Chapter 1: Born as Lotus Lantern

What does it feel like to be near death?

A hundred people, a hundred theories.

When Midu was buried, there was no coffin—only a broken straw mat. The sand was soft, pervasive, swallowing her whole. She lay quietly, hearing the roar of quicksand rushing into her ears, falling across her face.

When soul and body parted, the sound of sand shook the sky, and her consciousness floated high above. Perhaps it stopped atop a sea buckthorn tree, looking down at a ragged Taoist priest digging furiously with a bamboo strip.

She was not buried deeply, only two feet. If she had strength, she might have sat up. But she could not move; she needed someone to help.

Her spirit squatted opposite the Taoist priest, examining his thin, dirt-streaked face. His brows were clear, his eyes kind—surely a good man.

He dug quickly, sand rising against his robe. At last he uncovered the straw mat, threw aside the bamboo strip, and dragged her out.

Midu cheered silently, thanking him, though he could not hear. He tore open the mat, revealing her face. Through moonlight she saw herself from outside for the first time—her features softer than the Hu people’s high noses and deep eyes. Like him, she was from the Central Plains.

He brushed sand from her face, slapped her cheeks, pinched her nose. Pain jolted her back, as if falling into a pit, limbs shattering.

He fed her water. Fire in her throat and stomach cooled instantly. She gasped, crying out “Aya.”

But she did not know who Aya was, nor why she had been buried alive. Her memory was fractured. She recalled only fragments: two children beneath flowering trees, eating pancakes on stone steps. She remembered her name—Midu—perhaps from a river or place. No surname, no pain.

The Taoist priest carried her to his cave on the cliff wall of Mingsha Mountain. His name was Wang Lang, but the people of Dunhuang called him Wang Abo—compassionate as a bodhisattva.

Though Taoist, he lived among Buddhist grottoes. He gave her food. When she recovered, she sat on the plank road, crumbs falling into the abyss, starlight blazing above.

Wang Abo asked gently, “Do you remember your name, where you came from?”

She answered, “My name is Midu. I don’t know where I came from.”

He pitied her, then smiled. “The more you understand, the more troubles you have. Forget everything, and you can be reborn. I’ll give you a new name—Lotus Lantern. The Taisho Zang says lotus has four virtues: fragrant, pure, soft, and lovely. May you have all four, and become new from today.”

So Midu was buried with the sand. Lotus Lantern was born. She was thirteen.

She asked why he came to Dunhuang. He said it was to fulfill a friend’s last wish. His friend, a monk, had vowed to spread Buddhism, painting gods in grottoes day and night. The world did not understand him. He died alone.

“He hadn’t finished walking. I walk for him. Though I am a Taoist priest.” Wang Abo smiled, deep lines at his lips. He had been in Dunhuang five years.

Lotus Lantern looked at the wall paintings—fluttering skirts, flying music. “The gods all have the same face.”

His brush paused. “I have always drawn the same person.”

She thought that person must be his beloved.

Later, under moonlight, she sang on the dunes: “Red fox, red fox, leaping on the Gobi. Where is your den? At the rainbow’s end, west of Moon City…”

Her song faded. A shadow crawled across the sand. She rose, blade drawn. Approaching, she found not an animal but a woman, arms outstretched, unmoving.

“Hey, are you dead?” she prodded with her knife.

No sound. Disappointed, she turned to leave—until a hand clutched her foot. A faint voice: “Save me…”

It was a girl. Lotus Lantern gave her water. She drank greedily, choking, soaking her hair, then smiled weakly. “Do you have food?”

Lotus Lantern gave her bread. She devoured it, collapsed again. Lotus Lantern carried her back.

Her body was covered in deep knife wounds. Wang Abo said survival was a miracle. Bloodied clothes were fine silk, a jeweled sword at her waist—no ordinary person.

Lotus Lantern tended her hidden wounds. By dawn she awoke. “My name is Tan Nu.”

“You were hunted by enemies? So many cuts!”

Tan Nu raised her brows. “Nothing. Just fighting.”

From then, the dunes had two figures—Lotus Lantern singing, Tan Nu telling stories. She spoke of beauties, poetry, and a city called Chang’an.

Lotus Lantern whispered, “I’ve heard that name. It’s beautiful.”

Tan Nu said, “You should know. You’re from the Central Plains. Chang’an is its capital.”

But Lotus Lantern remembered nothing. “I only recall the name.”

Tan Nu laughed. “Strange. Why forget your past?”

Lotus Lantern shrugged. “Perhaps illness. Now I live free, like a goddess in a cave.”

“Don’t you want to find your parents?”

“My parents are unknown. Wang Abo says he doesn’t know.”

Tan Nu replied, “I’m an orphan. I grew up in Prince Ding’s camp. We were trained as his guards. We have no future, only death. No need for parents.”

Lotus Lantern asked, “Will you return to him?”

Tan Nu sneered. “Only a fool would. We killed his enemies. I was wounded, left for dead. Why return to die?”

She added, “Perhaps you too are an orphan. Your name has Buddhist fate.”

Lotus Lantern said softly, “I was once called Midu. Wang Abo gave me Lotus Lantern.”

Tan Nu was startled. “Midu? I recall Anxi’s deputy governor had a daughter named Midu. But he was executed for treason two years ago. His wife and daughter were punished too…”

Lotus Lantern fled to Wang Abo, demanding truth. He looked at Tan Nu long, then said, “I saved the wrong person.”

Tan Nu blushed, knowing she was right. Wang Abo wanted Lotus Lantern to have peace, not vengeance. Her father had been a loyal general, falsely accused. But politics was ruthless.

Lotus Lantern said calmly, “I want to see the Central Plains. I leave tomorrow.”

Wang Abo sighed. “I saved you so you could live. Your father’s case cannot be overturned. You lack the power.”

Her memory had not returned, but instinct demanded justice. “I don’t want to overturn the case. I have my own plan. When it’s done, I’ll return to Dunhuang.”

Her voice was steady, heart heavy as iron.

Wang Abo knew he could not change her fate. He turned to Tan Nu. “She saved your life. Repay her—escort her safely to Chang’an.”

Tan Nu bowed, ashamed. “It was all because of me. I dare not refuse.”

Wang Abo gave Lotus Lantern a wooden plaque. “Keep your secret. Even from parents. In Chang’an, seek the national teacher Linyuan. He owes me a favor. For my sake, he will arrange everything.”

Lotus Lantern accepted, gazing at the seal engraved with the words: Supreme Shrine.

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