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Chapter 24: The Red Hare Steed
“Have someone bring out the fuel tanks and pour the gasoline over the outermost vehicles,” Pasang Dorje ordered, retreating behind the other Tibetans for the first time. His right hand clutched his mangled left arm as he spoke calmly to Tenzin Dawa. “As for the rest—elders, women, children, and young people without families—put them in the cars and let them go.”
“What are you planning to do?” Tenzin Dawa stood beside Pasang Dorje, his expression complex as he gazed at his old friend and rival.
“Hold them off,” Pasang Dorje replied, his face pale but still twisted into a fierce grin. Even now, on the brink of death, he resembled a starving wolf. “They want to eat? Let them feast until they’re satisfied.”
“If we retreat now and get everyone into the cars…”
Pasang Dorje laughed mockingly, deriding Tenzin Dawa’s suggestion. “Brother Dawa, do you think we’re dealing with wolves? These are demons. Our fastest horses can’t outrun them, nor can our best vehicles.”
“Make the arrangements, Brother Dawa,” Pasang Dorje continued. “We’ll buy you some time. Put the elders in the last car, then the young children and women who can still bear children. Let them leave.”
Tenzin Dawa glanced at Pasang Dorje one last time before turning to relay orders to the protected Tibetans.
“Warriors of Gesar!” Pasang Dorje called out with the last of his strength. “The pastures of heaven call to us!”
The fighting Tibetans responded in low, determined voices.
They gathered around Pasang Dorje, pushing the younger ones toward the relatively safer inner circle. These youths, little more than boys, wept as they were sternly shoved away by their elders.
Suddenly spotting Li Xingyuan and his companions, Pasang Dorje shouted hoarsely, “You Han people! Get into the cars!”
His vision was blurred from blood loss, yet somehow he still found the strength to bark commands. “Go! King Gesar’s stables have no white horse prepared for you!”
Li Xingyuan and his group said nothing, silently passing through the crowd of Tibetans and boarding one of the vehicles.
They had reasons they couldn’t die—not yet.
Pasang Dorje turned his head again and noticed Tenzin Dawa returning to the group after issuing his orders.
“Brother Dawa, you should leave too,” Pasang Dorje sneered at his longtime rival. “Aren’t you afraid of death?”
“Brother Pasang,” Tenzin Dawa replied without fear. “Are you the only one allowed to be brave?”
Pasang Dorje laughed heartily.
More and more Zan gods, sated on blood and flesh, converged on the scene. They moved like unstoppable killing machines, slicing through the ranks of Tibetans and mastiffs, slaughtering effortlessly.
The only silver lining was that these creatures remained fixated on flesh, slowing their pace—not out of malice, but because they were simply feeding.
Perhaps there were minor interruptions during their feast, but their goal remained simple: to sate their hunger.
Behind the Tibetans, the outer vehicles had been doused with spare gasoline. Some of it splashed onto the Tibetans themselves, but they didn’t flinch. Like the towering peaks of the Gangdise Mountains, they stood firm.
“King Gesar,” Pasang Dorje murmured, trembling lips forming the words. “Bear witness!”
Flames erupted.
The fire seemed to agitate the Zan gods further, driving them into an even more frenzied charge toward the Tibetans.
Pasang Dorje heard the engines of the cars behind him roar to life. He looked up, watching the Lungta flag flutter higher, carried by the rising heat currents.
The galloping horse on the flag seemed to come alive, racing across the azure sky as if galloping atop Lake Namtso. It charged across the white clouds, as though running along the peaks of Mount Kailash.
The spirits of the snow-capped mountains seemed to imbue the horse with life. As the flames engulfed the Lungta flag, in Pasang Dorje’s eyes, the horse rose higher and higher, bathed in fire!
Pasang Dorje laughed joyfully. “King Gesar is guiding our way!”
Flames began to consume his body, but he laughed, urging the Tibetans to look skyward. “Look! Look! The white horse has transformed into King Gesar’s Red Hare steed!”
Many Tibetans gazed upward. Could they truly see King Gesar’s Red Hare?
But they smiled nonetheless.
Lowering his head, Pasang Dorje caught sight of Tenzin Dawa meeting his end. He had always looked down on this man, who had gone to school outside and seemingly forgotten the bloodline of the Tibetans. But perhaps something transcended education.
Tenzin Dawa sang his battle hymn, his abdomen torn open by a Zan god, intestines spilling out. Yet he clung tightly to the creature, attempting to drive his Tibetan knife into its skull.
The Zan god gnawed indifferently on Tenzin Dawa, unconcerned even as Tenzin Dawa finally released the knife, unable to pierce the demon’s resilient skin.
“Worthless,” Pasang Dorje muttered. At least he’d take two with him. If it were him, he’d kill at least two.
He licked his lips, feeling a twinge of envy for Tenzin Dawa. Perhaps such a death could be considered heroic, worthy of receiving a ceremonial khata from King Gesar in the heavens.
How could he surpass that? Pasang Dorje didn’t dwell on the question for long.
A Zan god lunged toward him—a bloodstained fiend, its glowing green eyes locked onto Pasang Dorje. The gaze felt familiar—
Ah, yes. It was the one he had shot earlier with his rifle.
Could demons hold grudges? Was this hateful beast targeting him specifically?
Pasang Dorje laughed loudly, as if greeting an old friend.
With his remaining arm, he embraced the Zan god’s body tightly.
In an instant, the creature pierced through him, leaving his entrails shredded. But what did it matter?
Pasang Dorje’s face contorted once more into the wrathful visage of a Vajra. Dragging the Zan god with him, he charged into the inferno behind him.
Then, like the wrath of Buddha descending, the gasoline-soaked vehicles exploded in rapid succession!
Even the Zan gods weren’t immune to the searing heat or the shrapnel of steel. Like the vajra striking the ground, the demons were forced to scatter.
But—no. Even in their final moments, as the flames consumed them, the Zan gods continued to devour flesh, greedily feasting on their sacrificial offerings.
Those not consumed by the fire turned their gaze toward the convoy.
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