Chapter 10

The Old Dragon King's Foolish Scheme Breaks Heaven's Law; Chancellor Wei Sends a Letter to an Underworld Official

While Guangrui served and Xuanzang practiced, two learned men lived on the bank of the Jing River outside Chang'an: a fisherman named Zhang Shao and a woodcutter named Li Ding. Scholars without degrees, they were men of the hills who knew their letters. One day, after selling firewood and carp in town, they drank together at a tavern, then took a flask apiece and walked home beside the river. “People competing for fame lose their bodies for a name,” said Zhang. “People chasing profit die for gain. To hold office is to sleep embracing a tiger; to accept royal favor is to carry a snake in one's sleeve. Better to live at ease among green hills and lovely waters, content with little.” “True,” said Li, “but your lovely waters cannot match my green hills.” “Your green hills cannot match my waters. Here is a lyric to ‘Butterflies Love Flowers’ proving it.”

“A little boat amid ten thousand miles of misty water, resting quietly beneath its lonely canopy, where songs like Xishi's rise. I wash worries from my heart, free of fame and profit, idly gathering smartweed and reeds.A few gulls on the sand make life a joy; among willow banks and reed-filled bays my wife and children laugh. I sleep peacefully when the wind and waves subside, without honor, shame, or care.”

“My green hills are better,” said Li. “I have a lyric to the same tune.”

“Pine blossoms cover the cloud-bound woods; I listen to orioles singing as sweetly as flutes. Red flowers thin and green leaves swell in warm spring, then summer comes before you know it.Autumn swiftly follows with its fragrant yellow flowers, lovely to admire. In a finger's turn severe winter arrives: through all four seasons I wander free, with no one to command me.”

“The waters give me better food,” said the fisherman, and offered a lyric to ‘Partridge Sky’:

“Clouds and water of the immortal country sustain me; my oar and boat are home. I slice fresh fish and cook green turtles, steam purple crabs and boil red shrimp.Green reed shoots and water-grass buds, water chestnuts and fox nuts; young lotus roots, old lotus seeds, tender celery leaves, arrowhead tubers, wild rice stems, and water flowers.”

“The hills feed me better,” the woodcutter replied with another ‘Partridge Sky’:

“Lofty ridges reach the sky; a thatched hut is my home. Salted chickens and geese surpass your crabs and turtles; deer, boar, hares, and venison beat your fish and shrimp.Fragrant toon leaves and young chinaberry shoots, bamboo shoots and mountain tea; ripe purple plums, red peaches, apricots, and greengages, sweet pears, tart dates, and osmanthus flowers.”

“My waters truly outshine your hills,” said Zhang. “Here is a ‘Heavenly Immortal’ lyric”:

“A little boat is home wherever it rests; a thousand misty waves hold no fear. I cast hook and net for fresh fish, tasty even without rich sauces, and share the meal with my old wife and young children.If the catch is large, I sell it in Chang'an, buy fragrant wine, and drink myself merry. My straw cloak serves as blanket beside the autumn river; I sleep and snore without care, never envying earthly wealth or rank.”

“My hills are better still,” said Li. “Another ‘Heavenly Immortal’”:

“A small thatched cottage beneath the mountain, with lovely pines, bamboo, plums, and orchids. I cross forest and ridge gathering dry wood; no one objects, and I sell it for whatever price I can get.I buy wine with my earnings and drink freely from earthen bowls. Drunk, I lie beneath the pines without trouble or fear, indifferent to the rise and fall of worldly power.”

“Work on the river is happier than work on the mountain,” Zhang said. “Here is a ‘Moon over the Western River’”:

“Thick red smartweed blooms beneath the moon; yellow reeds rustle in the wind. The Chu River runs clear and empty beneath the blue sky, its pool of stars stirred by my line.Big fish school in the net, small mandarin fish swarm to the hook. We cook our rich catch and laugh at ease upon the rivers and lakes.”

“Mountain work is happier,” Li replied with his own ‘Moon over the Western River’:

“Dead leaves and dry vines cover the path; broken boughs and ancient bamboo fill the mountain. I gather twisting vines, bind them into rope, and bundle my wood.Insects hollow elm and willow trunks, wind breaks pines and cedars. I pile up fuel against the winter cold and exchange the rest for money and wine.”

“Your hills cannot match my waters for quiet beauty,” said Zhang. “Here is a ‘River Immortal’”:

“When the tide falls, I move my little boat; late at night I put down my oar and sing. Beneath the waning moon I wear my straw cloak: even sleeping gulls are undisturbed as colored clouds open at the horizon.I lie idle among the reeds until the sun rises high. Free to arrange my days as I please, I am happier than courtiers waiting in the cold for dawn.”

“My mountain is quieter still,” said Li, offering another ‘River Immortal’:

“On autumn's high pale path I drag my ax out; in the cool evening I carry my load home. With a wildflower in my hair I part the clouds to find the path and call for the door to open beneath the moon.My wife and child greet me laughing; I lie against my grass bed and wooden pillow. They steam pears and cook millet, and new wine ripens in the jar: what quiet joy!”

“You may have food and a livelihood,” the fisherman said, “but none of my pleasures in spare hours. A poem proves it:

“Idly I watch white cranes fly through blue sky, moor my boat by the stream, and close the green gate.Leaning under the canopy, I teach my son to twist fishing line; after rowing, I help my wife spread nets to dry.A still heart is like quiet waves; at ease, one barely feels the wind.I wear green straw cloak and blue bamboo hat whenever I please, better than a courtier's purple sash.”

“My leisure is better,” said the woodcutter, offering his own poem:

“Idly I watch white clouds drift, sit alone in my thatched hut, and close the bamboo gate.With nothing to do, I teach my son to read; at times I play chess with a visitor.Gladly I sing along fragrant paths with my staff or take my zither up the green hillside.Grass shoes, hemp belt, and rough cloth coverlet: an open heart is worth more than silk.”

“Li Ding,” said Zhang, “we can amuse each other with quiet verses and need neither drums nor golden cups. Let's compose alternating lines on the lives of fisherman and woodcutter.” “Excellent,” said Li. “Begin.”

“My boat rests in green water and mist; my home stands in deep hills and open wilderness.I love the swelling spring stream beside the bridge; I cherish the dawn clouds veiling mountain caves.I cook fresh carp from Dragon Gate; I burn dry worm-eaten wood each day.Nets and hooks support my old age; pole and rope sustain me to the end.Reclining in my boat I watch wild geese fly; leaning on a grassy path I hear them call.No place for me among the quarrels of the marketplace; my tracks are rare in the sea of disputes.By the stream I hang nets to dry like brocade; on a stone I sharpen my ax's edge.Beneath the bright autumn moon I fish alone; in the still spring mountain I meet no one.When fish are plentiful, I trade for wine to drink with my wife; with spare wood I buy a jug to share with my children.I sing and pour for myself at will; I sing long and sigh into the wild wind.I call brothers and boatmen to join me; I gather old friends of the fields.We pass cups, play drinking games, guess gestures and characters, and deal cards.Shrimp and crabs bring pleasure each morning; ducks and chickens make every day a feast.My simple wife brews tea without fuss; my mountain wife prepares meals at ease.At dawn I lift my pole to stir gentle waves; at sunrise I carry wood across the broad pass.After rain I wear my straw cloak and catch living carp; before the wind I swing my ax at dead pine.Hiding from the world, we play the fool; concealing our names, we act deaf and mute.”

“I began last time,” said Zhang. “Now you start and I'll follow.”

“A free wild man plays the madman beneath wind and moon; an old fisherman holds his head high on rivers and lakes.Blessed with ease, we follow our whims; beyond quarrels, we delight in peace.At night I sleep securely in my thatched hut; beneath dark skies I cover myself with a light bamboo cloak.I befriend pines and plums without reserve; I make glad alliances with gulls and egrets.I never calculate fame or gain; the sound of war never reaches my ear.A cup of fragrant wine when I wish; three meals of wild vegetables to pass the day.Two bundles of firewood are my living; one rod, hook, and line are mine.At leisure I ask my boy to sharpen the ax; in quiet I ask my son to mend the net.In spring I delight in green willows; when warmth returns, in green reeds.In summer I escape the heat among fresh bamboo; in the sixth month I gather tender water chestnuts.At first frost chickens are fat enough to slaughter; at the Double Ninth, crabs are ripe for cooking.In winter I sleep until the sun rises; even in the coldest days the high sky does not chill me.Through eight seasonal divisions in the hills I follow my nature; through four seasons on the lake I indulge my heart.Gathering wood has the pleasure of an immortal; fishing bears no mark of worldly ambition.Wild flowers glow fragrantly outside my door; green waves lie smooth before my boat.At ease I never speak of the three highest offices; a settled nature is better than a fortified town ten li around.The walled town guards the governor's orders; the highest offices obey the emperor's summons.How rare the joy of hills and water: thanks to heaven, earth, and the gods.”

At the fork in their road, after their exchange of verse, they bowed farewell. “Watch for tigers on the mountain, Li. If one gets you, I'll have one fewer friend in the street tomorrow.” Li bristled. “A true friend would risk death for me, not curse me! If a tiger kills me, may waves overturn your boat.” “That will never happen.” “Weather and fortune change without warning. How can you be sure?” “I have a way to know.” “Your river work is dangerous and unpredictable. What way?” “On West Gate Street in Chang'an a diviner gives me a reading every day in exchange for a golden carp. He tells me precisely where to cast, and I never miss. Today he said to place a net east of the Jing River bend and cast a hook on the western bank. I'll return with a full catch, then sell it and buy wine tomorrow.” They parted.

“As you talk on the road, someone listens in the grass.” A patrolling yaksha from the Jing River heard that the diviner never missed. He rushed to the Dragon King. “Disaster! A fisherman gives a diviner a carp daily, and the diviner tells him exactly where to catch our fish. At this rate he'll empty the river and leave no creatures to serve you!” The furious Dragon King seized a sword to kill the diviner. His sons and grandsons, shrimp and crab ministers, shad counselor, mandarin-fish vice minister, and carp prime minister stopped him. “Do not act on hearsay. Clouds and rain follow you; if you appear armed in Chang'an, you'll terrify the people and invite heaven's punishment. Change into a scholar and investigate. Only then decide whether to punish anyone.”

The Dragon King put down his sword and went ashore without clouds or rain, changing into a white-robed scholar:

Imposing and graceful, tall as a gorge's peak; his steps dignified and manner disciplined. He spoke in the words of Confucius and Mencius, observed the ancient rites, wore a pale jade robe and a simple scholar's headcloth.

On West Gate Street in Chang'an he found a crowd. One voice called: “Dragon-born by year clashes with Tiger-born. The branches yin, chen, si, and hai may combine, but take care when the day offends the year!” The Dragon King knew he had found the diviner. Pushing through the crowd, he saw:

Walls hung with jewels, a room bright with brocade; incense burned in a duck-shaped burner beside a clear ceramic vase. Paintings by Wang Wei lined the walls, an image of Guiguzi hung above the seat. A Duanxi inkstone, golden-black ink, and frost-white brushes stood beside divining books of Fire-Pearl Forest and Guo Pu and the New Classic of Astrology. The master knew all six lines and eight trigrams, the workings of heaven and earth, and the ways of spirits. His board set out the branches from zi to wu, his mind held the stars. He saw past and future like reflections in a mirror and knew which households would rise and fall. His words commanded wind and rain, his writing startled gods and ghosts. His sign read: “Master Diviner Yuan Shoucheng.”

Yuan Shoucheng was uncle to Yuan Tiangang, director of astronomy at court, and was renowned throughout Chang'an. He greeted the Dragon King, seated him, and offered tea. “What would you like to know?” “Will the skies be clear or rainy?” Yuan cast his divination. “Clouds will veil the hilltops, mist the trees; rain will fall tomorrow.” “At what hour, and how much?” “Clouds will gather at the chen hour, thunder sound at si, rain fall at wu and end at wei: three feet, three inches, and forty-eight drops.” The Dragon King laughed. “If you are right in both hour and quantity, I'll pay fifty taels of silver. If either is wrong, I'll smash your sign and drive you from Chang'an for deceiving people.” Yuan accepted. “Come back after the rain.”

Back at his palace, the water creatures asked what happened. “There's a fortune-teller, a boastful beggar. He says clouds will gather at chen, thunder at si, rain at wu, and stop at wei, totaling three feet, three inches, and forty-eight drops. We wagered fifty taels against his right to practice in Chang'an.” The creatures laughed. “As rain god over eight rivers, you alone know if and when it rains. He is certain to lose.”

As they laughed, a voice rang from heaven: “Jing River Dragon King, receive an edict!” A golden-robed envoy held the Jade Emperor's decree. The Dragon King lit incense, received it, bowed, and opened it:

“Commander of eight rivers, summon thunder and lightning:Bring rain tomorrow to nourish all of Chang'an.”

The edict specified exactly the hours and amount Yuan had foretold. The Dragon King nearly fainted. “There truly is a man who knows heaven's workings! I cannot win.” The shad counselor said: “Change the hour and reduce the rain. Then his prediction will be wrong.” The Dragon King accepted his scheme.

The next day the Dragon King summoned the wind, thunder, cloud, and lightning gods above Chang'an. He waited until si to spread the clouds, sounded thunder at wu, rained at wei, and stopped at shen: one hour late at each stage. Only three feet and forty drops fell, three inches and eight drops less than ordered. He dismissed his retinue, changed into the scholar, and stormed into Yuan's shop, breaking his sign, brushes, and inkstone. Yuan did not move. The Dragon King raised a door panel to strike him. “You fraud! Your hours and amount were wrong. Leave Chang'an or I'll kill you.” Yuan looked up and laughed coldly. “I have committed no capital crime. You have. I know you are the Jing River Dragon King, not a scholar. You changed the hours and amount ordered by the Jade Emperor. On the Dragon-Execution Terrace you will face the blade.” The Dragon King dropped the panel, knelt, and begged: “I was only jesting, but my wager led me to break heaven's law. Save me or I will not let you rest after I die!” “I cannot save you, but I can tell you where to seek help. At forty-five minutes past noon tomorrow, Chancellor Wei Zheng, acting as an official of the human world, is to execute you. Beg Emperor Taizong to intercede. Wei Zheng serves him, and his favor may spare you.”

The Dragon King departed in tears as the sun went down and the moon rose. See the night:

Smoke turned the mountains purple as weary crows returned; distant travelers sought their inns. New geese rested on the ferry sands, the Milky Way appeared, and watch signals sounded above the dim lights of a lonely village. Wind stirred incense in a quiet Daoist retreat; sleepers disappeared into butterfly dreams. Moonlit flowers cast shadows on the railing, stars sparkled, water clocks sounded, and midnight deepened.

The Dragon King remained aloft until midnight, then descended to the palace gate. Emperor Taizong dreamed that he walked there beneath the moon. The Dragon King appeared as a man and knelt. “Save me, Majesty!” “Who are you?” “You are a true dragon; I am a dragon burdened with sin. I broke heaven's law, and your minister Wei Zheng must execute me. Please help.” “If Wei Zheng is to carry it out, I can save you. Go in peace.” The Dragon King bowed gratefully and left.

Taizong awoke and kept the dream in mind. At dawn he convened his ministers. See his court:

Mist veiled the phoenix towers, incense the dragon halls. Light trembled on the crimson screen, and clouds brushed the imperial banners. Ruler and ministers were united as under Yao and Shun; ceremony rivaled Han and Zhou. Attendants' lamps and palace maidens' fans shone in pairs; peacock screens and qilin halls gleamed. Voices hailed ten thousand years of rule. Three cracks of the ceremonial whip sounded, and officials bowed. Flowers blazed, music played; pearl and emerald curtains hung from golden hooks; dragon and phoenix fans framed the throne. Civil officers stood dignified, generals vigorous, ordered by rank along the imperial way and red steps. Gold seals and purple ribbons proclaimed honors, and all wished the dynasty ten thousand years.

Taizong surveyed his court. Among the civil officials stood Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Xu Shiji, Xu Jingzong, and Wang Gui; among the generals Ma Sanbao, Duan Zhixuan, Yin Kaishan, Cheng Yaojin, Liu Hongji, Hu Jingde, and Qin Shubao. Only Wei Zheng was absent. “Last night,” Taizong told Xu Shiji, “the Jing River Dragon King begged me in a dream to save him from execution by Wei Zheng. I promised, yet Wei Zheng is absent. Why?” “Summon him and keep him here the entire day,” Xu advised. “Then the dragon may live.” Taizong sent an officer to fetch him.

Wei Zheng had been observing the sky when a celestial messenger arrived with a decree ordering him to execute the old Jing River Dragon King in a dream at forty-five minutes past noon. He bathed, fasted, tested his sword of wisdom, and prepared his spirit, missing court. Alarmed by the summons, he dressed and hurried to Taizong. “You are pardoned,” the Emperor said. After dismissing the other ministers, he drew Wei into a private hall and discussed affairs of state. As noon approached he called for a game of chess. The palace women set out the board, and ruler and minister played. As the Classic of the Rotten Ax-Handle says:

Chess demands careful judgment. The strongest play is at the center, the weakest on the edge, with the corners between: this is the usual principle. “Better lose a stone than lose the initiative.” Strike left while watching right; attack behind while looking ahead. Move first when following, and follow when moving first. Do not sever two groups that both live; do not join two groups already alive. Do not spread too far or pack too close. Better sacrifice stones to win than cling to them merely to survive. Rather than move without purpose, strengthen your own position. When the enemy is many and you few, secure life first; when your forces are many, extend your influence. Those who know victory do not quarrel; those who know formation do not fight. Good fighters do not lose; good losers do not fall into disorder. Begin with regular play, win with the unexpected. If your opponent strengthens a secure group, he means to invade; if he abandons a small group, he aims for a greater prize. The thoughtless player has no plan, and a rash reply leads to defeat. As the poem says, “Be wary as if standing beside a precipice.”

The poem says:

The board is earth, the stones are heaven; their colors hold yin and yang and all creation.When play reaches transformation's deepest mysteries, one smiles at the ancient immortal of the rotten ax-handle.

At forty-five minutes past noon, while the game was unfinished, Wei Zheng fell asleep against the table. “My minister is exhausted from serving the realm,” Taizong thought, and let him sleep. Soon Wei awoke and prostrated himself. “Forgive me for falling asleep before you!” “There is no offense. Let us clear the board and play anew.”

Wei picked up a stone, but shouting came from outside. Qin Shubao and Xu Maogong brought a bloody dragon's head before the throne. “Seas running shallow and rivers dry are known, but never such a sight!” “Where did you find it?” asked Taizong. “It fell from the clouds onto the crossroads south of the Thousand-Step Gallery.” Taizong looked to Wei, who bowed. “I beheaded him in my dream.” “But you never moved and had no sword!” Wei said: “My body sat before you, but my spirit rose on auspicious clouds. Heavenly soldiers held the dragon bound on the Dragon-Execution Terrace. I told him, ‘You broke heaven's law. By heaven's command I take your life.’ He folded his claws, drew in his scales, and submitted. I stepped forward and struck with my sword. His head fell through the sky.”

Taizong felt both pride and sorrow: with such a minister, his realm was secure, yet he had broken his promise to the dragon. He ordered Qin to display the head publicly and tell the people what happened, rewarded Wei, and dismissed his ministers.

That night Taizong brooded over the dragon's desperate plea. Growing weak and ill, he heard crying outside the palace at the second watch. As he drifted to sleep, the Dragon King appeared holding his bloody head. “Taizong, return my life! You promised to save me, then summoned the very man who killed me. Come with me before King Yama and answer for it!” He seized the Emperor, who could not speak and struggled until drenched in sweat.

A fragrant cloud rose in the south. Guanyin appeared and swept her willow branch. The headless dragon fled northwest, weeping. She was staying in Chang'an's earth-god shrine while seeking a pilgrim and had heard the spirit's cries. She drove him off and saved the Emperor. The dragon went to the underworld to make his complaint.

Taizong awoke crying: “A ghost! A ghost!” His queens, concubines, and attendants trembled with fear all night.

At dawn the ministers waited outside the palace, but Taizong did not appear. At last word came: “The Emperor is ill; court is canceled.” Five or seven days passed. The Empress Dowager summoned doctors. “His pulse is weak and rapid, and he speaks wildly of ghosts,” they told the waiting ministers. “There is no strength in his organs. We fear he has only seven days.”

The Dowager summoned Xu Maogong, the Protector of the Realm, and Yuchi Gong. Taizong told them: “Since I began campaigning at nineteen, I fought south and north, east and west, without seeing a ghost. Now they haunt me.” Yuchi said: “You founded an empire amid countless deaths. Why fear ghosts?” “You don't believe me. At night bricks and tiles fly outside my chamber and spirits wail. By day I can endure, but not at night.” Qin Shubao offered: “Jingde and I will guard your door tonight.” Taizong agreed.

The two generals donned armor at night and stood with golden maces and battleaxes by the palace gate. See these fine soldiers:

Golden helmets glittered above dragon-scaled armor. Bright breastplates shone through blessed clouds; lion-headed clasps fastened embroidered belts. One man's phoenix eyes could frighten stars, the other's round eyes flashed in moonlight. Heroes and honored veterans, they became guardians of gates for a thousand years and door gods through all ages.

No spirit appeared that night, and Taizong slept safely. In the morning he rewarded them. “I haven't slept since I fell ill. Rest today, then guard me again tonight.” They accepted his thanks.

They kept watch for several nights, and all was quiet, though the Emperor ate little and grew weaker. Reluctant to exhaust them, Taizong consulted his ministers. “Have artists paint Qin and Yuchi in their armor and hang their portraits on the gates.” The officials did so, and still no ghost came.

After several days, bricks and tiles began rattling at the rear gate. “The front is quiet, but now the back gate terrifies me,” said Taizong. Xu Maogong suggested Wei Zheng guard it. Wei came in full dress with the sword that had killed the dragon. What a figure he cut:

A blue silk headcloth across his brow, brocade robe and jade belt at his waist. Wind filled his cloak and sleeves, making him resemble a guardian god. In black boots he stood with a sharp sword, eyes wide, watching every direction. What wicked spirit would dare approach?

No ghosts troubled that gate either, yet the Emperor grew sicker.

The Empress Dowager summoned the ministers to discuss his funeral. Taizong charged Xu Maogong with affairs of state, as Liu Bei had once entrusted his orphan heir to a minister, then bathed and dressed to await death. Wei Zheng seized his robe. “I have something that can preserve Your Majesty's life.” “I am dying. How?” “Take this letter to Judge Cui Jue in the underworld capital of Fengdu. He served the late Emperor, first as magistrate of Zizhou and then as vice minister of rites. We were sworn brothers in life, and I still meet him in dreams. He now keeps the registers of life and death. Give him my letter, and he will surely allow you to return.” Taizong tucked the letter in his sleeve, closed his eyes, and died. His queens, concubines, heir, attendants, and ministers mourned in white, and laid his coffin in the White Tiger Hall.

How would Emperor Taizong return to life? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

The Old Dragon King's Clumsy Scheme Breaks the Law of Heaven; Chancellor Wei Leaves a Letter in Trust with a Clerk of the Dark World

Let us leave Guangrui at his post and Xuanzang at his devotions. Outside Chang'an, on the banks of the Jing River, lived two worthy men: a fisherman named Zhang Shao and a woodcutter named Li Ding. They were graduates who never sat the examinations, learned men who never took a post. One day they had sold their firewood and their basket of carp in the city, gone into a tavern together, and drunk themselves half merry, and each took up a bottle and walked slowly home along the Jing River bank. Zhang Shao said: "Brother Li, I think of the men who chase a name and lose their lives for it; the men who grab for profit and die of it; the men who take a title and sleep hugging a tiger; the men who carry favor and walk with a snake up their sleeve. All in all, it is not as good as our clear waters and green hills, free and easy, content with plain living, taking what comes." Li Ding said: "Brother Zhang, that is well said. Only your clear water is not as good as my green hills." Zhang Shao said: "Your green hills are not as good as my clear water. There is a lyric to prove it, to the tune 'Butterflies Love Flowers':"

On ten thousand li of misty water my little boat is small; quiet under the lone awning, a voice like Xishi's sings around me. It rinses the mind and washes the heart of fame and profit; at ease I pick the heads of knotweed and reeds.A few sand gulls are a joy to tell of; on willow banks and reed coves, wife and children laugh together. One sound sleep, and the wind and waves die down; no glory, no disgrace, no trouble at all."

Li Ding said: "Your clear water is not as good as my green hills. I have a lyric to prove it too, to the tune 'Butterflies Love Flowers':"

A stretch of cloud-forest is full of pine pollen; quietly I hear the orioles, their clever tongues like tuned pipes. Red thin and green fat, the spring is at its warmest — then suddenly the summer solstice, and the light turns.Then autumn comes, and all is easily changed; the yellow flowers bloom, fit to be enjoyed. Grim winter flies by like a snap of the fingers — four free seasons, and nobody to govern me."

The fisherman said: "Your green hills are not as good as my clear water, with its good things to enjoy. Here is a 'Partridge Sky' to prove it:"

In the cloud-water land of the immortals I have living enough; oar laid across the boat, and that is home. Fresh-sliced fish and stewed green turtle; steamed purple crabs and boiled red shrimp.Green reed shoots and water-flag buds; water chestnuts and foxnuts, finer still. Tender lotus root, old lotus seed, celery leaves soft; arrowhead and wild-rice stem, and the bird-flower in bloom."

The woodcutter said: "Your clear water is not as good as my green hills, with its good things to enjoy. Here is a 'Partridge Sky' to prove it:"

High craggy ridges touch the sky's edge; a thatched hut and grassy hut are my home. Pickled chicken and goose beat crab and turtle; badger ham, hare, and venison beat fish and shrimp.Fragrant toon leaves and yellow neem buds; bamboo shoots and mountain tea, finer still. Purple plums, red peaches, ripe plums and apricots; sweet pears, sour dates, and the cassia blossom."

The fisherman said: "Your green hills truly are not as good as my clear water. And there is a 'Song of the Immortal of Heaven' besides:"

One leaf of a little boat is all the roof I need; over ten thousand folds of misty waves I know no fear. I drop the hook, cast the net, catch fresh fish; no soy-sauce grease, yet full of flavor; old wife and young children met in one happy circle.The fish are many, sold in Chang'an market, traded for good wine — I drink myself merry. My straw cape is my quilt as I lie on the autumn river, snoring in my sleep, without a care, never longing for rank or riches in the world of men."

The woodcutter said: "Your clear water is still not as good as my green hills. I have a 'Song of the Immortal of Heaven' as well:"

A few rafters of thatch are pitched below the mountain; pine, bamboo, plum, and orchid, truly lovable. I thread the woods and cross the ridges for dry firewood; nobody blames me; I sell it as I please, more or less as the world allows.With the money I buy wine and drink as I like; in clay bowl or porcelain cup, perfectly free. Dead drunk, I lie in the pine shade: nothing to bind me, nothing to lose or gain, caring nothing how the world of men rises or falls."

The fisherman said: "Brother Li, your life in the hills is not as merry as my trade on the water. Here is a 'West River Moon' to prove it:"

Red knotweed in thick flower mirrors the moon; yellow reed leaves toss in the wind. The blue sky is clear and far, the Chu river empty, and my lines stir a poolful of shaking stars.Big fish come into the net in schools; small mandarin fish crowd the hook. Cooked up, they taste the richest, as I laugh and carry on over rivers and lakes."

The woodcutter said: "Brother Zhang, your trade on the water is not as merry as mine in the hills. And I have a 'West River Moon' to prove it:"

Dead leaves and withered vines cover the road; broken stalks and old bamboo fill the hill. Ground vine and dry kudzu tangle every which way; I snap them off, rope them up, and shoulder the load.Worm-hollowed elms and willows; wind-snapped pines and nan mu. Cut and stacked against the winter cold, traded for wine or for money, just as I please."

The fisherman said: "Your hills may match mine, but they have not the quiet grace of my clear water. An 'Immortal at the River' to prove it:"

When the tide falls I move my lonely skiff off; deep at night I leave the oar and come home singing. Straw cape and a waning moon — how still it is! The roosting gulls are not startled into flight, and bright clouds open at the sky's edge.I sleep at ease on the reed shoal with nothing to do, and let the sun climb three poles high before I stir. I order my days just as I please. Courtiers shiver waiting for the dawn drums — how is that like my easy heart?"

The woodcutter said: "The quiet grace of your water is not as good as the deeper quiet of my green hills. An 'Immortal at the River' to prove it too:"

Down the gray path of high autumn I go dragging my axe; in the evening cool I shoulder my load and come home. Wild flowers stuck in my hair — what a sight! Parting the clouds I find my way out; waiting for the moon I knock and the door opens.My young son and hill wife meet me laughing; a grass bed and wooden pillow to lean on. Steamed pears and millet set out at once; new wine ripe in the jar — truly it buoys the heart."

The fisherman said: "All this is our two trades, the work that feeds us — but you have none of the advantages of my idle hours. There is a poem to prove it:"

At ease I watch white cranes cross the gray sky, and moor my boat by the stream behind closed gates.Leaning on the awning I teach my son to twist a fishing line; oar down, with my wife I spread the nets to dry.With my temper settled, all is calm as still water; with my body at ease, I feel the faintest wind.Green cape and blue hat, worn as the season suits — better than the purple cords hanging at court."

The woodcutter said: "Your idle hours are not so good as mine. A poem to prove that too:"

At leisure I watch the white clouds drift, faint and far, sitting alone in my thatched hut behind the bamboo gate.With nothing to do I set the boy to his books; now and then I take a guest at the chess board.When joy comes I take my staff and sing down the fragrant path; when the mood rises I carry my zither up the green slopes.Straw sandals, hemp sash, coarse cloth for coverlets — a heart at ease beats any silken gown."

Zhang Shao said: "Li Ding, we two can tease each other with our little songs, and need no clappers and no golden cups. But scattered verses are nothing rare. Let each of us run on a few linked lines, and see how we fisherman and woodcutter bandy words." Li Ding said: "Brother Zhang, nothing could be better. You begin."

"My boat stops on green water inside the misty waves; your home is deep in the mountains, out in the wilds.You love the stream bridge best when spring waters rise; I pity the crags most when dawn clouds wrap them.Fresh carp from Dragon Gate, boiled up now and then; worm-bored dry firewood, toasted day by day.Hooks and nets of many kinds keep me in my old age; shoulder pole and rope can serve me to the end.In my little boat I lie back and watch the wild geese; on the grass path I lean and hear the crying swans.In the field of tongues I have no share; on the sea of quarrels few traces of mine.By the stream the nets hang drying like brocade; on the stone the axe is ground again to an edge.In the bright autumn moon I fish alone as always; in the quiet spring hills I meet nobody.When fish are plenty I trade them for wine and drink with my wife; when firewood is left over, a jug for the boys and me.I sing to myself, pour my own cups, and roam at will; long songs and long sighs, whatever the wild wind does.I call brothers and summon friends to join the boatmen; bringing comrades, gathering old men of the wilds.We pass the cup with riddles and finger-games; we break the tiles and spell the words as the clock goes round.Stewed shrimp and boiled crab, joy every morning; fried duck and simmered chicken, plenty every day.My foolish wife brews the tea, easy and unforced; my hill wife cooks the rice, calm and unhurried.At dawn I take my pole to rake the light waves; when the sun is up I shoulder wood across the great gully.After rain I throw on the straw cape and seize a live carp; before the wind I ply the axe and fell the dead pine.I hide my tracks from the world and play the fool; I bury my name and act the deaf mute."

Zhang Shao said: "Brother Li, I have taken the liberty of leading off. Now it is your turn: lead off a couplet, and I will take up the reply."

"Wind and moon, playing the madman — a man of the hills and wilds; rivers and lakes, lodging his pride — an old hireling at the last.His share of quiet leisure he follows freely; of wagging tongues he hears nothing, and loves the peace.On moonlit nights he sleeps sound in the thatched hut; under a dark sky his rush cape covers him, light as anything.Forgetful of the world, he gathers friends in pine and plum; glad at heart he keeps the pact of gulls and herons.In his heart no reckonings of fame and profit; by his ears no sound of spears and war.As the hour suits, one cup of fragrant wine; to pass the days, three meals of wild-greens broth.Two bundles of firewood are his livelihood; one rod and line is his trade.At leisure he calls his boy to grind the steel axe; quietly he asks the simple lad to mend the old net.When spring comes he loves to watch the willows green; as the cold thaws he delights in the reeds' fresh blue.In summer he beats the heat by trimming new bamboo; in the sixth month he takes the cool and picks young water chestnuts.At frost's descent the chickens are fat, killed as often as ever; at the Double Ninth the crabs are full, cooked in their season.In winter he sleeps on with the sun already high; through the coldest ninth-count days the sky is high, and he is not cold.Through the eight seasons in the hills he follows his nature; through the four times of year on the lake he feeds his heart.Cutting wood, he has the zest of the immortals; dropping the line, he has nothing of the common shape.Outside the door the wild flowers breathe heavy perfume; at the bow the green water runs in quiet ripples.Body at ease, he says nothing of the seat of the three excellencies; temper settled, he is stronger than a walled city ten li round.The ten-li walls stand high for the warden's orders; the seats of the three excellencies shine to the sound of summons.Delighting in hills and delighting in water is truly rare; thanks to heaven, thanks to earth, thanks to the bright gods."

Having traded their songs, the two went on linking verses. When they came to the parting of the roads they bowed and said goodbye. Zhang Shao said: "Brother Li, take care on the road, and watch for tigers up the hill. If any danger finds you, it will be as they say — 'one old friend fewer on the street tomorrow.'" Li Ding flared up at this: "You lazy rascal! A good friend would share your death itself. Why do you curse me? If I meet a tiger and come to harm, you are sure to meet a wave and capsize in the river." Zhang Shao said: "I will never capsize in the river, not in this life." Li Ding said: "'Heaven has winds and rains beyond its own forecasting, and man has trouble and luck beyond his reckoning.' How can you promise nothing will happen?" Zhang Shao said: "Brother Li, you may talk so, but you have nothing to hold on to. My trade has something to hold on to, and such things cannot touch it." Li Ding said: "Your trade on the water is the riskiest, darkest, deepest trade there is. What can you hold on to?" Zhang Shao said: "You do not know. In this city of Chang'an, on West Gate Street, there lives a fortune-teller. Every day I take him a golden carp, and he passes me a cast of the oracle from his sleeve; by its bearings, a hundred casts, a hundred hits. Today I went again to buy a casting, and he told me to spread my net east at the bend of the Jing River and drop my hook off the west bank, and I would be sure to come home loaded with fish and shrimp. Tomorrow I come into the city, sell the catch, buy wine, and we will talk again, old friend." And so the two said goodbye.

And this is just the case of "talk on the road, listeners in the grass." For in the water palace of the Jing River there was a yaksha patrolling the water, and he heard the words "a hundred casts, a hundred hits." He hurried back to the Crystal Palace and reported in alarm to the Dragon King: "Disaster! Disaster!" The Dragon King asked: "What disaster?" The yaksha said: "Your servant was patrolling and came to the bank, where I heard a fisherman and a woodcutter bandying words; at parting their talk was heavy indeed. The fisherman said that in the city of Chang'an, on West Gate Street, there is a fortune-teller whose reckonings are the truest, that every day he takes him a carp, and that he passes him a cast from his sleeve which puts him on the fish a hundred times in a hundred. If his reckonings are that sure, will he not fish our water tribes clean out? How then shall we keep up the show of the water palace? How shall we leap the waves and roll the billows to back Your Majesty's power?" The Dragon King raged, snatched up his sword, and made to go to Chang'an and destroy the fortune-teller. At his side the dragon sons and dragon grandsons, the shrimp ministers and crab officers, Councilor Shad and Vice Minister Mandarin-Fish, and Steward Carp came hurrying forward and begged: "Your Majesty, calm your anger. The saying goes: 'Words that pass the ear are not to be trusted.' If Your Majesty goes, clouds will follow and rain will assist, and the people of Chang'an may be frightened — and heaven will call you to account. Your Majesty can hide or show himself as no one can guess, and change without limit. Only change into the shape of a scholar, go into Chang'an, and make inquiries. If such a fellow truly exists, there will be time enough to destroy him; if not, would it not be wronging an innocent man?"

The Dragon King followed the advice, dropped his sword, raised no cloud or rain, went up on the bank, shook himself, and changed into a scholar in white robes. Truly:

A striking bearing, lofty as a ravine, head held to the sky. His step was steady and grave; he kept to rule and measure. His speech followed Confucius and Mencius; his manners held the forms of Zhou. He wore a jade-colored silk gown and on his head a free-and-easy kerchief tied in a single band.

He took the road, lengthened his cloud-strides, and came straight to the great street by the West Gate of Chang'an. There he saw a knot of people packed and jostling, all clamor and hubbub. Among them a man was holding forth in a loud voice: "For the one born in the dragon year it is the natal star; for the one born in the tiger year, the clash. Yin, chen, si, hai make a proper pattern — but the fear is the day offending the year's lord." The Dragon King knew at once this was the fortune-teller's place. He stepped up, parted the crowd, and looked in. And this is what he saw:

Pearls and jade stones on the four walls; silks and satins filling the hall. The precious duck censer never let its smoke stop; the porcelain bowl of water stood clear as could be. Paintings by Wang Wei were ranged on either side, and above the seat hung the likeness of Guiguzi. A Duanzhou inkstone and gold-smoke ink set off a great frost-hair brush; the Fire-Pearl Grove and the reckonings of Guo Pu were matched against the newest classics of the court. The six lines he knew by heart; the eight trigrams he had mastered. He could know the frames of heaven and earth, and read the minds of ghosts and spirits. On one board the hours of zi and wu were laid out sure; in his breast the stars stood ranked and clear. Truly, things to come and things gone by he saw as in a moon-mirror; which house would rise, which house would fall, he judged like a god. He could name the unlucky and fix the lucky, decide death and speak of life. When he opened his mouth the wind and rain came fast; when his brush came down, ghosts and gods started. The sign board bore his name in letters: Master of Divine Castings, Yuan Shoucheng.

Who was this man? The uncle of Yuan Tiangang, the Director of the Court of Astronomy, one Yuan Shoucheng. The master's face was indeed uncommon, his bearing fine; his name rang through the great empire, and his art stood first in Chang'an. The Dragon King came in the door, greeted the master, and when the greetings were done was asked to take the seat of honor, with the page bringing tea. The master asked: "What have you come to ask about?" The Dragon King said: "Pray cast for me about the weather — will the sky cloud or clear." The master passed a cast from his sleeve and judged: "Cloud will muffle the mountain tops; fog will shroud the forest tips. If you ask of rain, be sure of it tomorrow morning." The Dragon King said: "At what hour tomorrow does it rain, and how much rain is it, in inches?" The master said: "Tomorrow the clouds spread at the chen hour, thunder rolls at si, rain falls at wu, and by wei the rain is done — three chi three cun and forty-eight points of water in all." The Dragon King laughed: "Those words are not to be a jest. If it rains tomorrow, at your hours and in your numbers, I will bring you fifty taels of silver in thanks. If there is no rain, or it does not keep your hours and numbers, I will tell you plainly: I will smash your shop front to pieces, tear your sign board to shreds, and drive you out of Chang'an this very hour, and you shall not stay here deceiving the people." The master answered pleasantly: "That, by all means, as you please. Good day, good day. Come and see me after tomorrow's rain."

The Dragon King took his leave, left Chang'an, and went back to the water palace. The water gods big and little met him and asked: "Your Majesty, how did you find the fortune-teller?" The Dragon King said: "There is such a fellow, there is, there is. Only a glib, begging-bowl sort of master. I asked him when it would rain, and he said it would rain tomorrow. I asked him at what hour, and how much, and he said: clouds at chen, thunder at si, rain at wu, done by wei — three chi three cun and forty-eight points of water. I laid a wager with him: if it falls just as he says, he gets fifty taels of silver in thanks; if it misses by a hair, I smash his shop front and turn him out, and he shall not stay in Chang'an deceiving the people." The water tribes laughed: "Your Majesty is the lord over all eight rivers, the great dragon god who governs the rain. Whether there is rain or none, only Your Majesty knows. How would he dare talk such nonsense? That fortune-teller has lost for certain — lost for certain."

While the dragon sons and dragon grandsons and the fish ministers and crab officers were still laughing over it, a voice called from mid-air: "Dragon King of the Jing River, receive the edict!" All looked up: a golden-armored strongman was coming straight for the water palace with the Jade Emperor's edict in his hands. The Dragon King scrambled to put his robes in order and receive the edict with burning incense; the golden-armored strongman rose into the sky and was gone. The Dragon King thanked heaven for the grace, broke the seal, and read:

By edict, lord of the eight rivers' host: drive the thunder, lead the lightning on.Tomorrow morning spread the rain's kindness, and bring relief to all the city of Chang'an.

The hours and numbers on the edict did not differ from the master's judgment by a hair. The Dragon King's soul flew and his spirit scattered. When he came to himself he said to the water tribes: "That there should be such a numinous man in the world of dust, one who truly knows the frames of heaven and earth — I cannot afford to lose to him!" Councilor Shad reported: "Your Majesty, set your mind at rest. What is hard about beating him? Your servant has a little plan that is sure to shut that fellow's mouth." The Dragon King asked for the plan, and the councilor said: "Let the rain fall at the wrong hour and a few points short. Then his casting will have missed, and how could we fail to beat him? Then smash his sign board to bits and run him out of town — what difficulty could there be?" The Dragon King did as he was told to do, and troubled himself no more.

The next day he called out the Wind Earl, the Thunder Lord, the Cloud Boy, and the Lightning Mother, and brought them up to the ninth heavens above Chang'an. He dawdled until si to spread the clouds, rolled the thunder at wu, let the rain fall at wei, and stopped it at shen — and it came to only three chi and forty points. He shifted one whole hour and clipped three cun and eight points. When the rain was over he sent the generals home. Then he brought his cloud down, changed back into the white-robed scholar, walked into the great street inside the West Gate, burst into Yuan Shoucheng's shop, and without one word smashed his sign board, his brush, his inkstone, and the rest to pieces. The master sat in his chair and did not stir a hair. The Dragon King then swung a door plank at him and cursed: "You goblin who babble of fortune and misfortune, you shameless rogue who bewitch the crowd! Your castings are false and your words wild and wrong. You said the rain would fall today at hours and in numbers that fit nothing. And there you sit high and mighty — get out while you can, and I will spare your life!" Shoucheng did not flinch one bit. He looked up at the sky and laughed coldly: "I am not afraid, I am not afraid. I have no capital crime — but you, I fear, have one. Other men you might deceive, but not me. I know you. You are no scholar: you are the Dragon King of the Jing River. You defied the Jade Emperor's edict, changed the hour, clipped the count, and broke the law of heaven. On the dragon-beheading platform you will hardly escape the knife — and you stand there cursing me?" The Dragon King heard, and his heart shook and his gallbladder trembled; his hair stood and his bones went cold. He dropped the plank in haste, straightened his clothes, bowed low, and knelt before the master: "Master, do not be angry. My words just now were only in jest. Who knew the jest would turn to earnest, and I should truly break the law of heaven? What am I to do? I beg you, Master, save me — or, dying, I will not let you go." Shoucheng said: "I cannot save you. I can only point you a road to live by." The dragon said: "I beg you to teach me." The master said: "Tomorrow, at the third quarter of the wu hour, you are to be beheaded before Wei Zheng, the officer of the world of men. If you truly want your life, you must hurry to beg his sacred Majesty the Emperor Taizong of Tang. Wei Zheng is chancellor under the Tang king; win his good word for you, and you are safe."

The Dragon King heard, bowed farewell, and went away in tears. Before he knew it the red sun had gone down in the west and the moon-star had risen. Look at the night:

Mist thickens and the hills turn purple; the crows come home tired, and the traveler on the far road seeks his inn. At the ferry new wild geese settle on the sand; the River of Stars comes out, the watchman's count goes on, and the lone hamlet's lamp burns dim. The wind curls incense smoke from the clean, quiet abbey; in the butterfly dream the man is seen no more. The moon moves the flower shadows up the rail; the stars scatter, the water-clock changes its sound — and deep night has slipped past midnight.

The Dragon King of the Jing River did not go back to his water palace but stayed in the air. Waiting until about the hour of zi, he folded in his cloud and drew in his fog, came straight to the gate of the imperial palace. The Tang emperor was just dreaming himself out of the palace gate, walking in the moonlight under flower shadows. Suddenly the Dragon King, changed to a man's shape, came up, knelt, and cried: "Your Majesty, save me, save me!" Taizong said: "Who are you? I will save you." The Dragon King said: "Your Majesty is a true dragon; your servant is a guilty one. Because I broke the law of heaven, I am to be beheaded by your worthy minister, the officer of the world of men, Wei Zheng. So I have come to beg you: I beg Your Majesty to save me." Taizong said: "Since it is Wei Zheng who is to behead you, I can save you. Go with an easy mind." The Dragon King was overjoyed, knocked his head in thanks, and went.

Taizong woke from the dream with it heavy on his mind. It was already the fifth watch and three quarters. Taizong held court and gathered the civil and military officials of both ranks. Look at it:

Mist wraps the phoenix towers; perfume breathes through the dragon halls. Light sways and the vermilion screen stirs; clouds brush past, and the kingfisher streamers flow. Lord and ministers accord like Yao and Shun of old; rites and music and stern majesty come near the Han and the Zhou. The attendants' lamps and the palace ladies' fans flash color pair by pair; the peacock screen and the qilin hall float with light everywhere. Mountains shout "Ten thousand years!" and flowers bless him with "A thousand autumns!" Three cracks of the quiet whip ring out, and capped and robed the ranks bow to the crowned head. Palace flowers blaze, and the scent of heaven drifts in; the willows on the dike bend soft to the imperial music. Pearl curtains, kingfisher curtains, hung high on golden hooks; dragon-phoenix fans, mountains-and-rivers fans, and the precious carriage standing. Civil officers handsome and able, generals brisk and brave. The imperial way divides high from low, and on the red steps they stand by their grades. Golden seals and purple cords ride the three great powers — earth everlasting, heaven everlasting, ten thousand myriads of autumns.

When the court congratulations were over, the officials fell into their ranks. The Tang king swept his phoenix eyes and dragon pupils over them from first to last. Among the civil officers were Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Xu Shiji, Xu Jingzong, Wang Gui, and others; among the military, Ma Sanbao, Duan Zhixuan, Yin Kaishan, Cheng Yaojin, Liu Hongji, Hu Jingde, Qin Shubao, and others — every one in grave and stately bearing. But Chancellor Wei Zheng was nowhere to be seen. The Tang king called Xu Shiji up to the hall and said: "In the night I had a strange dream. A man came and bowed before me and said he was the Dragon King of the Jing River, that he had broken the law of heaven and was to be beheaded by the officer of the world of men, Wei Zheng, and he begged me to save him, and I promised. Yet this morning I see no Wei Zheng in the ranks. Why is that?" Shiji answered: "The dream tells true. Wei Zheng must be called to court, and Your Majesty must not let him out the door. Keep him here past this one day, and the dragon of the dream is saved." The Tang king was delighted and passed the order at once: the usher was to summon Wei Zheng to court.

Now Chancellor Wei Zheng was in his mansion watching the face of the sky by night, burning precious incense, when he heard a crane cry in the ninth heavens: an immortal envoy sent from heaven with a golden edict of the Jade Emperor, charging him to behead the old dragon of the Jing River in a dream, at the third quarter of the wu hour. The chancellor thanked heaven for the grace, fasted and bathed, and stayed in his mansion trying the sword of wisdom and moving his primal spirit — and so did not come to court. When the usher arrived with the summons he was alarmed past measure; but he dared not delay the sovereign's command, so he made haste to buckle on his robes and went in with the edict, knocked his head before the throne, and begged pardon for his fault. The Tang king said: "You are forgiven; there is no fault." The other ministers had not yet left the court; at this point the order came to roll up the curtains and dismiss them, Wei Zheng alone being kept. He was called up into the golden-bell hall and into the private hall, where first they talked over the policies of securing the state and the plans of settling the realm. As it drew toward the end of si and the start of wu, the king told the palace people: "Bring in the chessboard. I will play a game with my worthy minister." The ladies brought the board and laid it on the imperial table. Wei Zheng thanked him for the grace, and the two sat down to the game, move and answer, drawing up their lines — just as the Classic of the Rotten Axe-Handle says:

The way of the board game lies in strictness. The strong player works the center, the weak player the sides, the middling player the corners: so it goes in the player's constant art. The rule says: "Better to lose a stone than lose a move in hand." Strike on the left with an eye to the right; attack the rear with a look to the front. Sometimes the first move comes last, and the last comes first. Where two live, do not cut them apart; where all are alive, do not join them. Wide positions must not be too thin; close ones must not be too cramped. Rather than cling to stones to save them, throw them away and take the victory; rather than move out alone where nothing is doing, strengthen your own ground and mend it. When he is many and you are few, first plan for life; when you are many and he is few, spread out your power. The good winner does not fight; the good planner of lines does not battle; the good fighter is not beaten; the good loser does not fall into disorder. The game opens with right and square, and ends by winning with the unexpected. Whenever an enemy strengthens his own ground while nothing is happening, he intends to invade and cut you off; whoever abandons small stones without rescuing them has his mind on greater things; whoever plays stone after stone at random is a man without a plan; whoever answers without thinking is on the road to defeat. The Odes say: "Trembling and watchful, as at the lip of a ravine" — that is what it means.

The poem says:

The board is the earth, the stones the heavens; the colors keep to yin and yang, and creation is complete.Play down to where the mystery turns and changes, and you may laugh and boast like the immortal of the rotten axe-handle of that old day.

Lord and minister played at the board, and the game was just at the third quarter of the wu hour — the endgame unfinished — when Wei Zheng suddenly slumped against the table and fell to snoring in his sleep. Taizong laughed: "My worthy minister's heart is worn with propping up the altars of state, his strength spent building this realm — no wonder he drowses." Taizong let him sleep and did not call him. Before long Wei Zheng woke, bowed to the ground, and said: "Your servant deserves ten thousand deaths, ten thousand deaths! Just now he was so weary he hardly knew what he did. I beg Your Majesty to pardon your servant's rudeness to his sovereign." The king said: "What rudeness is that? Get up. Brush away the old stones, and we will play the game afresh."

Wei Zheng thanked him for the grace and had just taken up a stone when there came shouting and crying outside the court gate. It was Qin Shubao and Xu Maogong and the rest, carrying a dripping dragon's head, which they threw down before the emperor, reporting: "Your Majesty, shallow seas and dry rivers men have seen before; but such a wonder as this was never heard of." The king and Wei Zheng rose: "Where has this thing come from?" Shubao and Maogong said: "South of the thousand-step corridor, at the crossroads, this dragon head fell out of the clouds. Your servants dared not fail to report it." The Tang king asked Wei Zheng in astonishment: "What is the meaning of this?" Wei Zheng turned, knocked his head, and said: "It is the dragon your servant beheaded in his dream just now." The Tang king was astounded: "My worthy minister, you were snoring. I saw no stirring of limb, no hand raised, and there was no sword — how did you behead this dragon?" Wei Zheng reported: "Your Majesty, my body was before the sovereign, but my dream was away from you. My body sat before the throne over the unfinished game, eyes closed and dim; my dream left Your Majesty's side, rode a lucky cloud, all spirit and alert. That dragon was bound on the dragon-beheading platform by the soldiers and generals of heaven. And I said to him: 'You broke the law of heaven; the death is yours by right. I bear heaven's command to cut off your remnant of life.' The dragon heard it and wailed; I braced my spirit. The dragon wailed, folded his claws and drew in his scales, and took his death willingly; I braced my spirit, threw back my robe, stepped forward, and raised the frost-bright blade. One stroke, and a crack; and so the dragon head fell into the void."

Taizong heard, and his heart was glad and sad at once. Glad, because he could praise Wei Zheng as a fine minister: with such a hero at court, why worry that the realm might not stand? Sad, because in the dream he had promised to save the dragon — and the dragon had been put to death despite it. He pulled himself together and passed the order that Shubao hang the dragon head in the marketplace, as a sign to all the people of Chang'an. Wei Zheng was rewarded, and the officials dispersed.

That evening he went back to the palace, his heart heavy and downcast all the while. He thought of the dragon in the dream, wailing and begging for its life — who knew that death would find it anyway? He brooded a long while, and little by little his spirit wearied and his body felt unwell. That night at the second watch he heard sobbing and wailing outside the palace gate, and his fright grew worse. As he drifted half asleep, the Dragon King of the Jing River appeared again, the bleeding head carried in his hand, crying: "Taizong of Tang, give me back my life! Give me back my life! Last night you promised and promised to save me — how is it that at daylight you called in the officer of the world of men to behead me? Come out, come out! Come with me to King Yama and let us argue it out there!" He seized Taizong and clung, shouting and struggling, and would not let go. Taizong's mouth was sealed; he could not speak, and only struggled till the sweat poured over his whole body.

Just as the struggle reached its height, fragrant clouds came wreathing up from the south and colored mist came drifting, and a woman of the immortals stepped forward and swept her willow branch once through the air. The headless dragon, sobbing and wailing, turned and made off to the northwest. It was the Bodhisattva Guanyin, come east on the Buddha's command to seek the one who would fetch the scriptures, lodging at the earth-god temple of the capital in Chang'an. Hearing the ghosts weeping and the spirits howling in the night, she came especially to shout the guilty dragon away and free the emperor. The dragon went straight to the dark courts of the dead to press his complaint — but no more of that.

Taizong came to himself crying: "A ghost! A ghost!" The empresses of the three palaces and the ladies of the six courts and the attending eunuchs trembled and shook, and no one slept that night.

It was the fifth watch and three quarters before anyone knew it, and all the civil and military officials stood outside the court gate waiting for the morning session. They waited until broad daylight and still he did not come, and one by one they stood there frightened and uncertain. Not until the sun was three poles high did an edict come out: "I am out of spirits. Let the officials be excused from court." Five or seven days passed in this way, and the officials, worried and alarmed, were just about to force the gate and ask after his health, when an edict came from the empress dowager summoning the physicians into the palace with their medicines. The crowd waited outside the court gate for news. Before long the physician came out, and all asked what the illness was. He said: "His Majesty's pulse is wrong: empty and racing, raving of seeing ghosts. I also felt a rest after every ten beats, and no breath in the five organs. I fear the end will come within seven days." The officials heard and went pale.

While they stood stricken, another edict came from the empress dowager summoning Xu Maogong, the Duke of Protecting the State, and Yuchi Gong to the throne. The three took the edict and hurried in below the tower of the divided palaces. The bows done, Taizong said with a straight face and forced words: "My worthy ministers, I led troops at nineteen — campaigns south, wars north, blocking east, clearing west — and through all those bitter years I never saw half a demon. And now I see ghosts." Yuchi Gong said: "You built this realm and killed men past counting — what ghost would you fear?" Taizong said: "You do not believe it. Outside the door of my own sleeping hall, the moment night falls, bricks and tiles come flying and ghosts howl, and it is past bearing. By day it is tolerable; in the dark of night it cannot be endured." Shubao said: "Set your mind at ease, Your Majesty. Tonight your servant and Jingde will stand guard at the palace gates, and we will see what ghosts there are." Taizong approved. Maogong thanked him for the grace and went out.

That evening, at dark, each took his armor, and the two stood in full mail, golden maces and axe-blades in hand, guarding outside the palace gates. What generals! Look how they were dressed:

Golden helmets on their heads, flashing light; scale-mail of the dragon on their bodies. The precious breast-mirrors flash back lucky cloud; the lion-ornament buckles cinched tight, embroidered sashes bright as new dawn cloud. This one's phoenix eyes look up to heaven, and the stars take fright; that one's ringed eyes flash back lightning and floating moonlight. Heroes and gallant men, old ministers of merit — and all they get is to stand a thousand years as wardens of the door, ten thousand ages as the gods of the gateway.

The two generals stood sentry by the gate from night till dawn and never saw a demon of any kind. That night the emperor slept in the palace without disturbance. In the morning he summoned the two generals, rewarded them richly, and said: "Since I fell ill I have not slept for days. Last night, thanks to the power of you two generals, I slept sound. Go now and rest; come again tonight and stand guard once more." The two thanked him for the grace and went out.

So for two or three nights the guarding went on, and all was quiet. But the emperor's appetite failed, and the illness seemed to grow heavier. Taizong could not bear to see the two generals worn out. He summoned Shubao and Jingde, with Du and Fang and the other ministers, into the palace, and said: "These two days I have rested well, but it is hard on Generals Qin and Hu, working all night every night. I want to call in a skilled painter, take the true likeness of the two generals, and paste it on the gates, so they need not be wearied. What do you say?" The ministers obeyed the edict, chose two men who could take likenesses, had Hu and Qin dress in their armor as before, painted them from the life, and pasted the pictures on the gates. That night, too, all was quiet.

After two or three days of this, there came a banging and clattering of bricks and tiles at the back gate of the palace. In the morning he called his ministers and said: "For days past, happily, the front gate has given no trouble. Last night the back gate was banging away — will they frighten the life out of me after all?" Maogong came forward and said: "The front gate was guarded by Jingde and Shubao. For the back gate it should be Wei Zheng who stands guard." Taizong approved, and ordered Wei Zheng to guard the back gate that night. Wei Zheng took the edict, dressed himself in full array that evening, took up the dragon-beheading sword, and stood sentry before the back gate — a fine hero truly. And how was he dressed?

A green silk kerchief bound across his brow; brocade robe and jade belt hanging to his waist. The wind-fighting cloak's sleeves scatter frost-bright color; in stern mien he matches the door gods Yulei and Shen Shu. On his feet black boots, seated and folded; in his hand the sharp blade, fierce and bold. Round eyes stare out, searching all four quarters — what evil spirit would dare come there?

The night passed through in full light, and there were no ghosts. Though the front and back gates were quiet now, the emperor's body grew heavier day by day.

One day the empress dowager again passed down the word: the ministers were to meet and settle the funeral arrangements. Taizong also called Xu Maogong and charged him with the business of the state, entrusting the heir with the same meaning as the lord of Shu, Liu Bei of old. When he had finished speaking he bathed, changed his clothes, and waited for his hour. At his side Wei Zheng stepped out, caught hold of the dragon robe, and said: "Set your mind at rest, Your Majesty. I have one thing here that is sure to keep Your Majesty alive." Taizong said: "The illness is already in the vital parts, and my life is near its end. How can I be kept?" Wei Zheng said: "Your servant has a letter here to give Your Majesty, to be carried down to the dark world and put into the hands of Cui Jue, the judge of Fengdu." Taizong said: "Who is Cui Jue?" Wei Zheng said: "Cui Jue was a minister at the court of the emperor your late father: first governor of Zizhou, later raised to vice minister of rites. In life he and your servant swore brotherhood with eight bows, and we knew each other well. He has since died and now serves in the dark world as the judge of Fengdu who keeps the registers of life and death, and in dreams he often meets with your servant. If this letter reaches him, he will remember the small bond between us and be sure to let Your Majesty come back. Your soul shall return to the world of the living, and the dragon face shall come back to the imperial city." Taizong heard, took the letter in his hand, slipped it into his sleeve, closed his eyes, and died. The three palaces and six courts, the empress and the ladies, the heir apparent and the household, and the civil and military officials of both ranks put on mourning and cried their grief. The coffin lay in state in the White Tiger Hall — but no more of that.

How would Taizong come back to his soul? Listen to the next chapter to find out.