conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about em>New, York, Times</em with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Bones of the Earth'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bones of the Earth
  In the gnarled trees just beyond the stone claws, a fire burned in a ring of stones, with rolled blankets beside it. As Shan stepped to the campfire he made out Jaya and the hail chaser in the shadows of the trees, the latter working his mala, his staff leaning on the tree beside him. The ragged old weather wizard took no notice of them, other than pulling his staff closer.
  Jaya gestured to the little spring that wound through the shadows of the trees, then saw Ko limp into the clearing and helped him to a flat rock, handing him her own water bottle as he sat. Shan's son had also stubbornly insisted on joining. He had been slowed not by his injuries, which were rapidly healing, but by the complex horoscope chart Shiva had given him before their departure. Every few minutes on the hike up from the flat where the helicopter dropped them he had paused to study it.
  A cold fist seemed to close around Shan's heart as he saw Pike extract the pistol he had taken from the woman in Lhasa. The American's fury smoldered more intensely with each passing day, and now he gazed down at their new opponents with the eye of the starving predator who had finally found his meal.
  The shelves past the black felt wall held no artifacts when Shan led Pike past them, but the American lingered at the array of weapons and tools at the rearmost shelf. Pike lifted the heavy maul and hefted it with an approving nod. "Blue?" he asked.
  The air was strangely still as they emerged from the trees, and the American paused, though Shan was not sure if it was because he had seen the narrow, treacherous path that edged along the cliff face or if he had heard the faint echo of the mantras from the far side.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. End with the sentence '"'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Jiao gazed forlornly at the soldier, then back at Shan, shaking his head. "You're nobody," he said, his voice cracking. "I was going to fire you when I moved to Yangkar."
  Tan signaled for Zhu to wait, then scribbled a note. "See that the warden of the 404th gets this. He is to report to me first thing tomorrow. And radio for my helicopter. Tell them to bring Dr. Anwei. He has two patients for the hospital."
  The foundation for the control building on the upper slope had been laid, and a small arbor laced with flowers erected over a podium in its center. The ceremony for the chiseling of the pass, as the deputy director had described it in the invitations sent out weeks earlier, had been designed by Jiao long before his disappearance. The scene looked as if it had been staged for a Party poster. Young Tibetan women in colorful traditional garb and freshly scrubbed workers in helmets stood on either side of a four-foot-high model of a transmission tower. A public-address system played favorite hymns of the proletariat. The Commissar, wearing a once-stylish Mao suit, sat in a place of honor in the front row of chairs, tended by two of his nurses.
  The director had protested loudly when Shan and the colonel had visited his office to report that they had sent Jiao away. His complaints had quickly faded, however, as Shan had begun explaining the conspiracy of the Amban Council.
  Ren was a man of few strengths, but one of them was recognizing the subtleties in the words of powerful men. He seemed to collect himself and squared his shoulders. "It would be a blow to the integrity of the government to have the head of the project accused as well," he ventured. "Perhaps we could find another way. For the good of the people."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'Such questions led me to suggest in this tale that these lands might be characterized as the Rosetta Stone of the soul'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Such questions led me to suggest in this tale that these lands might be characterized as the Rosetta Stone of the soul. If so, then perhaps it is inevitable that they encompass extremes of the human journey. The Tibetans spent several centuries reverently constructing their temples, eschewing technological advancement and economic progress so they might focus on the mysteries of the human spirit. The Chinese have spent several decades dismantling those buildings and the peaceful society that erected them so they might advance a more secular, intolerant political agenda. Over ninety percent of Tibet's holy buildings, numbering in the tens of thousands, have been destroyed over the past sixty years in a relentless campaign of cultural annihilation. Another lesson of Tibet, often reflected in Inspector Shan's saga, has been that it is darkness that defines the light, and suffering that gives meaning to compassion.
  The roots of the Tibetans still run deep, and from time to time significant new Buddhist institutions do emerge, such as the teaching center of Larung Gar. While I overlaid a novel's plotline upon that academy, it is a real-life microcosm of Tibet's struggle. Larung Gar remains a rare ray of hope for Tibetans, despite Beijing's wrenching initiative to reduce its size and importance to the Buddhist community. As reflected in these pages, thousands of monks and nuns were abruptly expelled from the school and forced to abandon their monastic careers by officials who seemed to equate spiritual pursuits with acts of political rebellion. Larung Gar endures, however, keeping ancient traditions alive.
  One of those venerable traditions that have always fascinated me is that of the hailchasers. For centuries these weather charmers, who were often trained as rigorously as Tibet's acclaimed medical doctors, roamed the land, consulting and placating the earth deities to protect farmers and herders. Elaborate festivals, with roots in pre-Buddhist Tibet, were often staged in monastic centers to honor those deities in the hope of avoiding the land's violent, sometimes fatal, hailstorms and earthquakes. Some in Tibet suggest that the failure to keep harmony with such deities is why its landscape has been so ravaged in recent decades. Mountain ranges have been stripped of their fertile forests, huge mines have depleted their minerals, and the land's unique wildlife decimated. Major new dams are being built at a frantic pace to power Chinese cities in the east, without meaningful environmental assessment. Some Tibetans in remote regions have been abruptly introduced to the twenty-first century by the arrival of clearcutting timber crews and bulldozers that scrape away the mountain that had always been home to their protective deity.
  As I immersed myself in these modern Tibetan realities while writing the Inspector Shan series I came to see Tibet as a vital barometer of our own humanity. The rest of the world too often turns a blind eye to the oppression that occurs there and in neighboring Xinjiang Province, preferring to focus its moral outrage on issues that pale in comparison to the abject human rights abuses of this struggling region. Those abuses diminish all of us. We can't fight for human rights in one place, in one political context, and not fight for them everywhere. The most profound lesson of all from Inspector Shan is that the Tibetan journey has become our journey too.