Dead men normally tell no tales. Until you find me a corpse that revealed a secret, or a secretive truth, that much seemed straightforward. That wasn’t rocket science. But I didn’t expect to confront such truths under circumstances so dire. It was I who begged my alchemist master to let me tag along on a journey—50 kilometers across the Himalayas in the heart of winter. I needed answers. Why are we interconnected, intertwined with the elements and their natural phenomena? My master had tried to impart these mysteries to me incessantly, but I could never fully grasp them. I wanted to understand how these truths might illuminate the lives of my family after my beloved father’s demise.When we stumbled upon the body of Tashi Def, rigid in the grip of rigor mortis, he stirred memories of the deaths I had already witnessed. In that moment, it felt as though I had suddenly grown up. For the first time, I sensed secrets hidden in the stories of all who had departed this world: my father, the masters who attended to him, my surviving mother, my grandmother, and, of course, my siblings.The snow fields stretched endlessly before us, their vast silence pressing on my thoughts. With each step, I became more determined to embrace the sudden end of my childhood innocence. I sought answers—hard truths that my master had promised could only be unveiled through experience, through the showing, not the telling.