But that piece of the puzzle was invisible to him and without it, he was powerless. He had no angle, no explosive piece of evidence, no leverage point he could push to pivot the disastrous events of recent weeks. The forces against him were too powerful. Public Security was against him, the ruthless Amban Council was against him, the governments in Lhasa and Beijing were against him. He was wise enough to know he had lost this time. They would have to claim the miraculous survival of Natalie Pike as their victory and move on. The dam would never be stopped. The Amban Council could not be stopped. Lhadrung County would be swept clean in a few months. He and Tan would be pushed aside, debris of an earlier age. Yangkar would get a new Chinese constable, who would inevitably discover the precious, illegal archives under its streets. Ko would lose Tan’s protection at the 404th.

He was about to rise and return to the camp, his heart heavy, when a match flared beside him. Lhakpa lit a cone of incense and set it between them, as if he too needed the gods close.

“An old lama once told me that Tibet is ripe with lives,” Lhakpa said after a long silence. “The words nagged at me, and when I later confessed to him that I didn’t understand, he said Tibet today forces people to juggle more than one life. Everyone’s forced to appear as a loyal citizen who would never publicly acknowledge their faith. But many are also devout followers of the Dalai Lama, who hide illegal images of him in their homes. We can’t be faithful without being liars. And then we have lives as productive workers, though seldom in the job we would have chosen for ourselves. We’re all actors, with different audiences for each mask we wear, each life we lead.”

Shan weighed Lhakpa’s words as he gazed out over the moonlit valley. “It is an age of troubled souls,” he agreed. “A renowned scientist,” Shan observed after another silence. “A professor at a famed Buddist school. A dissident. A prisoner. A snow monk. That’s a soul ripe with lives.”

Lhakpa went very still. “I’m not sure I follow, Constable.”

“My son was nearly beaten to death at the 404th labor brigade because he started asking questions about prisoners who arrived from Larung Gar last year.”

“I’m sorry. I will pray for him.”

“He’ll live. Funny thing, he found out that one of the prisoners who arrived in that convoy didn’t seem to know the others, even sometimes didn’t seem to recognize his own name.” Shan paused, watching the headlights of a patrol car drive along the perimeter road below them. “Understandable, of course, since he had no time to train to become you, Professor Lin. Or Lhakpa. How many other names have you used?”