The construction of the temple is slow, but steady. Dewang and his apprentices are busy with their duties as teachers, and Dewang with his priestly duties as well. Life is relatively quiet.
The nearby Tree of Life has been on Dewang’s mind, ever since it appeared in his dream. One sunny day, he takes his apprentices and approaches it, examining it for any hint of the extraordinary.
“It’s just a tree,” says Bitong, then pauses.
“It is, but it isn’t,” says Fuli, laying her hand on the bark.
Dewang looks up at the green foliage. It seems restless, as if the wind stirring its branches originates somewhere in the heartwood. He closes his eyes, remembering how every breeze and whim has shaken him…
“Master Du?”
Xufeng is looking at him, his eyes narrower than usual. “How old is this tree? I was talking to one of the grandmothers, here, and she said the sapling appeared almost thirty years ago…”
Dewang nods.
Bitong kicks at a dry stalk, still trapped in the dirt under them. “It must have sucked all the water from these shrubs.”
“Yes,” agrees Dewang, without looking at him.
Cuiying is examining the leaves. “It seems healthy. Plenty of silkworms feeding on it. And there’s fruit, even this late.” There is, indeed. Xufeng pops one into his mouth.
“It’s yours, isn’t it?” says Zaitian, frowning in confusion. “I mean, it’s a tree, but when I look at it I think of you, Master Du…”
“It’s a tree,” says Dewang.
“But it can’t be an ordinary tree,” says Xufeng, prodding the tart berry with his tongue.
“Nothing is ordinary-” begins Dewang, but they are interrupted. Fuli has been silent the entire time, resting her head against the trunk. Suddenly, soundlessly, she collapses. Her brother catches her, and Dewang and the others crowd around anxiously.
She seems to be in a deep sleep, and her breathing and pulse are steady. But she doesn't wake, no matter what they do. They carry her to the temple and lay her down on a blanket, then hover, helplessly, all that afternoon and evening. Zaitian runs down to the town and comes back dragging the drunken old apothecary, who looks Fuli over, pronounces her asleep and them crazy, and storms off.
None of them leave the temple that night, sleeping on and off in snatches. Dewang stays beside her with Cuiying, praying desperately. For all he or the spirits can tell, she is simply asleep. Bitong paces up and down beside them, muttering. Xufeng withdraws by himself into a corner, his head on his knees, and Zaitian stretches his lanky frame across the doorway, as if he were guarding it from who knows what.
Finally, as the blue dawn light begins to shine in, Fuli stirs. They bring her water and help her sit up, but she seems entirely healthy. Shaken, but healthy.
“What did you see?” asks Dewang. She doesn’t need to ask what he means
“I saw the tree growing,” she says, and hesitates.
“And then?”
“It kept growing. I was underneath it, and it blocked out the sun, all the light… it was like night, underneath. The roots were spreading outwards, too, until they reached here. One of the roots got under the staircase at the front, and pushed up a stone... “
She falters again.
“Then what happened?” asks Dewang gently.
“Then it was struck by lightning,” she whispers. “And it burned. For days, it seemed. By the end, it was a hollow shell, and the temple was covered with ashes.”
There is a long silence.
Dewang takes a breath. “I see,” he says. Then he looks around, the faces of his apprentices pale in the faint light.
“If any of you wish to leave,” he says, carefully, “best to do so now.”
None of them move. Dewang shakily rises to his feet, and walks out, unsure of where he is going, but better to be anywhere than there.
Cuiying looks at Fuli, who shakes her head slightly.
“We can’t, can we? Not now.”
Cuiying nods in agreement. “The children need us.
He needs us.”
Bitong goes out and sits heavily on the steps outside.
Xufeng opens his palm, and a warm yellow flame springs up. The anteroom feels a little less oppressive.
“Fuli, what you saw…” he says, the light dancing on his face, “dreams don’t always mean what you think. Who knows.”
“I’m not scared,” says Zaitian stubbornly.
“You’re lying!” calls Bitong, from the outside. Cuiying goes out and softly sits beside him.
Zaitian folds himself into a surprisingly small knot, leaning against a pillar beside Fuli.
“He rescued us, didn’t he?” he says to Xufeng, pleadingly.
After he got us captured, thinks Xufeng, but he doesn’t say it out loud.
Instead, he says, “Anything can happen, especially in times like these. We chose to follow him, and he’s taught us. I want to keep learning.”
“I’m staying if you are,” says Zaitian, and Xufeng smiles.
“So,” says Bitong, after a few moments of silence. “You have your sister to think of. Why are you staying?”
“Why are you?” answers Cuiying.
Bitong snorts and throws a pebble down the stairs. “The same reason I took this position. The same reason I haven’t left yet.”
“And that is?”
“Seems less pointless than anything else.”
“And you have my sister to think of,” says Cuiying quietly.
Bitong whirls around. “Cuiying I- I never, I swear-”
“It’s all right,” says Cuiying. “I know.”
Bitong puts his face in his hands. “I should go. For so many reasons.”
“We’d all rather you stayed,” says Cuiying, touching his shoulder.
“Oh, I’ll stay,” says Bitong, shaking his head. “I just, ugh.” He stands up. “I’m going to find Master Du.”
“Why?” asks Zaitian, appearing suddenly in the doorway. Xufeng kicks him from just behind. Bitong looks past them nervously, but Fuli is still sitting quite far off, motionless on her blanket in the shadows.
“I’ll go find him,” he repeats, and runs off down the steps.
Then the LORD said to me, "Go again, love a woman who is loved by her husband, yet an adulteress, even as the LORD loves the sons of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love raisin cakes."
Hosea 3:1