Chapter 10

Chapter 10

We shall not speak of Rui Guang discharging his duties or Xuanzang cultivating himself. Instead, let us tell of two wise men by the banks of the Jing River outside the city of Chang'an: one was a fisherman named Zhang Shao, the other a woodcutter named Li Ding. They were scholars who had never passed the imperial examinations, mountain men who could read and write. One day, having sold the firewood on his shoulders and disposed of the carp in his basket in Chang'an, they entered a wineshop together, drank until half tipsy, then each took a bottle and strolled slowly back along the banks of the Jing River.

Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, consider this: those who contend for fame destroy their bodies for the sake of a name; those who seize profit lose their lives for the sake of gain; those who receive rank sleep embracing a tiger; those who accept favor walk with snakes in their sleeves. When all is reckoned, they are no match for us, with our beautiful streams and green mountains, carefree and at ease, content with simplicity, drifting along as fate wills."

Li Ding replied, "Brother Zhang, you speak truly. But your beautiful streams cannot compare to my green mountains."

Zhang Shao said, "Your green mountains are not as good as my beautiful streams. I have a *Butterflies Lingering over Flowers* lyric to prove it. It reads:

A small boat on ten thousand miles of misty waves,

Quietly moored by a lone canopy, the voice of Xishi lingers around.

Washing away cares and cleansing the heart, thoughts of fame and profit are few,

Leisurely plucking smartweed spikes and reeds.

A few sand gulls are worthy of delight,

By willow shores and reed bays, wife and children laugh together.

One sound sleep and the wind and waves subside,

No glory, no shame, no vexation."

Li Ding said, "Your beautiful streams are not as good as my green mountains. I too have a *Butterflies Lingering over Flowers* lyric to prove it. It reads:

A stretch of pine flowers fills the cloudy forest,

Listening silently to the orioles' cries, their clever tongues like tuned pipes.

Red fades and green grows thick as spring warms,

Suddenly summer arrives and the seasons turn.

Then autumn comes again, easy to change,

Yellow chrysanthemum blossoms, a delight to enjoy.

Swiftly the harsh winter passes like a snap of the fingers,

Carefree through all four seasons, with no one to command."

The fisherman said, "Your green mountains are truly not as good as my beautiful streams. I enjoy finer things. I have a *Partridge Sky* lyric to prove it:

A fairy land of clouds and water suffices for a livelihood,

Punting and poling my boat, this is my home.

I slit fresh fish alive and cook green turtles,

Quickly I steam purple crabs and boil red shrimp.

Green reed shoots, water-nymph sprouts,

Water caltrops and foxnuts are even more to be praised.

Tender lotus roots, old lotus seeds, young celery leaves,

Arrowheads, wild rice stems, and the flowers of the bird-tongue orchid."

The woodcutter said, "Your beautiful streams are not as good as my green mountains. I enjoy finer things as well. I too have a *Partridge Sky* lyric to prove it:

Towering, majestic peaks join the horizon,

A thatched hut and a grass hermitage are my home.

Salted and dried chickens and geese surpass crabs and turtles,

River deer, wild boar, hares, and deer are better than fish and shrimp.

Toon leaves, chinaberry sprouts,

Bamboo shoots and mountain tea are even more to be praised.

Purple plums, red peaches, apricots and plums ripen,

Sweet pears, sour jujubes, and osmanthus flowers."

The fisherman said, "Your green mountains are truly not as good as my beautiful streams. I have another *Song of the Celestial Maiden*:

A single leaf of a small boat drifts where it will,

Ten thousand layers of misty waves hold no fear.

I lower hooks and cast nets to catch fresh fish,

No soy paste or grease, yet they have a special flavor,

My old wife and young children gather in a circle.

When fish are plentiful I sell them in Chang'an,

Exchange them for fragrant wine and drink myself drunk.

My rain cape serves for a quilt as I lie by the autumn river,

Snoring in sleep, free of all worry,

I have no love for glory or rank in the mortal world."

The woodcutter said, "Your beautiful streams are still not as good as my green mountains. I too have a *Song of the Celestial Maiden*:

A thatched cottage of a few beams sheltered beneath the mountain,

Pines, bamboos, plum blossoms, and orchids are truly lovely.

I cross the forests and climb the ridges seeking dry firewood,

No one reproaches me, I sell as I please,

Whether little or much, I trust to the world.

With money I buy wine, following my heart's delight,

Earthen jars and porcelain cups are supremely free.

Drunk and muddled, I lie beneath the pine shade,

No attachments, no profit or loss,

I care nothing for the rise and fall of the mortal world."

The fisherman said, "Brother Li, your mountain life cannot match the freedom of my life on the water. I have a *West River Moon* lyric to prove it:

Red knotweed flowers bloom, reflecting the moon,

Yellow reed leaves flutter in the wind.

The blue sky stretches far, the Chu River lies empty,

Disturbing a whole pool of stars into motion.

Great fish enter the schools in my nets,

Small perch swallow the hooks in clusters.

What I catch I cook, the flavor is especially rich,

I laugh and roam at ease upon the rivers and lakes."

The woodcutter said, "Brother Zhang, your life on the water is still not as free as my life in the mountains. I too have a *West River Moon* lyric to prove it:

Fallen leaves and withered vines fill the road,

Broken tips and old brambles cover the mountain.

Ivy and kudzu creep and tangle everywhere,

I cut and gather them, binding them into heavy loads.

Insects have hollowed the elm and willow within,

The wind has snapped the heads of the pines and nanmu.

I collect and pile them up to prepare for winter's cold,

To exchange for wine and money—that is my way."

The fisherman said, "Your mountain life may be comparable, but it still cannot match the elegance of my beautiful streams. I have a *Immortal by the River* lyric to proof it:

When the tide falls I move my lone boat away,

When the night is deep I cease my rowing and sing.

My rain cape beneath the waning moon—how serene!

The roosting gulls are not startled,

Clouds of color open upon the horizon.

I sleep on the isle of reeds with nothing to do,

I lie still until the sun is high on the three-rod marker.

I arrange things as I please, following my heart,

Court officials shiver waiting at the palace gates—how could they match my ease of mind?"

The woodcutter said, "The elegance of your beautiful streams cannot match the even greater elegance of my green mountains. I too have an *Immortal by the River* to prove it:

On the mossy path in autumn's height I go with my axe,

In the cool of evening I return with my shoulder pole.

Wild flowers tucked in my hair—how marvelous!

I part the clouds to find the road out,

I wait for the moon before calling to open the gate.

My young son and mountain wife greet me with joy,

A grass bed and wooden pillow I lean upon.

Steamed pears and millet I quickly set out,

New brew is ready in the jar—truly this strengthens the heart's ease."

The fisherman said, "These are the trades by which we both sustain our bodies, but you lack the pleasures of my leisure hours. There is a poem to prove it. The poem says:

At leisure I watch the white cranes fly across the gray sky,

I moor my boat by the stream and close my gray door.

Leaning on my canopy, I teach my son to twist fishing line,

I cease rowing and with my wife dry the nets together.

When the nature is still, truly the waves are calm,

When the body is at peace, naturally the wind feels slight.

A green rain cape and blue hat I wear as I please,

They surpass the purple sash worn in the court of the realm."

The woodcutter said, "Your leisure hours are still not as good as mine. There is also a poem to prove it. The poem says:

At leisure I watch the pale white clouds drift,

I sit alone in my grass hut and close my bamboo door.

When I have nothing to do, I instruct my son to open a scroll and read,

Sometimes I face a guest and we surround the chessboard.

In delight I take my staff and sing along the fragrant path,

In high spirits I carry my grass lute up the emerald heights.

Straw sandals, hempen sash, a coarse cotton quilt—

A heart at ease is finer than wearing silk."

Zhang Shao said, "Li Ding, 'In quiet song we may companion each other, / No need for clinking cups and gongs of brass.' Yet idle verses alone are nothing remarkable. Let each of us compose a few lines and see how our fisherman-and-woodcutter discourse compares."

Li Ding said, "Brother Zhang, your suggestion is most excellent. Pray, you recite first."

"Boat moored within the misty green waters,

Home deep in the mountains, the wilds afar.

I love when the stream bridge swells with spring tide,

And pity the cliff peaks wrapped in morning cloud.

Fresh carp from Dragon Gate I cook from time to time,

Worm-eaten dry firewood I burn day by day.

With nets and poles enough to sustain my old age,

With shoulder-pole and rope I may end my days.

On my little boat I lie and watch the wild geese fly,

On grassy paths I slant and hear the cranes cry loud.

In the arena of tongues I have no part,

In the sea of right and wrong few trace my path.

By the stream I hang my nets out to dry like brocade,

On the stone I grind my axe sharp as can be.

In the bright autumn moon I often fish alone,

In the silent spring hills no man comes my way.

With plenty of fish I trade for wine to drink with my wife,

With leftover firewood I buy ale to share with my sons.

I pour for myself and sing as I please,

I chant long and sigh, let the wild wind blow.

I call my brothers and invite the boatmen,

I lead my friends and gather with the old men of the wild.

We play finger-guessing, passing cups in turn,

We split tiles and trace words, ringing bells in turn.

Boiling shrimp and crab—joy morning after morning,

Roasting duck and stewing fowl—plenty day after day.

My simple wife brews tea with a calm and easy spirit,

My mountain wife cooks rice with a leisurely grace.

At dawn I raise my pole and wade through gentle waves,

At sunrise I shoulder firewood and cross the great pass.

After rain I don my coir cloak and catch the living carp,

Before the wind I swing my axe and fell the dead pine.

I hide my tracks, shun the world, play the fool,

I conceal my name, bury my identity, play the deaf-mute."

Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, I have presumed to lead the way with my verse. Now it is your turn to begin a couplet, and I shall continue it."

"A wild man of the hills, feigning madness amid wind and moon,

An old remnant of the rivers and lakes, nursing pride in repose.

At leisure and at ease, I follow my carefree ways,

Far from gossip and strife, I rejoice in peace.

By night I sleep in the thatched cottage, secure and still,

At dusk I cover myself with my bamboo cape, light and free.

In forgetful friendship I befriend the pine and plum,

In joyful fellowship I ally with gulls and herons.

In my heart I reckon not at all on fame and gain,

In my ears I hear naught of spears and shields.

At any time I sip a cup of fragrant wine,

Through each day I eat three meals of wild vegetable soup.

Two bundles of firewood are my livelihood,

One rod and line my means of getting on.

In leisure I call my young son to grind the steel axe,

In stillness I summon my foolish boy to mend the old net.

When spring arrives I love to watch the green of willows,

When the season warms I delight in the green of reeds and rushes.

In summer I plant new bamboo to escape the heat,

In the sixth month I pick tender water-caltrops to cool myself.

At Frost's Descent the chickens are fat—I slaughter them as the day comes round,

At Double Ninth the crabs are plump—I cook them in good time.

When winter comes and the sun rises I still sleep on,

When the ninth cold days reach their height I am not cold.

Through the eight seasons in the mountains I follow my nature freely,

Through the four seasons on the lake I give free rein to my joy.

Gathering firewood, I have the pleasure of an immortal;

Angling for fish, I show no trace of the vulgar world.

Beyond my gate the wild flowers bloom in dazzling beauty,

At my boat's bow the green water ripples calm and smooth.

At peace in body, I speak not of the rank of the Three Dukes;

Serene in nature, I am better off than within a city ten leagues strong.

A city ten leagues strong guards against the commands of the frontier,

The rank of the Three Dukes is heard in the proclamations of the throne.

To delight in mountains and delight in waters—truly rare!

I thank Heaven, I thank Earth, I thank the gods of brightness."

After they had each recited their verses and joined in composing lines, they reached the place where the road divided and bowed to take their leave. Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, take care on the road, and watch carefully for tigers in the mountains. Should any misfortune befall you, it would be a case of 'Tomorrow the streets will be missing an old friend.'"

Li Ding, upon hearing this, flew into a rage and said, "You scoundrel, you lazy wretch! Even a good friend can stand in for another in matters of life and death—how dare you curse me? If I meet a tiger and come to harm, you shall be overturned by a wave and drowned in the river."

Zhang Shao said, "I shall never be overturned in my life."

Li Ding said, "'Storms may arise in the clearest sky; fortune and misfortune may strike a man without warning.' How can you guarantee that nothing will happen to you?"

Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, though you say this, you still don't understand. My trade has certainty to it—such a thing is not destined to happen to me."

Li Ding said, "You make your living on the water, where things are most dangerous and precarious, all dark and hidden—what certainty can there be?"

Zhang Shao said, "You don't know about this. In the city of Chang'an, on West Gate Street, there is a gentleman who sells divination. Every day I give him a golden carp, and he teaches me a reading in his sleeve. Following his directions, I have never failed once. Today I went again to have my fortune told, and he instructed me to cast my net on the east side of the Jing River bend and throw my hook on the west bank—I am certain to return fully loaded with fish and shrimp. Tomorrow I will come into town, sell the catch, buy wine, and meet you again."

With this they parted.

Now this is the truth: "Words spoken on the road are heard in the grass." It happened that in the Water Palace of the River Jing there was a yaksha who patrolled the waters, and he heard the words "never failed once." He rushed back to the Crystal Palace in haste and reported to the Dragon King in a panic: "Disaster! Disaster!"

The Dragon King asked: "What disaster?"

The yaksha said: "Your servant was patrolling the water by the riverbank when I heard two men—a fisherman and a woodcutter—talking together. When they parted, their words were most alarming. The fisherman said: 'In the city of Chang'an, on West Gate Street, there is a diviner who is the most accurate. He gives him a carp every day, and the diviner teaches him a reading in his sleeve, telling him where to fish so that he never fails. If such accuracy continues, will he not exhaust all the creatures of the water? How then shall the Water Palace be glorified? How then shall we leap and surge and wave, lending might to Your Majesty's power?'"

The Dragon King was furious. He seized his sword at once and was about to go up to Chang'an city to destroy this diviner. But the dragon princes and dragon grandsons, the shrimp ministers and the shrimp officers, the shad Grand Marshal, the mandarin fish Vice Director, and the carp Grand Steward all stepped forward together and said: "Let Your Majesty calm his anger. As the saying goes: 'Words that pass through the ear should not be trusted.' If Your Majesty goes, there will surely be clouds following and rain assisting, and I fear the common people of Chang'an will be alarmed and Heaven will hold Your Majesty to account. Your Majesty's power to appear and disappear is unfathomable, and his transformations are limitless. Let him simply transform into a scholar in white and go into Chang'an city to make inquiries. If such a man exists, it will not be too late to destroy him. If he does not, would it not be wrong to harm an innocent person?"

The Dragon King followed their counsel. He put down his jewelled sword, summoned neither clouds nor rain, left the riverbank, and with a shake of his body transformed into a scholar dressed in white. Truly:

Handsome and imposing, he towered above the valleys and reached toward the heavens. His gait was dignified and proper, his every step measured and correct. In speech he followed Confucius and Mencius; in courtesy he embodied the culture of King Wen. He wore a robe of jade-colored silk gauze and a carefree scholar's cap tied with a single band.

He set out on his journey, striding through the clouds, and made straight for the West Gate Avenue of Chang'an city. There he saw a crowd of people, packed together in a jumble, chattering and clamoring. Among them, one man was holding forth in a loud voice: "Those born in the Year of the Dragon have their own destiny; those born in the Year of the Tiger clash with them. Although the hours of Yin, Chen, Si, and Hai are said to form a harmonious combination, what one must fear is when the day offends the Year Lord." The Dragon King, hearing these words, knew at once that this was a place of divination. He pushed forward, parted the crowd, and looked inside. He saw:

Pearls and gems adorned the four walls; rich embroideries filled the hall. Incense burned ceaselessly in a precious duck-shaped burner; water stood crystal clear in porcelain vases. On both sides hung paintings by Wang Wei; above the seat loomed the image of the Valley of Ghosts. The Duanxi inkstone and golden lampblack ink complemented a large brush tipped with frost-white bristles; the Fire Pearl Forest and Guo Pu's calculations were carefully cross-referenced with the new texts of the Imperial Observatory. The six lines of the hexagrams were thoroughly mastered; the eight trigrams were completely understood. He could comprehend the principles of heaven and earth; he knew well the workings of ghosts and spirits. A single plate of midnight and noon was all he needed to set his calculations; his breast was filled with the orderly array of stars and constellations. Truly, future events and past events he saw as clearly as the moon in a mirror; which families would rise and which would fall he judged with the clarity of the gods. He could foretell disaster and determine fortune, pronounce death or declare life. When he spoke of wind and rain, his words came swiftly; when he took up his brush, even ghosts and spirits were awed. His signboard bore his name in calligraphy: Master Yuan Shoucheng, the Divine Diviner.

Who was this man? He was none other than Yuan Shoucheng, the uncle of the current Director of the Imperial Observatory, Yuan Tiangang. The master was indeed of rare appearance and elegant bearing; his fame spread throughout the great realm, and his arts surpassed all in Chang'an. The Dragon King entered and was presented to the master. After the exchange of courtesies, he was invited to sit in the seat of honor, and a boy served tea. The master asked, "What matter does Your Honor wish to inquire about?" The Dragon King said, "I ask you to divine the weather in the heavens—will it be clear or overcast?" The master at once cast a divination in his sleeve and pronounced: "Clouds will shroud the mountain peaks; mist will cover the forest tops. If you ask about rain, it will surely come tomorrow." The Dragon King said, "At what hour tomorrow will it rain, and how many inches will fall?" The master replied, "Tomorrow at the hour of Chen clouds will spread; at the hour of Si thunder will sound; at the hour of Wu rain will fall; at the hour of Wei the rain will be sufficient. The total will be three feet, three inches, and forty-eight drops." The Dragon King laughed and said, "You must not speak in jest. If it rains tomorrow exactly as you have declared, according to the hours and the measure, I will reward you with fifty taels of silver for your divination. But if it does not rain, or if it does not match the hours and measure, I will tell you plainly: I shall smash your shop front, tear down your signboard, and drive you out of Chang'an on the spot, and you shall not be allowed to delude the people here." The master answered cheerfully, "That is entirely up to you. Please go now, please go now. Come back tomorrow after the rain."

The Dragon King took his leave, departed Chang'an, and returned to his watery palace. The lesser water deities came to meet him and asked, "How did Your Majesty find that fortune-teller?" The Dragon King said, "He exists, he exists, he exists. But he is nothing but a glib-mouthed fellow who begs for his living by springtime chatter. I asked him when it would rain, and he said tomorrow. I asked him at what hour and how much, and he said clouds at Chen, thunder at Si, rain at Wu, and the rain sufficient at Wei, with three feet, three inches, and forty-eight drops. I made a wager with him: if it turns out exactly as he said, I will give him fifty taels of silver as thanks; if it is even slightly off, I shall smash his shop front, drive him away, and not allow him to delude the people in Chang'an." The aquatic host laughed and said, "Your Majesty is the Governor of the Eight Rivers and the Great Dragon God of Rain. Whether it rains or not, only Your Majesty knows. How dare such a man speak so recklessly? That fortune-teller has surely lost, surely lost."

At that moment the Dragon Prince, the Dragon Grandson, and the fish ministers and crab officers were still laughing and discussing the matter when a voice called from midair: "Dragon King of the Jing River, receive the decree!" All looked up and saw a messenger in golden robes, holding aloft an imperial edict from the Jade Emperor, who came straight to the watery palace. The Dragon King, in great haste, straightened his robes and burned incense to receive the decree. The golden-robed messenger returned to the heavens. The Dragon King expressed his gratitude and broke the seal to read, which read:

Command to the Governor of the Eight Rivers,

To drive the thunder and wield the lightning:

Tomorrow send down the rain and grace,

To bring universal relief to Chang'an city.

The hours and measure specified on the edict matched the master's divination to the finest hair. The Dragon King was so terrified that his very soul seemed to fly from his body. After a moment he revived and said to the assembled water deities, "In the mortal world there is such a gifted man—truly one who can penetrate the principles of heaven and earth! I cannot defeat him!" The Mackerel Marshal submitted a memorial: "Let Your Majesty set his mind at ease. What difficulty is there in defeating him? I have a small scheme that will surely silence that fellow's glib mouth." The Dragon King asked what the plan was, and the marshal said: "Simply delay the hour of rainfall and reduce a few drops, and that will prove his divination inaccurate. Is it not then easy to smash his signboard and drive him away?" The Dragon King followed his advice and was no longer troubled.

The following morning, the Dragon King assembled the Earl of Wind, the Duke of Thunder, the Lad of Clouds, and the Mother of Lightning, and they ascended to the highest heavens above Chang'an. He waited until the hour of *si* (9–11 a.m.) before spreading the clouds, the hour of *wu* (11 a.m.–1 p.m.) to send forth thunder, the hour of *wei* (1–3 p.m.) to release the rain, and the hour of *shen* (3–5 p.m.) to let the rain cease. But he had reduced the rainfall to a mere three feet and forty drops. He had altered the appointed hour by one double-hour and cut the rainfall by three inches and eight drops. After the rain, he dismissed his generals and led his forces back. Then he descended on his cloud, still disguised as the handsome scholar in white robes, and made his way to the main street inside the West Gate. He burst into Yuan Shoucheng's divination shop and, without a word of explanation, smashed his signboard, brush, inkstone, and all to pieces. The diviner sat in his chair and did not move. The Dragon King then seized a door plank and raised it to strike him, cursing: "You wicked sorcerer who speaks recklessly of fortune and calamity, you scoundrel who deludes the hearts of the people! Your divination is false and your words are wild and absurd. You said today's rain would fall at a certain hour and in a certain measure, and neither matched. Yet you sit there so smugly—be gone at once, and I will spare your life!"

Shoucheng remained utterly unafraid. He tilted his head back, faced the sky, and said with a cold smile: "I am not afraid, I am not afraid. I have no death sentence to fear—but I'm afraid you do. Others may be deceived, but I am not so easily fooled. I know you. You are no scholar—you are the Dragon King of Jing River. You disobeyed the Jade Emperor's decree, altered the hour, and reduced the rainfall. You have violated the laws of Heaven. On the Dragon-Execution Platform, you will not escape the blade. And yet you stand here cursing me?"

When the Dragon King heard this, his heart trembled with fear and his hair stood on end. He hastily dropped the door plank, straightened his robes, and bowed low, falling to his knees before the diviner. "Sir, forgive me. What I said before was only in jest. Who would have thought that a jest would turn into reality, and that I would truly have broken the laws of Heaven? What am I to do? I beg you to save me—otherwise, I will not let you go even in death."

Shoucheng said: "I cannot save you. But I can point you to a path to life and rebirth."

The Dragon King said: "I beg you to instruct me."

The diviner said: "Tomorrow at the third quarter of the hour of *wu* (around 11:45 a.m.), you are to be executed by the mortal official Wei Zheng. If you wish to preserve your life, you must go at once and plead with the present Emperor Taizong of the Great Tang. Wei Zheng is a chancellor under the Tang Emperor. If you can obtain his personal favor, you may yet be spared."

The Dragon King heard this, bowed his thanks, and departed in tears. Before he knew it, the red sun had sunk in the west and the moon had risen. He saw:

Purple-hazed mountains where smoke gathered, weary crows returning home; travelers on distant roads seeking lodging at inns. Newly arrived wild geese roosted on the sandbar at the ferry crossing. The Milky River appeared, urging the water clock onward; in a lone village, the lamplight burned without flame. Smoke curled gently from the furnace in the Taoist temple; in the butterfly dream, no human form was seen. The moon shifted the shadows of flowers across the railing; the starlight was scattered, the water clock's sounds changed—before he knew it, the deep night was already half gone.

The Dragon King of Jing River did not return to his watery palace but remained in the sky. He waited until around the hour of *zi* (11 p.m.–1 a.m.), then withdrew his clouds and gathered his mist, and went straight to the gate of the imperial palace. At that moment, Emperor Taizong was dreaming that he had stepped outside the palace gate, walking beneath the flowers in the moonlight. Suddenly the Dragon King transformed himself into human form, stepped forward, and knelt in obeisance, crying out: "Your Majesty, save me! Save me!"

Taizong said: "Who are you? I shall save you."

The Dragon King said: "Your Majesty is the true dragon; I am a sinful dragon. I have violated the laws of Heaven and am to be executed by Your Majesty's worthy minister, the mortal official Wei Zheng. That is why I have come to beg for your help—I implore Your Majesty to save me."

Taizong said: "If it is Wei Zheng who is to execute you, then I can save you. Go in peace."

The Dragon King was overjoyed, kowtowed his thanks, and departed.

Now when Taizong awoke from his dream, he could not stop thinking about it. Before long it was the fifth watch and the third stroke. Taizong held court and assembled the civil and military officials of both columns. He saw:

Mist enshrouding the phoenix towers, fragrance wafting from the dragon halls. Light shimmering, the red screen stirred; clouds brushing, the emerald canopies flowed. Sovereign and ministers were in harmony like Yao and Shun; rites and music carried the majesty of the Han and Zhou. The lamps of attending ladies-in-waiting, the fans of palace maids—both reflected brilliant colors. The peacock screens, the麒麟 halls—everywhere light floated. "Long live the Emperor!" they cried; "A thousand autumns of blessing!" The warning whip cracked three times; officials in court dress bowed before the beaded curtains. Palace flowers bloomed brilliantly, heavenly fragrance wavered; willow branches along the embankment were soft, imperial music was sung. Pearl curtains, jade curtains—golden hooks held them high. Phoenix fans, mountain-and-river fans—the precious carriage paused. The civil officials were elegant and distinguished; the martial generals were vigorous and alert. The imperial road divided high and low; the red steps arranged ranks and grades. Gold seals and purple sashes rode upon the three symbols; may the earth endure and heaven last for ten thousand autumns.

When the officials had finished their congratulations and each had taken his place, the Tang Emperor swept his phoenix eyes and dragon gaze across them one by one. Among the civil officials he saw Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Xu Shiji, Xu Jingzong, Wang Gui, and others; among the military officials he saw Ma Sanbao, Duan Zhixuan, Yin Kaoshan, Cheng Yaojin, Liu Hongji, Hu Jingde, Qin Shubao, and others—each one dignified and solemn. But Chancellor Wei Zheng was nowhere to be seen.

The Tang Emperor summoned Xu Shiji to the dais and said: "Last night I had a strange dream. I dreamed of a man who came forward to bow before me, saying he was the Dragon King of Jing River. He had violated the laws of Heaven and was to be executed by the mortal official Wei Zheng. He begged me to save him, and I promised. But today Wei Zheng is the only one absent from court. Why is this?"

Xu Shiji replied: "This dream will prove true. You must summon Wei Zheng to court, and Your Majesty must not let him leave the palace. If you keep him here for this one day, you can save the dragon from the dream."

The Tang Emperor was greatly pleased. He immediately issued an decree ordering the palace officials to summon Wei Zheng to court.

Meanwhile, Prime Minister Wei Zheng was in his mansion that evening, observing the celestial phenomena and burning precious incense, when he heard the cry of a crane from the highest heavens. It was a celestial messenger sent by heaven, bearing a golden edict from the Jade Emperor, commanding him to execute the old Dragon of Jing River in a dream at the hour of noon, the third quarter. The Prime Minister gave thanks for heaven's grace, fasted and purified himself, and remained in his mansion testing his wisdom-sword and exercising his primal spirit, and so did not attend court. When the attending official arrived with a summons, he was overwhelmed with dread; yet he dared not delay the imperial command. He hastily adjusted his robes and sash, received the edict, and proceeded to court, where he kowtowed before the throne to plead his guilt. Emperor Taizong said, "I pardon you of any offense." At that time the various ministers had not yet left court. The Emperor now ordered the curtains drawn and the court dismissed. He kept back Wei Zheng alone, summoned him to the golden hall, and brought him into the private chamber, where they first discussed strategies for pacifying the realm and plans for stabilizing the kingdom. As the hour approached the end of si and the beginning of wu, the Emperor ordered the palace attendants, "Bring out the great chess set. I shall play a game with my worthy minister." The palace ladies fetched the chessboard and laid it upon the imperial table. Wei Zheng thanked the Emperor for his favor and began to play. Move by move, they opened their formations. As it is written in the *Classic of the Rotted Axe Handle*:

The Way of chess lies in rigor and discipline. The superior player controls the center; the inferior player takes the edges; the middling player occupies the corners—this is the standard method of the chess master. The principle says: "Better to lose a piece than to forfeit the initiative." Strike left and watch the right; attack from behind and look ahead. There is that which seems first but comes last, and that which seems last but comes first. Do not sever two living groups; do not connect two already alive. Do not spread too loosely; do not crowd too tightly. Rather than cling to pieces to seek survival, better to sacrifice them for victory. Rather than advance without purpose, better to consolidate and strengthen oneself. When the enemy is many and you are few, first seek to survive; when you are many and the enemy is few, strive to expand your momentum. The skilled in victory do not contend; the skilled in formation do not fight; the skilled in battle are not defeated; the skilled in defeat are not disordered. Chess begins with orthodox moves and ends with surprise triumphs. When the enemy strengthens himself without provocation, he harbors intentions of invasion and severance. When he abandons a small piece without rescue, he has designs on a larger objective. To move carelessly is the mark of one without strategy; to respond without thought is the path to defeat. The *Classic of Poetry* says: "Trembling and cautious, as though standing on the edge of a deep valley." This is what is meant.

A poem says:

The chessboard is the earth, the pieces are the sky,

Their colors follow the yin and yang, creation complete.

When one reaches the profound and subtle point of transformation,

One may laugh and boast of the axe-handle-immortal of old.

The sovereign and his minister played on. The game had reached the hour of noon, the third quarter, and a single unfinished endgame remained, when Wei Zheng suddenly slumped over the table, fast asleep with heavy snoring. The Taizong Emperor laughed and said, "Truly, your worthiness is wearied from the labor of upholding the state and the toil of founding the empire, and so you fell asleep unawares." The Emperor let him sleep and did not call him. Before long, Wei Zheng awoke and prostrated himself on the ground, saying, "This minister deserves ten thousand deaths! I deserve ten thousand deaths! Just now I was overcome by fatigue and knew not what I did. I beg Your Majesty to pardon this minister's crime of disrespect before the sovereign." The Emperor said, "What disrespect have you committed? Rise now, sweep away the remaining pieces, and let us begin a fresh game."

Wei Zheng thanked the Emperor for his favor and had just taken a piece in hand when a great shouting and clamor was heard outside the palace gate. It was Qin Shubao, Xu Maogong, and others, who dragged a blood-dripping dragon's head and cast it before the throne, reporting, "Your Majesty, it has been seen that seas may shallow and rivers may dry up, but such a strange thing as this has never been heard of." The Emperor and Wei Zheng rose and asked, "Where did this come from?" Shubao and Maogong said, "South of the Thousand-Step Corridor, at the crossroads in the street, this dragon's head descended from the clouds. Your humble ministers dared not fail to report it." The Tang Emperor asked Wei Zheng in alarm, "What does this mean?" Wei Zheng turned and kowtowed, saying, "It was this minister who just now executed it in a dream." The Emperor was greatly astonished and said, "While you were napping, you neither moved your body nor used your hands, and you had no sword or blade—how then did you execute this dragon?" Wei Zheng replied, "Your Majesty, my body was before Your Majesty, but my dream departed from Your Presence. My body remained before Your Majesty playing the endgame, my eyes closed in drowsiness; my dream departed from Your Presence, riding auspicious clouds, my spirit soaring forth. That dragon was upon the dragon-execution platform, bound there by celestial soldiers. This minister said, 'You have violated the celestial statutes and deserve the death penalty. I carry out the mandate of heaven to end your remaining life.' The dragon heard my words in grief and anguish; this minister roused his spirit. The dragon, hearing grief and anguish, submitted its claws and folded its scales, willing to accept death; this minister, rousing his spirit, hitched up his robes and advanced, raising his frost-bright blade. With a single crack of the blade, the dragon's head fell away into the void."

When the Emperor heard this, his heart was filled with mingled grief and joy. His joy was in praising Wei Zheng as a worthy minister—with such a hero in the court, why worry that the realm might be unstable? His grief was that he had promised in the dream to save the dragon, never expecting that it would meet with execution. He could only summon his strength and issue an edict ordering Shubao to hang the dragon's head in the marketplace, to make it known to the common people of Chang'an. At the same time he rewarded Wei Zheng, and the various officials dispersed.

That evening, returning to the palace, the Emperor's heart was filled with melancholy. He thought of the dragon in the dream, weeping and wailing, begging for its life—how could it have known that death is inevitable and such calamity unavoidable? He brooded for a long time, and gradually felt his spirit grow weary and his body unwell. That night, during the second watch, he heard the sound of wailing outside the palace gate, and the Emperor grew still more terrified. Just as he was drifting into sleep, he again saw the Dragon King of Jing River holding a blood-soaked head in his hand, crying out, "Li Shimin, give me back my life! Give me back my life! Last night you promised with your whole mouth to save me, so why, when daylight came, you instead sent the official of the human realm to execute me? Come out! Come out! I shall take you to the King of Hell to argue this matter." He seized the Emperor and would not let go, clamoring again and again. The Emperor could not speak a word, and struggled only until sweat poured over his entire body.

At the very moment when the struggle could not be resolved, he saw fragrant clouds curling and colorful mists drifting from the south, and a female true person came forward. With a wave of her willow branch, the headless dragon, weeping and wailing, departed straight toward the northwest. This was Guanyin Bodhisattva, who had received the Buddha's decree to go to the Eastern Land to seek the scripture pilgrim. She had been staying in the Earth God's temple in the city of Chang'an, and that night, hearing the weeping of ghosts and the crying of spirits, she had come specially to drive away the karmic dragon and deliver the Emperor from his torment. The dragon then proceeded to the underworld to present its accusation—but that is another matter.

Meanwhile, Taizong regained consciousness and cried out, "A ghost! A ghost!" This threw the three palaces of empresses, the six courts of concubines, and the attending eunuchs into such a panic that they trembled through the night without a wink of sleep.

Before they knew it, the third watch of the fifth night-hour had arrived, and all the civil and military officials of the court were waiting outside the palace gates for the morning audience. When daylight came and still there was no sign of the emperor holding court, every one of them was filled with alarm and uncertainty. Not until the sun was high in the sky did an edict finally come forth: "Our heart is not at ease; let all officials be excused from court." Five or seven days passed in this manner, and the officials grew increasingly anxious. They were on the point of forcing their way in to inquire after the emperor's health when an edict from the Empress Dowager was issued, summoning the imperial physicians to the palace to administer medicine. The officials waited outside the palace gates for news. Before long, a physician emerged, and they all asked what ailed the emperor. The physician said, "The emperor's pulse is irregular—weak and rapid. He raves about seeing ghosts. Moreover, I have detected ten beats followed by one intermission; his five organs have lost their vital energy. I fear the end will come within seven days." Upon hearing this, the officials turned pale with horror.

In the midst of their grief and confusion, they heard another edict from the Empress Dowager summoning Xu Maogong, Huguo Gong, and Yuchi Gong to the emperor's presence. The three lords received the edict and hastened to the Palace of Divided Chambers. After they had paid their respects, Taizong spoke with a stern countenance, forcing his words: "My worthy lords, We took command of armies at the age of nineteen, campaigning in the south and north, resisting in the east and repelling in the west. After years of bitter hardship, We never once encountered the slightest trace of evil spirits. Yet today We see ghosts." Yuchi Gong said, "Your Majesty founded this empire and has slain countless men—why should You fear ghosts?" Taizong said: "You do not believe Us. Outside Our bedchamber door, bricks and tiles are thrown about at night, and ghostly voices cry out—it is truly unbearable. The daytime is just about tolerable, but the dark hours are impossible to endure." Shuibao said, "Let Your Majesty set Your mind at rest. Tonight Your servant and Jingde will guard the palace gate and see what manner of evil spirits there may be." Taizong approved the proposal. Maogong thanked the emperor and withdrew.

That evening, each man donned his armor. The two of them were fully equipped in their mail, holding golden melons and battle-axes as they stood guard outside the palace gate. What fine generals! See how they were attired:

On their heads, golden helmets gleamed and glittered;

On their bodies, armor of dragon scales.

A guardian mirror over their hearts shimmered with auspicious clouds;

Their lion-shaped buckles were drawn tight,

And their embroidered sashes glowed with new iridescence.

One had phoenix eyes that made the stars of heaven quail;

The other had round blazing eyes that floated like lightning on moonlit waves.

They were heroes and men of old renown,

Who for a thousand years became guardians of doors

And for ten thousand ages served as door-gods.

The two generals stood guard beside the gate. Through the night until dawn, not a single trace of evil was seen. That night, Taizong slept peacefully in the palace without incident. At dawn he summoned the two generals and rewarded them generously, saying: "Since We fell ill, We have not been able to sleep for several days. Tonight, relying on the awe-inspiring presence of Our two generals, We have slept very well. Please go out and rest for a time; come back in the evening to guard Us once more." The two generals thanked the emperor and withdrew.

For the next two or three nights, their watch was equally peaceful. But the emperor's meals grew smaller, and his illness seemed to worsen. Taizong could not bear to let the two generals toil so hard, so he summoned Shuibao, Jingde, and the other lords Du and Fang into the palace and told them: "These past two days, although We have found peace, it has been hard on General Qin and General Hu, who have labored through the entire night. We wish to summon a skillful painter to make true portraits of the two generals and paste them on the gates, so that they need not be troubled. What do you think?" The ministers complied at once with the imperial wish. Two skilled portrait painters were selected, and Generals Hu and Qin were painted in full armor as before. The portraits were pasted on the gates, and at night there was likewise no trouble.

After two or three days of this, there came again from the rear gate a clatter—ping-pang, ping-pang—of bricks and tiles being thrown about. At dawn, Taizong summoned the ministers and said: "For days past, the front gate has fortunately been free of trouble, but tonight the rear gate has been making noise. This will surely frighten Us to death." Maogong stepped forward and memorialized: "When the front gate was troubled, Jingde and Shuibao guarded it. Now that the rear gate is troubled, Wei Zheng should be assigned to guard it." Taizong approved the proposal and summoned Wei Zheng to stand guard at the rear gate that night. Zheng received the edict, and that evening he dressed himself in full array, carrying the dragon-slaying precious sword as he took his stand before the rear gate. He was truly a fine hero! See how he was attired:

A blue headband of fine silk bound his brow;

A brocade robe with a jade sash hung at his waist.

His wind-blocking sleeves fluttered like drifting frost,

His bearing rivaled the fierce visage of the god of the mound.

On his feet, black boots, crisply creased;

In his hand, a sharp blade, savage and bold.

His two eyes wide open, he gazed in every direction—

What evil spirit would dare approach?

Through the bright night, no ghosts or demons appeared. Although both the front and rear gates were now free of trouble, the emperor's body grew steadily weaker.

One day, the Empress Dowager issued another edict summoning the ministers to discuss the funeral arrangements. Taizong again summoned Xu Maogong and entrusted him with matters of state, charging him with the intent of Liu Bei's dying charge to his orphan heir. When he had finished speaking, he bathed and changed his garments, waiting for the end. Standing nearby, Wei Zheng seized the emperor's dragon robe and memorialized: "Let Your Majesty set Your mind at rest. Your servant has a matter that will guarantee Your Majesty long life." Taizong said: "The illness has already penetrated the marrow; Our life is in peril. How can it be preserved?" Zheng said: "Your servant has a letter to present to Your Majesty. Take it with you to the realm of the dead and deliver it to the Fengdu judge, Cui Jue." Taizong said: "Who is Cui Jue?" Zheng said: "Cui Jue was a minister in the service of the late emperor, Your Majesty's august father. He was first appointed magistrate of Zizhou and later promoted to Vice Minister of Rites. In life, he and Your servant became sworn brothers, and our bond was very deep. He has since died and now serves in the realm of the dead as the Fengdu judge who holds the ledgers of life and death. He often meets Your servant in dreams. If this letter is delivered to him, he will, out of regard for Your servant's humble ties, certainly release Your Majesty to return. He will ensure that Your soul returns to the world of the living and that Your dragon countenance once again graces the capital." Upon hearing this, Taizong took the letter, placed it in his sleeve, and closed his eyes and died. The three palaces and six courts, the empresses and concubines, the crown prince, and the two ranks of civil and military officials all mourned and donned mourning dress. The emperor's coffin was placed in the White Tiger Hall, but of this we shall say no more.

How exactly did Taizong's soul return to life? Listen to the next chapter for the explanation.