Li Yundong’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing Liu Xia mention Bandalam. Bandalam? Could that mean she is Meiduo?

With this thought, Li Yundong looked at the approaching figures with heightened intensity. The bustling Barkhor Street in Lhasa was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, countless Tibetans surging forward like waves, allowing those further away to see the devotees performing the Dharmapala dance with increasing clarity. The first group approaching were dressed in vibrantly colored Tibetan robes.

On their heads, they wore massive masks carved from clay and wood, painted to resemble fierce deities, each topped with a pristine white khata scarf. At a glance, Li Yundong saw these masks, exquisitely crafted and dusted with fine gold powder. Some held expressions of serenity, others of imposing power, while still others were grotesque with blue faces and bared fangs, adorned with tiny skulls—leaving a powerful and unforgettable impression.

The dancers’ voluminous robes were dazzlingly patterned, with streamers fluttering in a riot of color, their fronts and backs embroidered with facial visages and skull motifs. Flanking them on both sides were lamas holding conch shells. Some carried them in front, while others blew into them as they walked, the deep, resonant blasts of the horns exuding an imposing awe that commanded reverence.

As the procession drew nearer, Li Yundong focused on the woman being carried highest. She wore her hair in a towering bun, adorned with a vivid floral crown, large hoops dangling from her ears. She wore a mask that obscured her features, yet the mask itself depicted a beautiful young woman—save for three slender eyes that seemed to gaze out with inherent kindness.

Clad in a white outer cloak over a deep crimson robe, with red boots on her feet, she sat upon a raised lotus throne. In her right hand, she held a long white-feathered arrow; in her left, a bowl brimming with jewels. Amidst the sonorous blasts of the horns, she truly possessed the majestic aura of a living deity making her appearance.

Liu Xia, watching beside him, was utterly captivated. She couldn't help but sigh in wonder. "This is truly strange.

Isn't the festival of the Tibetan Goddess of Prosperity, Lhamo, usually on the tenth day of the tenth month in the Tibetan calendar? Why is she out today?" Driven by curiosity, she pulled aside a nearby Tibetan local and spoke rapidly in Tibetan. After receiving a friendly reply, Liu Xia suddenly understood.

She excitedly grabbed Li Yundong’s arm. "Hey, you’re lucky! You arrive just in time to witness this rare, grand celebration.

I hear the Living Buddha has found the reincarnation of Bandalam, which is why we have the Dharmapala dance and the emergence of the Goddess of Prosperity! Quick, kneel down with me!" Barkhor Street is Tibet’s most prosperous commercial pedestrian mall, and simultaneously its most famous sacred circuit. Because it encircles the Jokhang Temple, passing by the Potala Palace, the Medicine King Mountain, and the Ramoche Temple, it is named Barkhor—which means 'circumambulation path' or 'central circle' in Tibetan.

Countless devotees come here daily to perform the pilgrimage circuit around the street. Apparently having heard news of Bandalam's procession, the Tibetan crowd present that day was exceptionally large. There were Tibetans in white robes who had traveled from the northern pastoral areas, heroes from the powerful clans of the Kham region, and local residents of Barkhor Street dressed in vibrant, luxurious attire.

Together, they created a deafening, sea-of-people clamor. But as Bandalam’s procession passed by, the crowds would sink down like a tide, the noise instantly vanishing. The once vibrant Barkhor Street grew quieter and quieter, pierced only by the majestic, echoing sounds of the conch horns soaring toward the sky.

Since most Tibetans were prostrating on the ground, many tourists visiting Barkhor Street followed suit, kneeling down. Liu Xia was among them. After kneeling, she was about to settle into a proper prostration when she turned and saw Li Yundong still standing foolishly in place, head held high, gazing at Bandalam as if lost in a daze.

Alarmed, Liu Xia quickly reached out and pulled Li Yundong’s arm. "Hey, what are you staring at? Bandalam cannot be looked at directly; it is considered an offense." But Li Yundong seemed not to hear her words.

His gaze remained fixed on the figure seated upon the lotus throne. At this moment, Li Yundong was certain: the person sitting on that throne was the innocent Tibetan girl, Meiduo, whom he knew. And in that instant, Li Yundong felt a sensation of being profoundly disconnected from his surroundings.

Had Meiduo, who once circled him, smiling sweetly and calling him "Han Brother" in a clear voice, now transformed into the exalted Goddess of Prosperity? Had Meiduo, who once boldly confessed her love to him under the moonlight only to be tearfully rejected by him, now donned divine robes and taken her high seat upon the lotus? A sudden, profound sigh escaped Li Yundong’s chest as he thought to himself: I searched for her a thousand times in the crowd, only to find her now, high above, lonely in her eminence!

What expression must the innocent, lovely, and simple Meiduo wear now, hidden beneath the mask of Bandalam? Was it sorrow? Joy?

Happiness? Despair? Li Yundong’s mind twisted with worry.

He mused: Zhou Qin should have been the one sitting here! But, if it truly were Zhou Qin, I would refuse, even if she agreed. But...

if Zhou Qin cannot be this Bandalam, why must Meiduo take her place? With this thought, Li Yundong felt compelled by some strange force and shouted loudly, "Meiduo!" The entire Barkhor Street fell into absolute silence. Li Yundong’s loud shout caused everyone to lift their heads and stare at him.

There, beside the devotees and lamas performing the Dharmapala dance, with crowds prostrating on both sides of the street, Li Yundong stood alone, bolt upright, shouting toward Bandalam seated high on the throne. The sight stunned everyone. Even Liu Xia beside him froze in terror, fearing the next moment the enraged Tibetans would rush forward and tear them to shreds.

Bandalam, seated on the high throne, trembled violently. Her body shook slightly as she slowly turned her head, her gaze—as if in disbelief—following the sound. Through the Bandalam mask, Meiduo instantly saw Li Yundong standing proudly amidst the crowd, a figure towering over all others.

Her mind roared, and a voice, bordering on ecstatic frenzy, shouted in her head: He’s here, he’s finally here! In that instant, Meiduo instinctively reached up to her face, intending to rip off the mask and cry out to Li Yundong with delighted recognition: "Han Brother!" But just as her hand touched the mask, halfway lifted, the prayer wheel tucked inside her robes suddenly began to hum. Meiduo’s body jolted.

Her previous excitement cooled instantly, and a mournful voice whispered incessantly in her mind: So what if he’s here? What difference does it make! Meiduo’s body stiffened inch by inch.

The hand resting on her mask froze mid-air, revealing only half of her pure, snow-white, beautiful face and a crimson cherry mouth. Li Yundong watched Meiduo looking at him blankly through the Bandalam mask. Her gaze slowly transformed from surprised excitement to sorrow and grief, finally turning cold as ash.

The vibrant lips beneath her mask silently formed a shape directed at him. Though Li Yundong heard nothing, he clearly recognized the silent four words she mouthed: Han jia gege... (Han Brother...) In that moment, Li Yundong and Meiduo stared at each other in silence.

They were less than five meters apart, yet the distance between them felt as vast as heaven and earth. Time seemed to halt; space solidified. The flowing current of Barkhor Street instantly froze into the stillness of a Thangka painting.

Li Yundong stared dumbly at Meiduo. He wanted to shout her name, wanted to pull her down from the throne and restore her to the carefree, laughing girl she once was. But when he tried to extend his hand, he didn't know where to begin.

More crucially, if he pulled Meiduo down, what about Zhou Qin, her true self? What would happen to her? But could he sacrifice Meiduo for Zhou Qin’s sake?

Li Yundong wrestled with the conflict in his heart. As he hesitated, he suddenly saw a single, crystalline tear roll down Meiduo’s pale cheek, settling near the corner of her mouth. At that, Meiduo hesitated no longer.

Using the motion of wiping away the tear, she smoothly lowered her mask again, concealing her exquisite, lovely face beneath the guise of Bandalam. Meiduo spoke a few words in Tibetan to the devotees and lamas performing the Dharmapala dance, and then the procession slowly began to move forward again. Li Yundong watched helplessly as Meiduo passed before him.

Behind Bandalam, he glimpsed another manifestation: the image of Palden Lhamo (Drolma). This Palden Lhamo had flaming red hair standing erect, adorned with five skulls, and topped with a crescent moon and peacock feathers. Her right ear bore a small lion ornament, while her left was adorned with a small snake.

Around her waist hung a ledger for recording the wicked deeds of sinners. In her left hand, she held a skull-topped staff; in her right, a bowl filled with fresh blood—her appearance was fierce, terrifying, cold, and merciless. Li Yundong shuddered and couldn't help but shout again, "Meiduo, do you truly wish to be this Bandalam?

Answer me! If you don’t, I will take you away!" Li Yundong’s shout caused a commotion among the Tibetans who understood Chinese. Liu Xia nearly collapsed in terror, groaning in a trembling voice, "Heavens, what madness has taken this man!" Meiduo, high on the lotus throne, trembled once more.

She slowly turned her body, looking at Li Yundong with an expression of immense complexity. As Meiduo turned, Li Yundong saw half of her covered by the white mask, and half by the blue. One side symbolized the terrifying and fierce Palden Lhamo, the other the kind and beautiful White Lhamo—as if a living person had been brutally cleaved in two.

Meiduo stared blankly at Li Yundong for a moment, then softly said a few sentences in Tibetan to a devotee beside her. That devotee glanced strangely at Li Yundong and then spoke to him in halting Chinese: "Bandalam says she is fine and you need not worry; her people need her. Furthermore, she says she does not know you; please return." Li Yundong faltered, thinking: Meiduo’s words contradict themselves!

Does she truly not wish to leave? Having delivered the message, Meiduo spoke coldly to her attendants, and the Dharmapala dancers and lamas resumed their march forward. This time, Li Yundong did not try to stop them.

He could only watch as Meiduo’s silhouette receded bit by bit, the image of Palden Lhamo slowly vanishing into the depths of Barkhor Street...