Unknown 9, Layton Green [good books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

enclosing the Temple of Literature, it swerved right through a group of Vespa-riding girls wearing face masks. Somehow a crash was avoided. Andie felt a little shaky as she and Cal stepped onto the curb.

After glancing around for suspicious faces, they entered the historic site right when it opened, through a set of double doors at the bottom of an entrance gate built to resemble a white stone pagoda. Though streaked with grime, the gate was an impressive sight, with its magnificently carved eaves, huge bell, and curving red rooftops.

Inside, a sanctuary of ancient trees, lotus ponds, and well-trimmed lawns awaited. Though other tourists, both local and foreign, were pouring in to enjoy the site, it was an oasis of beauty and calm amid the relentless bustle of Hanoi. The bronze information placards were written in Vietnamese, so Andie bought an information pamphlet off a tout for twenty thousand dong, the equivalent of one US dollar. The night before, sensing they might need some local currency, she had withdrawn more cash with Zawadi’s card.

She stopped to absorb the first courtyard by the side of a massive banyan. “I’m sure whoever the Star Phone puzzle was meant for was supposed to meditate on ancient Confucian wisdom.”

“We, on the other hand, need enlightenment right away.”

“Shall we take a pass through the whole temple first?”

Cal lifted a palm and deepened his voice. “Proceed through the gates of knowledge.”

The second courtyard was a green space of equal splendor to the first. According to the pamphlet, the topiary represented the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac. On the far side of the courtyard loomed a red lacquer wooden tower built on stone columns. The carvings on the tower were even more elaborate than on the main gate.

“Impressive,” Cal said.

“That’s the Pavilion of the Constellation of Literature,” Andie said. “The symbol of Hanoi. Those are yin-yang tiles on the roof, and the circular window represents the sun.”

“More symbol stuff,” Cal said. “I hope you’re taking notes.”

A cloud of incense swirled above the brick floor of the pavilion. As they passed through, Andie could picture robed medieval monks entering the structure in ancient times, tending to the braziers as they debated philosophy.

The center of the third courtyard was dominated by a square pond surrounded by a low stone wall. A street magician was performing sleight-of-hand tricks near the pond, chattering to passerby in both English and Vietnamese.

“Thiên Quang Tỉnh,” Andie said as they followed the flower-strewn pathway around the basin of water. “The Well of Heavenly Clarity.”

“We should drink long and deeply.”

The fourth courtyard, made of smooth paving stones and littered with rotting mangoes, was wider than the others. There was very little to see, other than a bronze urn in the center with carved dragons on the side and some kind of stone demon on top. The lack of attractions, and thus tourists, lent the silent courtyard an eerie aura. A gathering place that lacked gatherers.

“Getting any ideas?” Cal said, looking nervously around.

“Not really. Let’s finish the walk-through.”

The barrier separating the fourth and fifth courtyards was an imposing open-air shrine with a tiled roof curving upward at the ends like a smile. Sprinkled among the red-lacquered pillars supporting the structure were a handful of gold-leaf altars resembling oversize treasure chests, as well as giant statues of Confucius and his disciples. Draped on the altars were the sort of quotidian items common to ancestor worship: flowers, food, money, bottles of water.

Smoke curled out of hundreds of incense sticks, placed upright like rows of disintegrating snakes, in ash-filled urns throughout the shrine. The greasy incense saturating the air, combined with the growing crowd and the dead heat of Hanoi, made Andie light-headed. Worried it would trigger a vision, she pushed on through to the fifth and final courtyard, an open square that showcased a huge iron bell, a student art exhibit, and a museum entrance on the far side.

They paced the courtyard and explored the two-story museum, which included exhibits on Confucian education, as well as the founders of the Temple of Literature. Nothing piqued their interest. Andie returned to stand beside the art exhibit, absorbing her surroundings, trying to spot the invisible thread in the labyrinth.

“I feel like we’re close,” she said, “but where’s the cracked door? Is it a play on words? Is there a literal door nearby we’re supposed to open?”

“This would be a helluva lot easier with the Star Phone,” Cal said.

“To test our theories, yes. But I have a feeling there’s a simple solution to the riddle. Maybe it’s something to do with Confucianism or Taoism.”

With Cal peering over her shoulder, Andie found a bench and Googled “cracked door” and “Confucius” and “Tao.” Finding no help in the analects of Confucius, the Tao Te Ching, or other pillars of Eastern religion, she expanded the search to Vietnamese and Chinese history, the Temple of Literature, and every key word she could think of.

Not a single cracked door in sight.

“I just don’t know,” she said.

“Should we do another walk-through?” Cal suggested. “Maybe seeing it in reverse will spark something. Plus, I saw a guy selling soft drinks out front.”

Andie sighed and pushed to her feet. “Sure.”

As they retraced their steps and entered the third courtyard, Andie absorbed the view of the main gate and the Pavilion of the Constellation of Literature rising above the stone wall. The curlicue nature of the architecture struck her as reflective of the human mind itself: synapses locked in stone, elegant and twisted, bizarre and beautiful. She felt immersed in an alien culture far older than her own, proud and majestic and unchanged for millennia, its symbolism as rich as any she had known.

They kept walking, approaching the pavilion, when it hit her.

It was so simple and perfect.

Once again, Cal had hit on the solution. Seeing it in reverse.

If she was correct, then unwittingly, they were on the right track. They were supposed to walk the length of the temple, contemplate everything they had learned, and then, like every good