Volume One: The Revival of All Things, Where Every Season Is Spring Chapter One: A Strange Flight, Witnessing the True Buddha While Climbing in Tibet

“This is Shanghai Metropolis Airlines MK4566, calling ground control, please respond!”

“Shanghai Metropolis Airlines MK4566, emergency call to ground control, please respond!”

The captain called out to the control tower again and again, but the aircraft was unable to establish any communication with the ground.

On January 1, 2023, Shanghai Metropolis Airlines MK4566 took off promptly at 8:00 a.m., scheduled to land at Sadu Airport in Tibet at 2:05 p.m. However, twenty-five minutes after takeoff, the plane vanished from radar.

From Shanghai to Sadu, every control tower along the route called out for MK4566. As time passed and there was still no sign of the flight, a sense of dread began to creep into everyone’s hearts.

The captain was a seasoned veteran, a retired officer from the Huaxia Air Force. In the absence of ground contact, he relied on his experience to continue flying as planned. At that moment, the lives of all sixty-two people onboard, both passengers and crew, rested in his hands. Every decision was a matter of utmost caution.

Though the crew were inwardly unsettled, their professionalism did not allow a hint of anxiety to show; they carried out their duties with calm efficiency.

Mo Wen suddenly felt a strange, inexplicable unease. He had been lucky enough to secure the last ticket on this flight, seizing the New Year holiday to finally journey to the Tibetan region he had longed for.

Suddenly, the plane shook violently. The flight attendants smiled reassuringly, explaining that they had encountered turbulence and asked passengers to keep their seatbelts fastened, assuring them there was no need to worry.

Mo Wen felt increasingly unwell, as if an invisible force was pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. Fortunately, the sensation didn’t last long. Within ten minutes, the turbulence ceased, the plane steadied, and Mo Wen’s discomfort vanished.

At that moment, the captain finally reestablished contact with the ground. Everything seemed to return to normal. The captain wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled deeply.

“This is Shanghai Metropolis Airlines MK4566. The aircraft’s communication system has malfunctioned. Requesting permission for immediate landing at the nearest airport. Over.”

The ground crew at Sadu Airport found it hard to believe. They repeatedly confirmed the flight number and captain’s name. After triple-checking, they had no choice but to accept the fact: Shanghai Metropolis Airlines MK4566, which had departed less than an hour earlier, was now above Sadu Airport in Tibet!

“Shanghai Metropolis Airlines MK4566, you are cleared to land at any time. All runways are open for you.”

As the plane touched down smoothly, passengers disembarked one after another. Seeing the Potala Palace atop the distant mountain, they all gradually accepted the strange truth—they had arrived in Sadu. However mysterious the circumstances, arriving safely was the most precious thing.

Mo Wen followed the crowd off the plane and hailed a taxi at random. His first stop in Tibet was, of course, the Potala Palace.

The Potala Palace, a sacred site of Tibetan Buddhism in Huaxia, drew endless streams of pilgrims. Deeply moved by the devotion of these ascetics who had journeyed thousands of miles, Mo Wen stepped aside at the foot of the mountain to make way for an emaciated old monk.

The old monk, clad in a thin, yellow robe and simple cloth shoes, advanced with three steps and a bow, then nine steps and a full prostration. A scab, reddish-brown and hardened, covered his forehead from countless prostrations. Each movement was painfully laborious, tugging at Mo Wen’s heart.

If it wasn’t for the power of faith, Mo Wen could not imagine what else could sustain the old monk. With time to spare, Mo Wen followed behind at a distance. Perhaps, he thought, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to witness this pious believer complete his pilgrimage.

After another nine steps, the old monk prostrated himself heavily. But this time, he could not rise again. That bow seemed to exhaust the last of his strength, and he fell back, lying motionless on the mountain path, breathing rapidly, eyes filled with regret and unwillingness.

He knew, too, that his end had come—after a pilgrimage of a thousand miles, he had collapsed on the final ascent.

Though they were strangers, Mo Wen could not stand by and watch another’s life ebb away before his eyes. He hurried forward to check on the old monk.

The monk was spent, his breaths shallow, his eyes growing dim. Gritting his teeth, Mo Wen used the emergency first aid he had learned, breathing for the monk and calling for an ambulance.

With several rounds of resuscitation, the old monk’s condition improved slightly; a hint of color returned to his once-pale face, giving Mo Wen a glimmer of hope. The monk’s lips moved, his voice barely a whisper. Mo Wen leaned in and just managed to make out the words.

“Kind benefactor, do not exhaust yourself further. My fate is sealed. To fall at the very end of a thousand-mile pilgrimage—such is destiny. I see calamity looming over you, but your heart is pure. Allow me to protect you for a while, at least.”

Mo Wen listened, puzzled by the monk’s cryptic words. As he waited anxiously, the ambulance finally arrived, but before the old monk could be placed on the stretcher, he joined his hands in a final mudra, his gaze fixed on the distant Potala Palace, and passed away with regret and unwillingness.

Sorrow welled up within Mo Wen. He had done everything he could, yet it was all in vain. Having seen too many plump, well-fed monks lording over incense-filled temples, he realized that it was ascetics like this who were the true Buddhas in the world.

After explaining the situation to the police, Mo Wen’s initial excitement vanished. He no longer felt like climbing the mountain. Instead, he bought a high-speed rail ticket back to Shanghai, determined to end this disappointing trip.

Yes, he certainly didn’t dare fly again anytime soon.

After a long journey, Mo Wen hurried back to the familiar campus of his university. When his roommates asked about his trip to Tibet, he said nothing of the experience, quickly returning to the rhythm of campus life. Now in his fourth year, he was about to graduate, but his internship was not yet secured, which made him anxious.

Out of habit, Mo Wen called Aunt Zhao to let her know he was safe. Aunt Zhao was the caretaker at the orphanage where Mo Wen had grown up. Found at a subway station less than a month after birth and brought to the orphanage, he had been under Aunt Zhao’s care for twenty years, until he came of age. If Mo Wen still had any family in this world, it was only Aunt Zhao. As for his biological parents, he never hoped or fantasized about being reunited with them.

Returning to normal life, Mo Wen shuttled between school and temp jobs. In the end, he could only rely on himself. Fortunately, a degree from Shanghai Metropolis University of Transportation would give him a better starting point after graduation.

On the night of January 6, 2023, at 11:00 p.m., Mo Wen collapsed into bed after a long day’s work, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, when a news alert caught his eye.

“Tragedy! Six crew members of Shanghai Metropolis Airlines die overnight!”

Mo Wen’s heart skipped a beat as he clicked on the article.

“All six crew members of Shanghai Metropolis Airlines Flight MK4566 were found dead in their homes in the early hours of the morning. Homicide has been ruled out. Experts suggest that there may have been hazardous substances on the flight that, with prolonged exposure, led to their deaths. The flight has been suspended, and the investigation is ongoing.”