Another peak tourist season.
Along the vast northwestern ancient road, a cluster of more than a dozen grotto relics scattered across a cliff face. In earlier years, no one paid them much attention. But in recent times, riding the wave of cultural tourism, they had suddenly become popular. Now they were packed with visitors.
The guides in the scenic area were so busy their throats were nearly smoking. They had just sent off one group and hadn't even managed a sip of water before another arrived. With no choice, they put their headsets back on and returned to work.
"The cave is dim. Please watch your step."
Dozens of tourists squeezed into the grotto under instruction, the once sprawling crowd compressed into a narrow, twisting line.
The guide held up a flashlight. The beam was like a teacher's pointer in class, wherever it landed, everyone looked.
"We are currently in Cave Six, located on the second level of the grotto complex. It was first constructed during the Northern Liang period of the Sixteen Kingdoms era. It is a typical Northern Dynasties-style square cave with a flat, inverted-bucket ceiling. With a history of over sixteen hundred years, it is one of the earliest Buddhist grottoes in our country…"
These lines were recited eight hundred times a day. The guide could practically chant them from memory. Her lips moved mechanically, her tone flat and without inflection.
The statues in the cave, the history behind them, even a single brick on the ground could be discussed at length without pause.
After a string of explanations, they arrived at the highlight.
"Now, everyone, please look here. This is the most worth-seeing mural in the cave."
The tourists' gazes followed the flashlight beam. As if rehearsed, they collectively gasped in awe.
Across the walls and ceiling, smoke-darkened pigments swirled, coiled, and ascended.
Hard to fully understand, but mysteriously magnificent.
Quick-reacting visitors reached for their phones. Those with DSLRs already hanging around their necks lifted them and focused.
After all, what was travel if not taking pictures everywhere? Otherwise, how could you prove you'd been there?
Post the photos on social media later, add a few refined lines of caption, collect some likes, only then could a trip be considered complete.
"Hey, hey, no photos!" The guide panicked at the sight of cameras. She immediately raised a hand to block a nearby lens. "Flash photography damages the murals. These paintings have lasted a thousand years. Even the slightest damage is irreversible."
"I won't use flash, okay?"
There were always a few like this every day. The guide patiently explained again:
"The grotto space is small, and there are so many visitors daily. Even without flash, if everyone keeps taking photos, it prolongs the time spent inside. Our breathing and body heat produce carbon dioxide. Changes in humidity and temperature cause the murals to fade. In a few decades, they might lose all their color. Then future generations won't be able to see them at all. Let's try to leave some cultural heritage behind, alright?"
"…"
With dozens of eyes watching, no one wanted to be the uncultured one. Phones and cameras were reluctantly put away.
Delayed by the interruption, the guide sped things up. A quick tour, ten minutes per cave.
The crowd filed out along the original path. At the entrance stood directional signs: one-way passage. On the opposite side, clearly another cave stood there , but it was blocked off with barrier tape.
"Why can't we see that one?"
The guide hurried toward the next cave while clearing people out. "Sorry, there's a team copying the mural inside. It's temporarily closed to visitors."
"Oh…"
The crowd dispersed. Silence returned to the cave.
But only for a few seconds.
From behind the barrier tape, a raised voice suddenly rang out:
"What did you say?"
Inside the Restricted Cave
This was a small cave, roughly four meters square, less than ten meters high. Daylight barely reached it to begin with. Now, with three or four people standing inside, it was even darker. The statues and murals around them were shadowy and indistinct.
Xu Huai, the elderly team leader of the mural-copying project, widened his eyes. Facing inward, he repeated his question, lowering his voice this time:
"Tu Nan, I'm asking you, are you joking with me?"
Tu Nan stood closest to the wall, beside an easel taller than she was. In the half-light, her figure stretched thin and slender.
"I'm not joking," she sighed. "The mural is ruined."
"Why?"
"I painted it wrong."
Xu Huai stared at her in disbelief. "The exhibition hall is already set up. They're waiting for your mural to be delivered. And now you're telling me you painted it wrong?"
"…"
Tu Nan fell silent.
Copying a mural was meticulous craftsmanship. The process was complicated. Sometimes just the first stage of preparation took over a month. No step could go wrong.
And yet she had made a mistake.
Worse, it was near the final stage.
That one error wiped out nearly seven months of work.
The other team members stood stunned. They had their own assignments. They had traveled thousands of kilometers with Xu Huai, thinking Tu Nan's work was nearly finished.
Who would have expected something this serious?
One team member quickly tried to smooth things over.
"Tu Nan, tell us where the mistake is. Maybe it can still be fixed?"
"The fold in Indra's robe across the chest," she said faintly. "It should have been painted with erqing. I used touqing."
After two seconds, she added: "I plan to start over."
"…"
That meant abandoning any attempt at repair.
Xu Huai stepped forward with a flashlight. He illuminated the ceiling, then the canvas on the easel below.
This cave was the best-preserved in the entire grotto complex. On the ceiling was a remarkably intact mural titled Liang King Paying Homage to the Dharma Protectors. Unlike common depictions of Buddhas and bodhisattvas, it portrayed the Indian Buddhist deities Indra and Brahma.
The grotto lay along the Hexi Corridor, a gateway of Buddhist transmission eastward and a throat of the Silk Road westward. The mural represented the transitional form of Buddhism entering the Central Plains: unique, magnificent, historically invaluable.
Because it was so precious, it was rarely exhibited. The team had deliberated long before assigning Tu Nan to copy it.
Under the beam of light, the ancient Indra gazed downward. On the easel below, the replicated Indra stood at an angle. Both solemn. Both mottled with time.
Except for one place.
A few inches below the neck, layered folds of the robe across the chest, there floated a color slightly off.
Subtle.
But it divided past from present. Authentic from imitation.
Xu Huai's wrist trembled. The flashlight beam shot straight at Tu Nan's pale face.
Her eyes were lowered. She almost resembled another serene Buddha.
"So this is it. You treated copying like creation. I taught you for nothing."
She said nothing.
In mural work, the goal was always maximum fidelity. Masters passed down techniques and rules across generations. A mistake meant breaking the rules.
She had broken Xu Huai's rule.
"I shouldn't have let you take charge."
Still silence.
The cave forbade loud noise. Xu Huai suppressed most of his anger. His voice was low, his face pale, resentment and anxiety choking him.
"Don't defend her," he snapped when someone tried again. "When Xiao Yun took charge for the first time, did he make mistakes?"
Everyone instinctively looked at Xiao Yun.
He had stood near the entrance the entire time, silent, almost invisible.
Xu Huai's most prized student. Likely successor.
No one compared to him.
Except Tu Nan didn't look at him.
Xu Huai eventually calmed down.
"That one stroke alone reveals your problem. Tu Nan, your heart isn't in the mural."
She finally moved.
"The mural being ruined is my fault. But if you say my heart wasn't in it, I can't accept that."
Several teammates signaled her frantically with their eyes.
At a time like this, you endure. You don't argue.
Xu Huai laughed coldly. "Then explain why you painted it wrong."
Tu Nan glanced at the canvas. The colors were muddled.
Ruined was ruined.
She rubbed at the paint with her finger, smearing a bit of pigment. Her eyes flickered toward Xiao Yun at the entrance. He turned away.
What was the point of excuses?
"Fine. You're right. My heart wasn't in the mural."
"Tu Nan." Xiao Yun finally spoke, a warning.
Xu Huai sighed in disappointment.
"You don't belong here. This frontier plateau, this bitter cold land, how could it hold you? Your eyes are full of city splendor. How can you still see the colors on the wall?"
The air seemed to freeze.
Finally, Xu Huai said:
"You don't need to redo it. Withdraw from the team."
Outside
The sunlight faded. Wind descended from nearby snow mountains. There was no summer heat here.
After sending off the tourists, several guides stood under poplar trees drinking water when they saw Tu Nan walk past empty-handed.
"Looks like they finished."
"Lucky them. Who knows when we'll be done?"
"Don't say that. She's been here alone for half a year, working day and night without a break. Too hard. I don't envy her."
Tu Nan walked, picking at dried paint on her fingernails.
It had long dried, yet seemed impossible to remove.
By the roadside, a narrow spring flowed down from the snow mountains. She crouched and slowly washed her hands.
As the water rippled, another figure appeared in its reflection.
Xiao Yun stood about a meter behind her.
"Teacher Xu asked for your work pass."
She flicked water off her right hand, removed the badge from her neck, and tossed it toward him.
He barely caught it.
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Tu Nan. If you could just steady yourself, it wouldn't have come to this."
"Yes. I regret it a little now."
"Can't you be serious for once?"
She scraped at her nail carefully, not looking up.
"Are you saying that as my former classmate, or as my ex-boyfriend?"
"…Neither. I just think you made the mistake because of me. I don't want to owe you."
She watched the water stream between her fingers.
The last time they'd spoken alone was over the phone.
That night, he had messaged: I have something important to tell you.
The border climate was unstable. A storm had knocked out her power. Despite working overtime for days, she rushed to finish her work by flashlight, just to make time for him.
In the dim light, she misjudged the color.
That single stroke sealed the mistake.
Later that night, his message came:
Let's break up.
Five words.
And it was over.
Like a dream.
Was it love that ruined the work, or the person that ruined the love?
She stood, hands wet.
"That stroke was mine. The responsibility is mine. It has nothing to do with you."
"That's for the best." His tense expression relaxed slightly.
Their relationship had begun in haste and ended abruptly. Long-distance copying work kept them apart. There was little to cling to.
Now separation felt almost relieving.
She wiped her hands.
"Stay away from me. Don't let Teacher Xu find out his prized student once slept with someone so disappointing."
As if agreeing, he stepped back.
"Even if I wronged you… goodbye."