THOUSAND LIVES

Written by Casey Vale, based on the account of a 10-year-old boy about his past lives.

Chapter 4: The heavenly secrets of the Three Kingdoms | Excerpt

This book records memories believed to extend beyond a single lifetime,
raising questions about reincarnation, personal mission, and the continuity of consciousness.

CHAPTER 4: THE HEAVENLY SECRETS OF THE THREE KINGDOMS

…

Perhaps today, many have heard of China's Three Kingdoms period, an era of heroic battles, astonishing strategies, and brotherhood praised for generations. But that is only part of the play. Hidden behind the fluttering banners and the clash of weapons, there was another world, a world of reclusive Daoists, of numerology, of those who could see fate. It was an era where Heavenly will and karmic retribution were unusually apparent.

And in one lifetime, I was there, not as a famous general, but as a silent observer.

My soul at that time bore a very Daoist name: Qingxu Zi.

I cultivated the Dao from childhood on Wudang Mountain, a sacred mountain shrouded in mist year-round. My master was a true cultivator. He not only taught me medicine and numerology, but more importantly, he opened for me the path to perceive the workings of heaven and earth, what the world calls Heavenly will. Thanks to a good foundation and his guidance, my celestial eye opened early, allowing me to see things that the naked eye could not.

When my master attained the Dao, achieved consummation, and ascended to the heavens, I left the mountain and began my journey wandering the mortal world. It was a time of great chaos in the land. The Han court was but a shadow, and warlords rose up everywhere, each with a dream of becoming an emperor. I was over forty then, had traveled through many lands, and had seen much misery. In those years of wandering, I met many Daoist cultivators hidden among the people; some cultivated in famous mountains, others hid in the noisy marketplaces. We often needed only a glance to recognize each other, would discuss the world's affairs and the Dao for a few sentences, and then go our separate ways.

But among them, there were a few special encounters, meetings with people who not only had profound cultivation but also a close connection to the fate of the entire era. And it was through these extraordinary meetings that I gradually saw the invisible net that enveloped the entire land. The first meeting was with Mr. Shuijing, Sima Hui...

And then, karmic destiny led me to the Shuijing Estate.

Meeting Mr. Shuijing

Sima Hui's estate was not in a very remote place, but it exuded a strange sense of seclusion. A sparse bamboo fence surrounded it, a few ancient pine trees stretched out to provide shade, and the sound of water gurgled from a small stream. There were no high gates or grand walls, no bustling servants. I walked in and only saw a young boy sweeping dry leaves under a plum tree. Seeing a guest, the boy did not ask for my name, just bowed and led me deeper inside.

Under a simple wooden porch overlooking a pond, an old man with white hair and beard, dressed in coarse cloth, was sitting alone at a Go board. The black and white stones were in a complex, tense position. The old man did not look up, but his voice rang out, deep and clear.

"Fellow Daoist, you've brought the mists of Wudang Mountain with you. There is a difficult position on my board, I invite you to have a look."

I knew he was Mr. Shuijing, and he also knew who I was. Among Daoist cultivators, spiritual communion is sometimes faster than words. I smiled and sat down opposite him.

"Master," I said, "in this game of Go, the white side, though at a disadvantage and surrounded, still has a path to life in the corner. It's just that this path is too narrow, requiring a miraculous move to break the siege. I fear an ordinary person would find it hard to see, and even if they did, they would not have the courage to make the move."

Mr. Shuijing finally looked up, his eyes as clear as an autumn lake. He looked at me and nodded slightly. He waved his sleeve, sweeping the Go stones off the board.

"It seems, fellow Daoist, that you and I no longer need to discuss Go. Please have some tea."

The boy brought out a pot of steaming tea. The fragrance was light and pure. We sat in silence for a long time, with only the sound of the wind rustling and the water flowing.

"Fellow Daoist, you have traveled far and wide," Mr. Shuijing spoke first. "What have you seen in this great game of the world?"

"I have seen dragons and snakes intermingled, deer and stags contending," I replied. "But I have not seen the true dragon. The dragon of the Han dynasty, its energy has waned, its dragon vein has been severed, leaving only a lingering shadow."

Mr. Shuijing sighed, a sigh that seemed to contain the sorrow of four hundred years. "Indeed. The dragon vein is broken. What the warlords are fighting for is actually a soulless dragon carcass. Yuan Shao in Hebei, from a family of high officials for four generations, looks like a fierce tiger, but his qi of fortune is mixed; strong on the outside, weak on the inside. He is a paper tiger; a single heavy rain will dissolve him."

"What about Cao Cao in Xuchang?" I asked. "I see that this man's qi is deep and unfathomable, having both the qi of a king and the qi of a treacherous hero. Very complex."

"Fellow Daoist, you see correctly," Mr. Shuijing took a sip of tea. "Cao Cao is a jiaolong, a flood dragon. A flood dragon can dominate rivers and seas, stir up clouds and rain, but it is not a true dragon. It can act on behalf of Heaven for a period, but it cannot become Heaven. His destiny is to end an old era, not to start a new dynasty that can last. He is the whip of the Heavens, used to lash the dead dragon carcass, to clear the stage for other actors."

His words enlightened me. "The whip of the Heavens." That phrasing was so precise.

"What about the descendants of the Sun family in Jiangdong?" I continued. "That place uses the great river as a defensive line, the land is fertile, and the people's hearts are loyal, like a separate realm."

"Jiangdong has the qi of an emperor, but it is the qi of a king who is content with his lot," Mr. Shuijing replied. "They can hold on to their own territory, but they do not have the destiny to unify the world. They are like a tiger occupying a mountain; it can be the overlord of a region, but it will never come down to the plains to contend with the pride of lions."

We fell silent again. What we were saying, if an ordinary person heard it, would probably be considered idle talk. But I knew, it was what we truly "saw," the workings of qi, of Heavenly destiny.

I looked at the calm surface of the pond. I thought of Liu Bei, a man of royal lineage, now wandering everywhere, his great ambitions unfulfilled.

As if reading my thoughts, Mr. Shuijing said softly, "There is one more person, who carries a little of the true qi of the Han, but it is too weak. This person has an abundance of righteousness, but lacks the timing of fate. He is like a good seed, but has fallen into a cold winter, making it very difficult to sprout into a great tree."

"Master," I asked, "then will this world remain in chaos forever?"

Mr. Shuijing did not answer immediately. He stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, walked to the edge of the porch, and looked at the ripples on the pond.

"It will not. Every stage must eventually have its curtain fall. After the great chaos, the dust will settle. There will be talented people who emerge, to give the game a temporary conclusion. But it is only a temporary conclusion. Fellow Daoist, do you know of a young man in Longzhong?"

"The Sleeping Dragon Master?" I replied.

"Yes," Mr. Shuijing turned back, a complex light in his eyes, a mix of admiration and regret. "This man's talent can be compared to Jiang Ziya and Zhang Zifang. But unfortunately, he was born at the wrong time. Jiang Ziya met King Wen when the Shang dynasty was at its end, so he could help the Zhou dynasty establish an eight-hundred-year foundation. Zhang Zifang met Emperor Gaozu of Han when the Qin dynasty had become extremely tyrannical, so he could help the Han dynasty achieve four hundred years of peace."

He paused, then said a sentence that I still remember to this day.

"As for the Sleeping Dragon, he meets a lord, but at a time when the heavenly mandate of the dynasty has already been exhausted. He is like the best physician in the world, but is invited to treat a patient whose internal organs are all failing. He can prolong the dying breath, can make the last days less painful, but he cannot bring the dead back to life. That is his tragedy, and also the tragedy of this era."

His words were like a hammer striking my mind, making my vague thoughts clear. I stood up and bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Master, for your guidance. Qingxu Zi understands now."

As I left, I could still hear his faint sigh. I knew that soon, Liu Bei would come here, and Mr. Shuijing would tell him about the Sleeping Dragon and the Fledgling Phoenix. But the core of the Heavenly secret, the "wrong timing," he would probably keep to himself in a sigh.

Meeting Zhuge Liang

Leaving the Shuijing Estate, the clouds of confusion in my mind about the state of the world seemed to have dissipated somewhat. The master's words about the "great physician" and the "patient whose internal organs were all failing" echoed in my head, urging me to go to Longzhong. I wanted to see this "Sleeping Dragon" with my own eyes, not to see how talented he was, but to feel the soul of a man facing a fateful choice.

Zhuge Liang's thatched cottage was situated on a hill in Longzhong, from where one could overlook a vast expanse of land. Unlike the refined and secluded Shuijing Estate, this place had a different atmosphere. It still had the simplicity of a recluse, but within the stillness, there was a hidden dynamism. I saw neatly plowed fields, lush vegetable patches, and a few military sand table models made of earth and pebbles, meticulously arranged in the courtyard. This was not the place of someone who wanted to completely escape the world, but of someone who was waiting for the right time.

I went there with Cui Zhouping, a mutual friend of both mine and Zhuge Liang's. As we entered, I saw a young man, only in his early twenties, sitting by the window, holding an ancient book, but his gaze was not on the book but on the clouds floating in the sky. The young man was tall, with a scholarly appearance, but his eyes were unusually bright, as if he could see through a person's heart. That was Zhuge Kongming.

He put the book down, stood up, and greeted us with clasped hands, his demeanor poised and elegant. Cui Zhouping introduced me as a Daoist from Wudang Mountain. Zhuge Liang looked at me, his eyes narrowed slightly, a look of scrutiny but not at all impolite. I knew he was also "looking" at me, and not just with his physical eyes.

We sat down, at first just talking about the weather, about farming, the idle chat of friends who hadn't seen each other in a long time. But gradually, the conversation shifted to the state of the world.

Cui Zhouping was a straightforward man. He asked Zhuge Liang: "Kongming, you are a man of great talent and wisdom, why do you keep toiling in these mountains? Why not go out and serve the world, to make a name for yourself?"

Zhuge Liang just smiled, fanning himself with his feather fan. "Brother Zhouping, the time is not yet right, why be in a hurry? A wise bird chooses its branch to perch on, a good minister chooses his lord to serve. The lord has not appeared, the time has not come; to go out now would be like a moth flying into a flame, wasting a lifetime for nothing."

Hearing that answer, I knew he was not an ordinary man seeking fame. He was waiting for a "lord" worthy of his talent. I then spoke up: "Master says 'the time has not yet come,' but can you wait until 'the time comes'? Or, do you intend to create the 'time' yourself?"

My question seemed to have struck a chord with him. Zhuge Liang's gaze upon me deepened.

"Daoist Master speaks truly," he replied, his voice no longer casual. "Time is determined by Heaven, the situation is created by man. Man can create the 'situation,' but cannot go against the 'time.' The Han dynasty's four hundred years, its qi of fortune has been exhausted, that is the 'time.' The warlords contend, the people suffer, that is the 'situation.' A talented person in these times can at most ride the 'situation' to create a new state of affairs, but how can one hold onto a 'time' that has already passed?"

Our conversation delved deeper into the principles of the I Ching, of the art of stargazing. He spoke about the movement of the stars, about the correspondence between celestial phenomena and worldly affairs with clarity and precision, not like a scholar who learns from books, but like someone who has personally observed and verified them. I knew this young man was also a Daoist cultivator, someone who had unlocked his wisdom to a very high level.

When the conversation reached its most engaging point, I focused my gaze on him. And that's when a strange scene appeared before my celestial eye.

The image of the elegant scholar gradually faded, and another image, from a more distant past, was superimposed on it. I saw a battlefield shrouded in smoke and fire. On a high platform, a general was sitting in a wheelchair, his face covered with scars and the tattoos of a criminal. His legs were still there, but his kneecaps had been removed, leaving them limp and useless, making it impossible for him to ever stand up again. His eyes were sharp and cold, his hands constantly giving signals, directing his troops like a perfect machine. Tens of thousands of soldiers obeyed his every command, forming ever-changing battle formations, trapping the enemy in a deadly embrace. I recognized him. It was Sun Bin, the brilliant but tragic military strategist of the state of Qi during the Warring States period. The image was fleeting, then disappeared, returning me to the sight of Zhuge Liang sitting opposite me, healthy and whole.

In an instant, I understood everything.

The unfortunate soul of Sun Bin, after enduring the cruel betrayal of Pang Juan, had now returned, in a sound body, with an even sharper intellect. And his later habit of sitting in a four-wheeled vehicle in battle was not a show of ostentation, but an indelible mark of a past life, a reminder of the years he had to command his troops from a wheelchair.

I looked at Zhuge Liang, and my eyes must have revealed something. He looked at me too, and then seemed to sense what I had seen. He said nothing, just quietly reached out to pour me more tea.

"Daoist Master, coming from Wudang Mountain, you must have seen many things," he said softly, as if speaking to himself. "This Zhuge Liang is but a farmer, hoping to live a peaceful life. I only fear that the tree wishes for stillness, but the wind will not cease."

I knew he was being modest. "Master, you are not a tree," I replied. "You are a great wind. It's just that this wind is waiting, not knowing whether to blow east or west. But I see that soon, another wind, a wind carrying the true qi of the Han, though weak, will find its way here to join with your wind."

I had predicted the arrival of Liu Bei.

After hearing this, Zhuge Liang did not show any joy or surprise. He put down his teacup and looked out the window, where the clouds were still drifting lazily. He said nothing, but I heard him sigh. A very faint sigh, almost inaudible, but it contained a vast acceptance.

It was not a sigh of hesitation. It was the sigh of someone who already knew the path ahead was full of thorns, who knew the outcome would be tragic, but still accepted it, as part of his mission, part of the destiny his soul had to fulfill. In that moment, I no longer saw a strategic Kongming, but only a great soul, silently facing his own tragedy.

(…)

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