to ask the older monk, “Master Floating Cloud, only you and Pure Wisdom live here?”

He nodded.

“Do you have visitors?”

“The last was many years ago.”

Just then, the young monk came back and announced that my room was ready.

Floating Cloud studied me with his torchlike eyes. “Miss Chen, I think you should retire now.”


Early next morning, the young monk knocked at my door and led me to have breakfast in the main room. All three of us quietly consumed our rice soup and pickled vegetables. I sensed we were not to speak during the meal.

Fifteen minutes later, as Pure Wisdom cleared away the bowls and plates, Floating Cloud asked, “Miss Chen, are you feeling better now?”

I looked up to him from my steaming tea. “Yes, much better. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“If you want to leave today, Pure Wisdom can take you down the mountain. If not, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. But I’m afraid there’s not much to see around here.”

The young monk blurted out, “Master, what about our library and art collection?”

“You have an art collection here? I’d definitely love to see it. That should be something very useful for my writing.”

Floating Cloud asked, “What do you write?”

Still expressionless. I didn’t have a clue what could possibly be inside his bald, monkish head.

“I’m a novelist. My second book will be a family saga about siblings fighting over a huge inheritance of precious artwork. Since I don’t know much about art or how to research it,” I said, putting up the sweetest smile I could muster, “may I have both the honor and pleasure to see your temple’s art so I’ll be inspired?”

He studied me for a few moments before, to my delight, a faint smile finally made its delayed appearance on his face. “All right, maybe you’re meant to be here. I’ll let you see the art collection, which almost no one knows about. This will be the most auspicious day in your life.”

I put my hands together in the prayer gesture and made a deep bow. “Thank you, Master Floating Cloud. I’ll never forget.”

He picked up the ceramic teacup and noisily sipped his tea before he spoke again. “Fortunately, as monks, we don’t have to deal with families.”

After that, Floating Cloud asked Pure Wisdom to prepare two kerosene lamps. He cast his disciple a commanding look. “Now you stay here and meditate.” Then he turned to me. “Let’s go, Miss Chen.” He extended his hand in a gesture of invitation; I noticed that one of his wrists was wrapped with several strands of amber prayer beads. Each gem, sparkling and lustrous, seemed to beckon me to uncover its little secret.

Floating Cloud led me around corners, then down steep stairs where, after a seemingly endless descent, we finally arrived at a narrow corridor. While I strived to keep up with the monk’s brisk steps, my heartbeat accelerated. Where was he taking me? A secret torture chamber? But I’d already stepped onto a path—or stairs—of no return. What could I do now? Rush back up to the temple, then dash down the mountain just to hit my head on a boulder and have my brains splashed like vomit?

As these thoughts were running through my head, we arrived at a small antechamber with paintings on the stone walls. In the flickering lamplight, I could see the bulging eyes of a fierce guardian, his hair raised as if he was being electrocuted. On the other wall, even more intimidating, another angry god brandished a huge sword to ward off invisible, evil forces.

My temples pounded and cold sweat broke out under my arms and down my back. I felt as if I was about to have a panic attack. There was not a single book in sight! Had the monk lured me here for some evil purpose?

Just then Floating Cloud muttered something unintelligible, touched the third eye of the electrocuted god, and gave it a gentle push. To my astonishment, a door swung open to another room—or another dimension.

He motioned for me to go in.

I hesitated, but he walked inside, putting down one lamp on a table while still holding the other in his mala-bead-wrapped hand.

The other “dimension,” now lit up by the two kerosene lamps, revealed walls covered with wooden shelves. Filling the shelves were books, manuscripts, and embroidered boxes.

Mesmerized, my feet pulled me inside as a “Wah!” shot out between my lips. A slight bitter smell of old paper mixed with the fragrance of residual incense penetrated my nostrils.

As the monk walked around the room, his lamp cast shafts of light on the books and boxes, which seemed to stare back at us with suspicious eyes.

“How many books are stored here?” I asked, my fear subsiding slightly as I saw this was indeed a library.

Floating Cloud stared hard at me, his tone chiding. “It’s never the quantity but the quality that counts. I’m very proud to say that we own a few of the orphaned sutras here.”

“What do you mean…”

“These are the only copies in China, indeed, in the whole world.” Pulling out one manuscript he declared, “This one is worth hundreds of thousands.”

When I reached out to touch it, the monk caught my hand in midair, his grasp light but extremely powerful. A pained “Ouuuch!” escaped from my mouth.

Floating Cloud’s expression turned cold. “No outsider may touch anything here. Every single item is priceless. You’re lucky I even let you in here.”

“I’m so sorry, Master,” I said, while noticing that a red welt had already made its impression on my wrist. Floating Cloud must be a master of internal kung fu, like those legendary Shaolin monks.

He set the manuscript down on a table and unrolled it slowly so I could have a good look. As the writing revealed itself, I sensed something peculiar about the vibrations rolling out from the document. Instinctively, I leaned back a little as the monk gave me a disapproving look.

The worn, yellowed paper was covered with neat calligraphy written in the regular style. The title of the work was Diamond Sutra. I’d vaguely heard of this sutra before, but I had no idea if it had anything to do with diamonds—the kind that is forever and supposed to be a woman’s best friend.

I didn’t want to reveal my ignorance by asking how diamonds have anything to do with sutras, so I came up with the banal “It’s beautiful, and the calligraphy so elegant.”

“Can you tell what it was written in?” the monk asked, or challenged, me.

“Chinese ink,” I said. What else? It was such an obvious question.

“Look more carefully, Miss Chen.”

When I scrutinized very carefully, the writing appeared to be in a very dark shade of reddish brown. “Some kind of red Chinese ink?” I asked, feeling another wave of odd vibrations from the manuscript.

“No, not ink.” He paused for effect. “It’s blood.”

The mystery of the vibration was suddenly revealed. Blood. Slowly a chill crept up my spine. What was I doing in this secret chamber inside a creepy temple on a remote mountain in China with a monk who collected manuscripts written in blood?!

I looked up to stare at his face, now eerie under the flickering light. “Animal blood?”

The monk let out a hearty laugh. “You’re probably too young to have heard about this.”

A polite way to say that I was downright ignorant.

He caressed the yellowish paper. Was that made of skin, animal—or human? And whose blood? Was he or she murdered? Committed suicide? But I was too agitated to tell if the vibration was from a bitter ghost or an appeased one.