The Wheel of Time [https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/4/patreon-media/p/post/66431654/c6f147f7fcf94bb6a49f51119b9703e2/eyJ3Ijo2MjB9/1.jpg?token-time=1653868800&token-hash=gAZPvahTgqgm3N-uThNNqs0Y2Wxu4KJZYJ4mNCHUTmg%3D]
The wheel of time hangs above the Trailokya*,
the cycle of the vicissitudes repeats itself ad infinitum.
Mercy those living in the Trailokya, clinging to “things” under delusions.
When the wheel starts to turn, their fates are entangled,
yet they are ignorant.
Sorrow for those who, in the vanity fair, live out their lives.
It’s difficult to dispel the Three Poisons**, both for sages and follies.
Affection, love, power, fame, and fortune, are life’s illusions, floating away like fluffy catkins.
---
The Three Ages of the Dharma*** have no end, how’d suffering cease to exist?
Not envy those enlightened, they are left all alone by themselves.
Tied by blood and fate, we get together across thousands of miles
Defending the justice and the humanity, we fight through the Hell’s nine Circles.
Flamed by zeal and ardor, we decide our own destinies.
Holding tight our loved ones and best friends, we laugh at the moving stars.
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Notes:
*Trailokya - literally means “three worlds”. In Buddhism, the three worlds: 1)the world of desire; 2)the world of form; 3)he world of formlessness
**The three poisons, in Buddhism, refer to the three root kleshas: Moha (delusion, confusion), Raga (greed, sensual attachment), and Dvesha (aversion, hate). These three poisons are considered to be three afflictions or character flaws innate in a being, the root of Taṇhā (craving), and thus in part the cause of Dukkha (suffering, pain, unsatisfactoriness) and rebirths.
*** The three ages of Dharma: three divisions of time following Buddha's passing
******
Midnight, 2010, Lunar New Year.
Custom House Shanghai Night [https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/4/patreon-media/p/post/66447119/f9251fd59edc49979dbb39e248995c56/eyJ3Ijo2MjB9/1.jpg?token-time=1653868800&token-hash=Wfw6y4Tuq3R19jnrtVJbznkPA8gmsq5BFqSqLEITTS0%3D]
"Six, five, four, three, two, one!"
The new year's countdown had just finished. Amid the noise of bells, firecrackers and cheers, a thick and heavy antique redwood bookshelf cracked and slid silently to both sides, revealing a secrete spacious chamber. Outside the window the snow was gracefully drizzling down.
Although there was no light, the deluxe shining neon on the Bund cast strange gradations of light and shade on the floor. Under the lights that lit the Chinese New Year's Eve, Shanghai - the Oriental Trade and Fashion Capital looked more magnificent, living up to its nickname of "Magic City".
This unspectacular building is located right behind the Custom House, whose iconic gothic-style bell tower seemed to be within an arm’s reach. It is almost invisible, hidden among the remarkable historical architectures lining along the Huangpu River. Only few would know that the top floors of the building are the secrete private penthouse of a certain lady, who has many friends in high places. Having cars that passed through the special passage to the underground garage and dedicated elevators that lead straightly to the residence, these big shots can come and go without being seen by the others. The residence is guarded with top-notch security arrangement, equipped with luxurious facilities and complete services, a safe haven for countless “strategic” decisions and numerous other unspeakable exclusive extravagance.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
The interior of the residence is completely sheltered. One won’t feel at all the freezing cold outside. Warm air influxes gently from the concealed vents, and the air keeps on circulating to make sure a constant indoor temperature of 25 degrees.
The figure in the dark was calm, poised, blended in the surroundings. The black tight one-piece overalls wrapped her perfectly without even leaking a single hair. Tonight, here was a secluded resort. All of its prestigious guests were in the “Imperial City” participating in political Event of the Year- the CCTV Spring Festival Gala. This room was also restricted to the ordinary security guards, which allowed amper liberty for her operation. She raised her eyebrows, a pair of crystal-bright eyes masked behind the glasses. She gazed at the chamber that had just appeared, and all the images scanned from where her eyes went through had transmitted instantly through the glasses.
“My freshly brewing wine still glows green; my little red clay stove just blazed up. It’s late and it stated to snow, won't you join me for a glass? (Note 1)”, a message jumped out at the top-right corner of her glasses. She frawned, with a trace of annoyance. This message came from the most important person in her life. “What the hack is she doing?”, she wondered.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you in San Francisco?”, she spoke soundlessly. The glasses can sense the vibrations of the skull and transform her facial muscles’ movement into texts shown on the glasses. With a flick of her finger, the texts disappeared in a breeze and left only a tiny icon of “sent”.
“We are in the taxi, just out of Pudong Airport.”
“The two elders?”
“Right beside ME, who is poorly caught in the middle:-( Both are anxious to get home.”
“See you at home.”
“ok.”
“Change of plans, SS move in NOW!”
“Copy.”, a clear confirmation came from the earpieces.
She snapped back to her detached and aloof mood. As usual, the low chant in the background of her headset is echoing the recital of her favorite poem “The Song of the Stormy Petrel”. “High above the silvery ocean winds are gathering the storm-clouds, and between the clouds and ocean … (Note 2)”, a slightly too crisp female voice was reciting in a pleasant candence. Outside the French windows, the black clouds were piling up and the heavy snow were looming over the river. All the sudden, faster than the black stormy petrel, she striked, dashing into the secret chamber in the dark.
“In the coming time, the political upheavals over the Magic City will be much more thrilling than the snowstorms.”. She stood on top of the empty elevator shaft, like a Demon, a proud, black Demon of the tempest. “Let the storm break in all its fury! (Note 3)”. She flew down, free-fall, as if she were in a skydiving. Her job here was done, and it would be somebody else’s business to handle the shakedown.
Na Chu had changed into comfortable causal wear and snuggled up in the sofa with her computer. Her short black hair still had some traces of snow on it, a bit curly and rumpled. The warm-yellow light, which beamed through chiffon shade from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room even soften up her decisive strong jawline. Another recital hovered in whispers, from the same tuneful female voice, to keep her company. This time, it changed to the more soothing piece from “Walden”: “Sometimes, on Sundays, I heard the bells, the Lincoln, Acton , Bedford, or Concord bell, when the wind was favourable, a faint, sweet, and, as it were, natural melody, worth importing into the wilderness...(Note 4)”
For someone else’s ears, the voice might be too young, too crisp, not mellow enough. But for her, it's the sweetest voice in the world. She will forever enjoy it and be lost in it. June 1999, last month in the middle school, right in the middle of preparing the entry exams for the high school, she was unlucky to catch the pinkeyes. Her eyes were red and swollen like balls. The inflammation was so severe that she could barely open her eyes. Uki, her little cousin, read aloud and tape-recorded all three-year's textbooks and extracurricular books so that she could memorise them by listening to the tapes repeatedly. She passed the exam with excellent scores and the recordings on those 20 tapes since became her personal treasure. She did multiple backups, convert them from cassette tapes to CDs and then to mp3. She brought them with her everywhere she went.
The door bell rang. She sprang to her feet and went to the door. As a woman, she is not small, 1 meter 73. One could see through the loose causal wears her long and athletic-built limbs.
"Nana",Uki's mum held tightly Nana's waist, almost dropping tears.
"Auntie", Nana was never a fan of sentiments or intimate body contacts. Those three people in front of her probably were the only persons in the world that could do so without freaking her out.
"You haven't been home for a long while. You're too skinny.", Uki's mum murmured.
"Auntie, I am all fine. Uncle, it's late, let's get in...". Nana was feeling awkward and looked to Uki's dad for help. “I’ve ordered eight dishes and one soup and one ‘eight-treasure rice pudding’. They are on their way.”.
"Stop being naggy. It's the new year’s holiday, we should be happy. Let's not block the door and disturb our neighbours. Hurry up, let’s get in to have our reunion dinner!". Uki's dad tapped his wife gently on the shoulder, stepped up and gave Nana a strong handshake. "Nana...good girl, as long as you’re ok…", he patted fondly her hand and then gave his arm to her wife walking into the house.
"Come to help me! They bought you loads of things. We almost bought out half of the department store!"
Uki Chu was waving behind the luggages, her glasses were tilted, hanging on the edge of the nose. Her nose was too small to hold the glasses. They were always half-way slipped down.
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Note 1 – A Poem of Bai Juyi (a Chinese poet from Tang Dynasty)
Note 2,3 – “The Song of the Stormy Petrel”, Maxim Gorky
Note 4 – “Walden”, Henry David Thoreau