“Are you having a nightmare, Dajie?” she called out. Niu Yueqing opened her eyes. She lay in a partial daze for a moment before she said to the girl, feeling a sense of shame, “No. Have you been awake the whole time?”
“I was asleep, but I thought I heard a noise, a strange one, and it felt like a current ran through me.”
“I think I heard that,” Niu Yueqing said, which puzzled them both.
“It must have been a dream,” Niu Yueqing said, echoed by Liu Yue: “Yes, we must have had the same dream.”
“You woke up before me, Liu Yue. Did you hear me talking in my sleep?”
“You were just whining. I woke you up because I didn’t want you to be frightened by a bad dream.”
“I’m fine. It couldn’t have been a bad dream. Go back to sleep,” Niu Yueqing said and got up to use the bathroom. Then Liu Yue went in and saw Niu Yueqing’s panties soaking in the tub, a sight that immediately told her that she and Niu Yueqing had experienced the same thing.
. . .
The Clear Void Nunnery had been built in the Tang dynasty, when, people said, it was much larger and grander, with many more monks, nuns, and worshippers than the Yunhuang Temple. Half of the structures had been destroyed in an earthquake during the Chenghua reign of the Ming dynasty, in the second half of the fifteenth century, and it had never recovered its former glory. Renovations were focused only on the remaining buildings. It suffered an even worse fate during the Cultural Revolution, when most of structures were seized by factories in the surrounding areas, while the three dozen monks and nuns dispersed. By the time religious practices resumed, an extensive search for the former monks and nuns revealed that some had died and some had resumed secular lives; only five nuns survived, living in five different villages in three neighboring counties outside Xijing. Talked into returning, they hobbled back, only to see a sight that had them wailing: the Buddha’s image had been destroyed, the halls and rooms had collapsed or had leaking roofs, and weeds had overtaken the compound. A dozen wild doves flew out from under the offering table, which was littered with their droppings. As the saying goes, if you can’t do it for the monks, at least do it for the Buddha. Still possessing a strong belief in their faith, they thought it was the Buddha’s will to have them survive all the tribulations in order to guard the temple, so they shaved off their gray hair and donned their black robes. Although contributions from worshippers were meager, and they were forced to rely on a subsidy from the city’s Ethnic Affairs Commission, at least the melodious bells were heard again in the mornings and evenings. After several years of work, the main hall was restored, the Guanyin Bodhisattva statue was repainted, and the east and west meditation rooms were renovated, but they lacked the funds to work on Shengmu Hall behind the main hall, while the factories and the local residents who were occupying the land had yet to be removed, leaving the temple territory in the shape of an upside-down gourd. None of the aging nuns could read; they knew only how to burn incense and pray. When they tried to recite the sutras they had learned years before, they could only manage to recall parts, which made them laughingstocks to the monks at the Yunhuang, Wolong, and Lihua temples. After graduating from a Buddhist seminary, Huiming was put up at the Yunhuang Temple for a short stay, just as the Buddhist Association sent over some young nuns from the Qianfo Temple on Mount Zhongnan. Upon her arrival at the Yunhuang Temple, she decided she would like to go to the Clear Void Nunnery one day, after seeing that the Yunhuang Temple was a large place with both monks and nuns, some of whom were eminent or near-immortals. As a newcomer, she knew little about the Clear Void Nunnery, so she declined when the Buddhist Association expressed a desire for her to go there. However, she began taking part in the Clear Void Nunnery’s affairs, helping to draft plans for recovering land and to write applications for funding. When everything was taking shape and she had gained some sway, she put in a request to move, but not initially as the head. Instead, she showered respect on one of the old nuns by serving as her assistant, while plotting to have the older nun one day make a fool of herself and expose her incompetence. Soon Huiming had gained the trust of all the other nuns, who backed her when it came time to replace the old nun. Huiming then employed all her skills and went where she had to in order to build up a network. She was able to obtain a large sum of dedicated funds to give Shengmu Hall a speedy restoration and a new coat of paint in the rooms. As it would take time and effort to remove the illegal occupants, she pored over Xijing’s gazettes and found a reference saying that the temple was rumored to have been where the Tang Imperial Consort, Yang Yuhuan, had become a nun. It was a providential discovery, and she made more than a dozen copies to send to the Provincial and Municipal Ethnic Affairs Commissions and the Buddhist Association. In addition, she asked Meng Yunfang to draft a report on the religious and historical importance of the ancient site where Yang Yuhuang had once been a nun, finally alerting the mayor to hold a meeting with the relevant religious offices, the factories, and the housing authorities. The occupiers were asked to relocate, the sooner the better. In the end, all of the temple’s land was recovered, except for the five-story residential building. With this impressive accomplishment behind her, she launched a restoration of the main gate. It was not the traditional arch with wood and stone carvings, but displayed grandeur comparable to the Yunhuang Temple; it received cheers from the nuns and admiration for Huiming from everyone in the Buddhist realm. Like a flower blooming in a breeze, she naturally took this opportunity to work on the relevant authorities, and eventually was promoted to head of the temple. An auspicious date was chosen for her to take over.
After a night of abandonment to sexual pleasure, Zhuang and Tang rose at eight, their faces puffy. They massaged each other’s face before a quick breakfast consisting of a thick spicy soup with meatballs at the Hui People’s Market. Then, pretending to have just rushed over, they sat and talked outside the fence at the temple’s main gate. Inside was the new gate, whose eaves were draped with a horizontal red satin banner that read: “Assumption Ceremony for the Head of the Clear Void Nunnery.” On the spacious steps under the eaves were tables covered with white cloth, on top of one of which was a microphone wrapped in red cloth; two rows of five hard-backed chairs had been placed at the side. Tall pillars were hung with couplets that read: Buddhist thoughts are like clouds; the clouds rise to the mountaintop; the clouds are farther away when you get to the mountain peak / Buddhist teaching is like a moon; the moon is in the water; the moon reflects deeper when you part the surface. A crowd had gathered on the ground at the base of the steps; there were monks in dark robes and Taoist practitioners with topknots, but most were guests and police sent to maintain order. A row of sedans sat beyond the fence. Glancing at the license plates, Zhuang was surprised to see the mayor’s car, and he sighed with admiration over Huiming’s ability. Residents who knew about the celebration but did not have an invitation and a permit to enter sprawled across the fence to peer inside. Vendors selling all sorts of food and sacrificial paper and candles set up stalls in the alleys, where they shouted for customers. Zhuang looked around but did not see Meng Yunfang; he wondered who else Meng had invited. Then he went to buy a string of candied hawthorns, but Wan’er complained that it wasn’t clean. Instead she wanted to eat “mirror cake,” a type of sticky rice cake that had long been absent from the street markets. The vendor was an old man who sat in front of his stove, high atop a canopied three-wheeler that looked more like a peddler’s stand than a moving vehicle. A horizontal board with the name of the snack written in ink was on the canopy, while the slender posts on each side had inscriptions: “Original rice and original juice made with original skill” and “An old family and an old man carry on an old name.”