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墨書 Inktalez
The voice on the other end was slightly hoarse and not very clear, but it instantly filled me with a surge of joy. After so many days, I finally heard a living person.
"Where are you?" I immediately asked.
It sounded like there was a strong wind blowing on the other side, whooshing and howling.
"Ah! What? I can't hear you."
I had to raise my voice to ask again, "Where are you?"
There seemed to be a sound like sand blowing, rustling in the background.
"You come to Potala Palace," came the response before the line went dead. I hung up the phone.
The Fat Ma was staring at me with wide eyes full of hope, and the other two looked just as eager.
"Pack your things; we're going to Potala Palace."
The Fat Ma's face lit up with joy, and he quickly started moving. Before long, we had gathered everything we needed, checked out of the hotel, and hailed a taxi on the road.
This time, we weren't planning to come back. If Old Man Sun was trying to trap us, we were ready to pack up and head home.
Damn, we had been holding in a lot of frustration these past few days.
The journey continued as we drove along, barely noticing the scenery around us. Finally, the driver stopped the car, paid the fare, and turned around to reveal a grand and towering palace before my eyes.
I looked up at the sky; it was blue with white clouds, and the air seemed to carry a sense of reverence in that moment. The Potala Palace represents, to some extent, a pinnacle of religious faith in China, attracting devout followers who trek from all directions each year.
This magnificent Potala Palace has withstood the test of time for over a thousand years, remaining vibrant and resilient—a remarkable feat.
We made our way along the path to the palace, carrying all our belongings as if we were moving in.
This legendary Potala Palace was once home to a great poet, Tsangyang Gyatso, a courageous man—though that’s just a side note from me.
Upon entering the Potala Palace, we were all captivated by its ancient and mystical aura. Especially the Fat Ma, who was touching everything in sight.
“Damn, this is like a living tomb,” he blurted out.
“ Fat Ma, watch your words.”
“Old Sun, what are you afraid of? No one can hear us anyway.”
I was momentarily at a loss for words.
Ignoring me completely, the Fat Ma continued to scrutinize the palace. Soon enough, he spotted a large bell and without a second thought grabbed a nearby stick and struck it.
As soon as the sound echoed through the hall, a bare-chested young monk approached us. The Fat Ma quickly set down his stick and diverted his gaze, pretending as if he had nothing to do with it.
The young monk stepped forward, hands clasped together, looking at us.
His demeanor was calm, and we remained silent.
"This benefactor must be the one destined to meet us!"
This statement caught us off guard, and we almost didn't know how to respond.
The Fat Ma felt uneasy inside. Upon hearing those words, he stubbornly refused to turn around, acting as if nothing had been said. He carried the young monk on his back like a shy bride.
At that moment, Old Ghost couldn't hold back any longer and called out, " Fat Ma, this master is looking for you."
"Old Ghost, stop talking nonsense. I don't want to be a monk!"
This remark made us all burst into laughter.
The young monk's expression softened into a kind smile, though he did not laugh out loud.
"Please follow me; someone is waiting for you."
"Who is waiting for me?"
"You'll find out once you come with me."
The Fat Ma looked at me with a questioning gaze, uncertain. "Old Sun, do you think I should go?"
I pondered for a moment and replied, "Go ahead."
"Then you all should come with me. If I really become a monk, at least we can look out for each other."
" Fat Ma, you're dreaming," Old Ghost mocked.
"Please follow me," said the young monk.
"Can we go?" I asked.
The young monk shook his head. "That person only mentioned those fated to turn the scriptures and ring the Buddha's bell."
After hearing that, we didn't press the issue further.
The Fat Ma threw down his things, determined as if he were being forced onto the stage, and followed the young monk, disappearing from our sight.
Once the Fat Ma left, we burst into laughter again. However, it quickly turned into coughing fits due to the high-altitude lack of oxygen, which didn’t allow for too much joy or sorrow.
Perhaps this was also why the Potala Palace was built in Tibet, Lhasa.
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