Chapter 1: The Temple That Should Not Exist

(1/3)

“Time flies and never returns~ Memories can only be savored~~…”

Thailand, a country close to the equator, knows nothing of spring, summer, autumn, or winter. Only three seasons exist here: hot, cool, and rainy. Even during the coolest days, the temperature might dip to twenty-four degrees Celsius—considered “cold” by local standards!

It is not a wealthy country, but everywhere happiness abounds. A land of devout Buddhists, over ninety percent of the people hold their faith with sincerity. Yet, in this sun-drenched place, where the teachings of Buddha seem boundless, extremes meet: Thailand is also notorious in Southeast Asia for its dark and sinister corners.

“You’re bound to change, like time that won’t turn back~ I really can’t remember the next line~~…” Dressed in a white tank top and shorts, flip-flops on his feet and aviator sunglasses perched on his nose, Qi Yan strolled languidly along the streets of Chiang Mai, humming a classic by the late queen of Thai pop, a tune familiar to every local.

Unlike the wild enthusiasm of Phuket or the decadent revelry of Bangkok, Chiang Mai—one of Thailand’s top three tourist cities—radiates a sense of leisure and a gentle pace. Even the heat cannot easily stir irritation in the heart.

For Qi Yan, carefree moments like this were not uncommon. It had been a full year since he graduated from university. In that time, he had cycled through seven jobs, with a few months of unemployment in between.

Like most young graduates, his mind was unsettled, his ambitions high but skills lacking. He had no clear goals, coveted prestige, desired substantial pay, and yet craved a low-key, meaningful life…

He’d come to Thailand with two friends, officially to “ease their weary souls,” but in truth, simply because he’d grown restless at home.

While the others funded their travels with savings, he was different—relying on the remaining half of his 8,000-limit credit card.

People asked what he’d do when he got back—what would he eat? “We’ll see,” he replied, unconcerned.

At twenty-three, to have achieved nothing was hardly unusual, but this lackadaisical attitude was worrisome. No money, no connections, no job, yet traveling abroad?

Aside from his handsome face, it was hard to find anything commendable about him…

It is said there are more temples than toilets in Thailand. Qi Yan used to think this was an exaggeration, but now he knew it was no lie—especially in “the Rose of Northern Thailand,” Chiang Mai.

Wearing flip-flops to visit temples was a local pastime, but Qi Yan, a man without faith, cared little for the city’s true culture. Still, having come all this way, it would be a shame not to wander through a few temples.

Accompanying him were a couple about his age, Dong Ye and his girlfriend, Xu Dan.

And Qi Yan played the legendary third wheel, though their friendship was strong enough that it hardly mattered.

“Hey, let’s check out the temples across the street, and when it’s six, we can find dinner nearby,” Xu Dan suggested, pointing to a cluster of golden buildings ahead.

(2/3)

Dong Ye had no objections, happy to go along with his girlfriend’s wishes.

Qi Yan, walking ahead, grumbled, “Didn’t we see enough temples in Chiang Rai yesterday? We spent four hours at the White Temple alone… You two go ahead, I’ll find some shade outside and wait.”

But Xu Dan didn’t mind his third-wheeling, coaxing him, “It’s different! Don’t you know? The true amulets are found in small temples. The big ones are just tourist traps—they’re commercialized and the amulets are fake and expensive!”

Unlike Qi Yan, Dong Ye and Xu Dan had done their research. They understood the local culture and beliefs, and with the recent tourism boom, young travelers were caught up in the craze for a unique Thai talisman—the Buddha amulet.

Their main reason for making Chiang Mai their final stop was to find a suitable amulet to bring home.

Qi Yan still wasn’t interested. “You know me: I believe in nothing but money.”

Dong Ye, his college roommate, joined in the persuasion, “Just come with us. If we’re inside choosing amulets, you can just take selfies in the temple.”

Unable to resist their enthusiasm, Qi Yan relented.

At the temple gate, the three wrapped sarongs around their waists—one of the rules for entering Thai temples: regardless of gender, you can’t show your thighs. Shorts and skirts must be covered.

Shoes had to be removed before entering the temple, so the air was thick with the lingering, sour scent of countless bare feet… Another reason Qi Yan disliked temple tours.

But Xu Dan was right. This temple, though not crowded, had a side hall where the walls were lined with dazzling amulets—hundreds, at least, each unique in style.

Buddha amulets are unique to Thai Theravada Buddhism, small talismans ranging from a couple of inches to the size of a child’s palm, encased in acrylic or glass, often edged with metal.

They come in round, square, oval, or triangular shapes, hung on chains of various materials.

Most important, though, is their spiritual content. The crafting of amulets is complex, using clay, ceramic, metal, jade, and sometimes mixed with herbs, pollen, ashes from sacred texts, incense dust, or even hair or nails from revered monks. Their colors vary.

Their purposes are even more diverse: different deities bestow different blessings, so choosing an amulet is a time-consuming process.

Locals say, when you enter a temple filled with amulets, you’ll be dazzled and unsure which one to choose. But it doesn’t matter, for it is not you who chooses the amulet—it is the amulet that chooses you.

If fate is right, no matter how many amulets are before you, you’ll know which one is yours.

Like that feeling—when you catch a certain glance among a crowd of Buddhas…

(3/3)

Whether this is true or not, Dong Ye and Xu Dan had been browsing for over half an hour but still hadn’t found that one amulet that “spoke” to them.

Qi Yan, growing impatient, left them behind and went outside to crouch in a corner and light a cigarette.

Though he had no faith, he’d been faintly drawn in by the wall of amulets earlier—not because of a sudden awakening, but because their fine craftsmanship caught his eye. As pure ornaments, they were quite beautiful, and they were certainly in vogue back home.

But—his wallet was empty. Even the cheapest amulet cost over a thousand yuan, which, for someone struggling to cover living expenses, was a luxury. And, like other talismans, amulets should not be bought with borrowed money.

“Sigh… I can barely support myself, and I’m supposed to support a deity? Ha… puff…” Qi Yan exhaled a wisp of smoke, laughing self-deprecatingly as he glanced absently toward a nondescript corner of the temple.

The Buddhist architecture of Southeast Asia is broadly similar—dominated by gold.

Yet… what caught Qi Yan’s eye was an oddly out-of-place small shrine, set apart beside the main hall.

What made it so incongruous was its color—a black, standalone chapel.

Thailand has its unique temples; the famous White and Black Temples, for instance, symbolize heaven and hell—but they’re both in Chiang Rai, which he had visited yesterday.

So why was there a miniature black temple here, standing out amidst the gold?

Perhaps the color had faded with time? But then, why hadn’t the other halls changed?

He hadn’t paid much attention to the layout or decor before—these temples all seemed alike—but now, as he focused on the little black building, it seemed ever more peculiar.

The chapel wasn’t tall, not connected to the surrounding structures, with tiered eaves and a square roof. Its architecture was unremarkable, but its discordant color and the strange carvings on its surface were unmistakably unusual.