Chapter Forty-Six: The Golden Mask Returns

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I gazed at the Buddha statue until my eyes were nearly glazed over—it was simply too precious. As I stared, Shao abruptly shoved me aside. "Whoa, this is Zhabzundamba Zanabazar! This is a rare treasure." He leaned in for a closer look, then shot me a glare. "Autumn, this statue's mine now—maybe my cousin gave it to me as a farewell gift."

I spat at him. "You’re so greedy! I didn’t ask for anything, just came with you to this miserable place to find your cousin, nearly got killed by that deranged artist, and then ran into that big black robed figure. If it weren’t for my luck, I’d have been lost to the depths long ago, and you wouldn’t even give me a keepsake to take home?"

Zhabzundamba, the hereditary Living Buddha of Outer Mongolia. Legend says the Zhabzundamba Khutuktu was first born in India, one of Buddha Shakyamuni’s five hundred disciples, later reincarnated in Tibet. He heads the largest line of Living Buddhas in Mongolian Tibetan Buddhism, belonging to the Gelug school, established in the early seventeenth century. Alongside the Jangjia Khutuktu of Inner Mongolia, he is one of the two great Living Buddhas of Mongolia, and ranks among the four most prominent figures of Tibetan Buddhism, together with the Dalai Lama, Panchen Erdeni, and Jangjia Khutuktu.

Shao was struck speechless by my words and could only sigh, reluctantly handing the statue over to me.

I grinned teasingly. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later."

With the statue strapped to my back, I followed the group out through Gate Nine. The return was peaceful; nothing went wrong, and we made it back to the hotel just as dawn began to break.

Standing at the door to my room, I felt conflicted. I’d left without a word, then run into Mengya in the elevator. What would I say to her now? I sighed deeply—the statue felt as if it might crush me. Steeling myself, I stomped my feet and entered the room.

Opening the door startled me—Mengya was sitting by the window, legs crossed, waiting for me. As I walked in, she stood up, her expression utterly nonchalant. "Where were you? I was looking for you."

I became even more awkward. She hadn’t mentioned last night at all. I decided honesty was best.

"Uh, we went to that haunted building."

"Why didn’t you take me?" she asked, clearly unhappy.

I forced a smile. "You’re a young lady; I was worried about your safety."

Mengya seemed convinced and nodded. Seeing me carrying such a large statue, she reached out to help. As she gripped the statue, the hands crossed over the chest made a creak, and the vajra in the statue’s hands shifted position.

Crack.

We turned to look—the statue had dropped a golden object from inside. We nearly dropped the statue in shock.

On the floor lay the unlucky Khitan gold mask that had gone missing from Ren Taian’s house.

"How can this be?" I was pale with fright.

Mengya quickly picked up the mask and examined it closely. "No mistake, it’s the same one."

I laid the statue flat on the bed and held the gold mask, feeling chills run through me.

"Hey, what’s this?" Mengya was peering intently at the base of the statue.

I tossed the mask aside and saw that beneath the sacred compartment of the Zhabzundamba statue, there was a slip of paper stuck.

Mengya, without hesitation, tore it off and handed it to me after a quick look, her brow furrowed.

I examined it carefully—it seemed recently placed, within the past few months. It was covered in strange symbols and characters, written in a messy hand, like a jumble of radicals, with lots of scribbles and corrections. But the last line was written in neat script.

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"Two people, ice and Bian." I read softly.

"What does it mean?"

I shook my head. "This must be Ren Taian’s translation of some Khitan cryptic text, probably a puzzle related to the mask."

Mengya took the slip, thinking I’d misread it, studied it closely, and then shook her head in exasperation.

"Anyway, Shao’s matter can be considered settled. Let’s take these things to Master—he might have some unique insights."

That day, we returned to Beijing without incident; no more encounters with the snail-eyed old man or the black cloak.

Back home, I placed the Buddha statue in the shrine, lit incense, and bowed three times.

"What should we do with the mask?" Mengya hesitated.

I smiled, "I asked Yu Xianzhi on the way; he said there’s no trace of evil or supernatural on the mask. Looks like it’s all man-made."

Mengya gave a bitter laugh, looking at me with a helpless expression, as if she wanted to say something but held back.

"What’s wrong?"

"Huh?" Mengya looked at me, dazed, wiped her eyes—she seemed to have shed a few tears and was trying to hide it. "Nothing, nothing."

I lowered my head in silence. Since the night the black cloak had come to meet me in secret, it felt as if a distance had grown between us.

To our surprise, nothing happened that night. Before ten in the morning, we arrived at Master’s shop. He was still wearing that shabby leisure suit, his shoes looked like relics dug up from the earth, never polished, and his hair was greasy and twisted, clearly unwashed for ages. The old man sat in a dusty, broken Ming dynasty huanghuali armchair, staring intently at the laptop on the inkstone pile, teeth gritted, rocking the chair so hard it seemed about to collapse.

Years ago, Master had nearly been taken by a sudden bout of hypertension caused by stock trading. Luckily, the gourd vendor next door came by for a light, otherwise, the outcome would have been dire.

"Master, you should stop fussing with that."

Master, hearing someone arrive, turned around quickly, saw Mengya and me, and sighed deeply, shutting the laptop. He picked up a half-smoked cigarette butt, took a puff.

"Master, can’t you mind your image? For someone of your status, you look like you’re fleeing a famine every day."

Master chuckled, scratching his head and shedding a layer of dandruff. "You’ve been gone nearly a month—what did you bring today? Let me see something new."

I glanced outside, shut the shop door, and locked it. "Master, please don’t tease me. You’ve seen everything there is to see. To be honest, I’m here because I have a difficult problem—something happened."

Master was taken aback, squinting at me, then picked up a porcelain cup and sipped his tea. "You don’t seem like someone short of money. What trouble could you have?"

"Did you know Ren Taian died?"

Crash.

As soon as the words left my mouth, Master’s hand shook, and the cup fell and shattered into eight pieces.

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"W-what?" Master was aghast.

"You heard me right—Ren Taian’s family was wiped out," I said quietly.

Master lowered his head, lost in thought.

"Master, look at this." I took the gold mask from my bag and handed it to him.

Master took it, eyes wide, staring fixedly at the mask, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Where did you get this?" he asked coldly.

I explained everything from beginning to end, with Mengya filling in any gaps.

Master listened, examined the Khitan script on the mask, and muttered to himself, "Two people, ice and Bian, two people, ice and Bian..."

He chanted like he was reciting funeral rites, sending chills down my spine.

"M-master, are you alright?"

Master sneered, "Where’s Lord Jun?"

I was stunned—why mention him? He was a murderer. "I think someone took care of him; he’s in jail now."

Master shook his head, snorted, "The situation is tense, but someone as cunning as Lord Jun wouldn’t be so easily taken down by the Bureau of Cultural Relics."

"So what should we do now?"

Master pondered for a moment, his face showing a faint, cold smile, all his usual carefree demeanor gone. "Autumn, I’ll give you a word today. Go back to your shop and wait for my news."

Back at the antique market shop, Mengya didn’t make tea. She looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then whispered, "Should we go to Lord Jun’s place?"

I hesitated. "What’s the point? He’s in jail, the shop must be closed."

Mengya paused, about to speak, when my phone rang.

"Master."

"Autumn, eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, private room at Hongbin Restaurant."