Chapter 10: The Old Dragon King's Clumsy Scheme Violates Heaven's Law; Chancellor Wei Leaves a Letter in Trust to an Official of the Underworld

We leave Guangrui to his service and Xuanzang to his cultivation. Let us speak instead of what happened beside the Jing River beyond Chang'an.

There lived there two worthy fellows. One was a fisherman called Zhang Shao; the other a woodcutter called Li Ding. Both were country scholars who had never won degrees, mountain men who could read and write.

One day, after selling the firewood from his shoulder and the carp from his basket in Chang'an, the two of them went together into a wineshop. Having drunk till they were pleasantly half-tipsy, each took up a bottle, and they strolled back slowly along the Jing River bank.

Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, I was thinking: those who strive for fame lose their bodies for the sake of a name; those who snatch for profit lose their lives for the sake of gain; those who receive rank sleep with a tiger in their arms; those who bask in favor carry a snake in their sleeves. When all is reckoned, it is better to be as we are, with fair water and green hills, free and at ease, content with plainness, following whatever fate brings."

Li Ding replied, "Brother Zhang speaks truly. Except that your fair water does not equal my green hills."

Zhang laughed. "Your green hills do not equal my fair water. I even have a lyric to prove it."

And he chanted a Butterfly Loves Flowers:

Ten thousand li of misty waves, a little fishing boat,
resting still beneath a single awning,
with Xi Shi's voice curling all around.
Once the mind is washed, rank and profit grow slight;
idly I pluck smartweed tassels and reed grass.
A few sand-gulls are enough to make a man rejoice;
by willow bank and reed bay
wife and children laugh with me.
One good sleep, and wind and wave fall quiet.
No glory, no disgrace, no vexation.

Li Ding said, "Your fair water still does not match my green hills. I too have a Butterfly Loves Flowers to prove it."

So he recited:

A stretch of cloud-woods thick with pine bloom,
where I sit and hear the orioles,
their clever tongues tuned like pipes.
Red thins, green grows full, spring lies warm;
in a flash summer turns the light of time.
Then autumn too comes and passes with ease.
Yellow flowers are fragrant and made for delight.
Harsh winter follows as quickly as a finger's snap,
yet through all four seasons I wander free, beholden to no one.

The fisherman said, "Your green hills truly do not match my fair water for good things to enjoy. I have a Partridge Sky to prove it."

He sang:

In immortal waters and cloud-country I have all the life I need;
to set the scull and cross the skiff is enough to make a home.
Fresh-scaled fish split open alive, green turtles in the pot;
purple crabs steamed at once, red shrimp boiled bright.
Green reed-shoots, water-chestnut sprouts,
water caltrop and gorgon fruit worth boasting of.
Tender lotus-root, old lotus-seed, young celery leaves,
arrowhead, wild rice-stem, and flowers of duckweed.

The woodcutter answered, "Your fair water cannot compare with my green hills for good things to enjoy. I too have a Partridge Sky."

He sang:

Lofty ridges pile toward the sky,
a grass hut and thatched cell are my home.
Cured fowl and geese beat your crabs and turtles,
and badger, rabbit, and deer outdo fish and shrimp.
Young toon leaves, yellow chinaberry shoots,
bamboo shoots and mountain tea worth boasting of.
Purple plums, red peaches, ripe apricots and mume,
sweet pears, sour jujubes, and osmanthus bloom.

The fisherman said, "Your green hills truly do not match the grace of my fair water. I have another lyric, Immortal Among Men."

He recited:

A single leaf of skiff goes where it pleases,
across piled-up waves of mist without fear.
Dropping line or casting net, I take the fresh-scaled catch;
dipped in sauce and grease, it tastes the better.
Then comes the family feast with old wife and little child.
Fish are many, and sold in Chang'an for ready cash;
that buys fragrant wine enough to make a man drunk.
A rain-cloak serves for quilt when I sleep on the autumn river,
snoring hard, without a care,
never yearning for glory or honor among men.

The woodcutter said, "Your fair water still does not surpass my green hills. I too have an Immortal Among Men."

He recited:

A few rafters under the mountain eaves,
with pine, bamboo, plum, and orchid all lovely to me.
Through woods and over ridges I hunt dry fuel.
No one blames me.
I sell when I please, for more or for less, as the world allows.
Then with the money I buy wine to my own heart's content.
Clay bowl or porcelain cup, all of it free and easy.
Dead drunk, I sleep beneath the pines,
without entanglement, without harm,
never minding whether the world rises or falls.

The fisherman said, "Brother Li, your hill-life cannot equal the pleasures of my water-business. I have a River Moon Westward to prove it."

He sang:

Red smartweed flowers in the moon,
yellow reeds in the wind.
Blue sky clean and far above an empty Chu River,
stirring one whole pool of stars.
Great fish crowd into the net,
little perch swarm to the hook.
When I bring them home and cook them,
the taste is richer still,
and I laugh the rivers and lakes into a racket.

The woodcutter said, "Brother Zhang, your water-business cannot equal the pleasures of my hills. I too have a River Moon Westward."

He sang:

Dead leaves and withered vines lie thick across the road;
split twigs and old bamboo fill the hills.
Parasite vines and dried creepers trail in tangles.
I break them, bind them, shoulder them, and go.
Elm and willow hollowed by worms,
pine and cedar snapped by wind.
I gather them and stack them for winter's cold,
then trade them for wine and silver as I please.

The fisherman said, "Even if your hills can match mine in these things, they do not match the quiet grace of my water. I have a Riverside Immortal for proof."

He recited:

When the tide falls, I pole my lonely boat away;
deep at night, once the oars are in, I sing back home.
Rain-cloak and fading moon, what a quiet thing that is.
Sleeping gulls do not startle,
and colored clouds open at the edge of Heaven.
I doze on the reed islets with nothing to do,
and only when the sun is three poles high do I rise.
I make my own arrangements to my own desire.
How could the chill ministers waiting in court at dawn
compare to the ease within my breast?

The woodcutter answered, "The grace of your water is still not as deep as the grace of my hills. I too have a Riverside Immortal."

He recited:

Down a gray path in autumn's height I drag my axe away;
in the cool of evening I shoulder my load home again.
Wild flowers in my hair make a finer wonder still.
I part the clouds to find my path,
and call at my own door beneath the moon.
Mountain wife and little children greet me laughing.
On the grass-bed and wooden pillow I lounge aside.
Pears steam, millet cooks, the meal is spread at once.
In the crock the new brew has ripened.
Now that is a great and quiet joy.

The fisherman said, "Those are all just the things by which we two earn our living. But you do not have the leisure that I do when my work is done. I even have a poem for it."

He chanted:

Idly I watch white cranes fly through the blue sky,
mooring the boat by the creek and closing the green door.
I lean beneath the awning and teach my son to twist the hook-line;
once the oars are in, I dry the nets with my wife.
When the nature is still, it is as though the waves are still;
when the body is at peace, even the wind seems slight.
Green rain-cloak, blue bamboo hat, I wear as the season asks.
Better that than the purple sash of court.

The woodcutter said, "Your leisure still does not equal mine. I have a poem to prove that as well."

And he recited:

Idly I watch the white clouds floating thin and high,
alone in my grass hut with the bamboo door shut.
With nothing else to do I teach my son to read from open books;
at times, with guests, I set out the board and stones for chess.
When joy comes I walk the fragrant paths with a staff;
when spirit rises I carry my zither up the green slopes.
Grass sandals, hemp sash, rough cloth quilt -
a broad heart is better than silk.

Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, the truth is we two are just fit to chant a line or two to one another. We need no sandalwood clappers and wine cups of gold. Mere verses are no rarity to us. Let us each link a few lines and see how our fisherman-and-woodcutter exchange sounds."

Li Ding said, "Brother Zhang, no better idea could be had. You begin."

So Zhang Shao chanted at length of moored boats in green water, of houses in deep hills, of spring floods beneath bridges and morning cloud over cliffs, of carp from Dragon Gate and worm-eaten fuelwood, of nets and shoulder-cords enough to sustain old age, of lying in a skiff and hearing wild geese, of hanging up silk nets to dry by the creek and sharpening the axe on stone, of autumn moon fishing and spring mountain solitude, of fish traded for wine with one's wife and extra wood sold for a jug to share with one's son, of calling friends together in the fields, drinking by guessing games, cooking shrimp and crabs, ducks and chickens, and of feigning foolishness, hiding one's name, and moving through the world as though mute and deaf.

Then Li Ding answered in turn with a linked poem of his own: of moon and wind, of wild hills and broad waters, of sleeping steady in a thatched hut at night and wearing a light bamboo rain-cloak in the dark, of befriending pine and plum and making pacts with gull and egret, of having no schemes for profit or fame, of one pole and two bundles of fuel as a livelihood, of watching willows in spring, reeds in warmth, bamboo in summer, water chestnuts in the sixth month, of fat chickens at frost's descent and sturdy crabs at Double Ninth, of sleeping till sun-up in winter, and of thanking Heaven and Earth and the spirits above for a life of delight in hill and lake alike.

When they had each finished their chants and linked their verses, they came to the place where their roads divided and bowed farewell.

Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, take care on the road and watch the tigers in the hills. If some danger should come your way, then tomorrow the street will have one old friend the fewer."

Li Ding flew into a rage.

"You lazy dog! If one cannot die in a good friend's place, how can one at least curse him to death? If I am taken by a tiger, then you will be overturned by a wave in the river."

Zhang Shao said, "I will never be overturned in the river, not in all my days."

Li Ding said, "'Heaven has its unforeseen wind and cloud; men have their sudden fortune and misfortune.' How can you be so sure?"

Zhang Shao replied, "Brother Li, you speak so, but you have no real hold on your trade. Mine has a hold. I will never meet that sort of accident."

Li Ding asked, "What hold can there be in work done on dark and dangerous water?"

Zhang Shao said, "You don't know. In Chang'an, on West Gate Street, there is a fortune-teller. Every day I give him one golden carp, and he slips me a divination lesson up his sleeve. Following his directions, every cast hits true. Today I went again, and he told me to cast my net east of the bend in the Jing River and throw the hook from the west bank. I am sure to return loaded down with fish and shrimp. Tomorrow I will come into the city again, sell them, buy wine, and sit with you once more."

So they parted.

This was truly one of those cases where men speak on the road and someone in the grass hears it. As it happened, a river-patrolling yaksha from the Jing River water-court caught every word of the boast about never missing a cast. He sped back to the Crystal Palace and cried out in alarm:

"Disaster! Disaster!"

The Dragon King asked, "What disaster?"

The yaksha said, "Your servant was on patrol by the riverbank and overheard a fisherman and woodcutter in conversation. Their parting words were fierce enough. The fisherman said that on West Gate Street in Chang'an there is a fortune-teller of perfect accuracy. Each day he gives the man a carp, and the fortune-teller passes him a lesson up his sleeve that makes every cast strike true. If matters go on in that way, will not all the water-folk be caught and wiped out? How then shall the water-court be made glorious? How shall wave and billow rise to support Your Majesty's power?"

The Dragon King flared with rage, seized his sword, and was on the point of going to Chang'an to kill the fortune-teller on the spot. But around him stepped dragon sons and grandsons, shrimp ministers and crab officers, the shad counselor, the mandarin-fish secretary, and the carp grand-steward, all speaking together:

"Your Majesty, be calm. The old saying runs: one should not trust words heard in passing. If Your Majesty goes in person, clouds will follow and rain will assist; the people of Chang'an may be alarmed and Heaven above may call you to account. Your Majesty can appear and vanish at will, change shape as he pleases. Better become a scholar and go into Chang'an to inquire. If there is really such a man, it will not be too late to kill him. If not, then why wrong an innocent?"

The Dragon King accepted their advice. He laid aside the sword, called up neither cloud nor rain, rose to the bank, and shook himself into the form of a white-robed scholar:

Graceful of bearing, lofty as though he held up ravines and sky,
his steps measured, his conduct proper.
His speech followed Confucius and Mencius;
his manners recalled the rites of Zhou.
He wore a robe of pale jade silk,
and on his head a scholar's cap tied with the carefree knot.

Then he set out, striding along on cloudlike steps until he came to West Gate Street in Chang'an. There he saw a knot of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, all noise and chatter. From among them came voices saying things like, "A dragon sign meets its natal year," and, "A tiger sign is in conflict," and, "The earthly branches may make a harmonious pattern, but beware the day offending the year's ruler."

At once the Dragon King knew he had found the place of divination. He stepped forward, parted the crowd, and looked in.

This was what he saw:

Pearls and jades on every wall,
embroidered silks throughout the hall.
A fragrant duck-shaped censer never ceased its smoke;
the water in the porcelain vase was clear enough to startle.
On either side hung paintings in the manner of Wang Wei;
above the seat was suspended the image of Master Guigu.
There were Duanxi inkstones and rich-soot ink,
matched with fine-frost brushes;
there were groves of divining slips and Guo Pu's calculations,
laid carefully beside new manuals of state astrology.
The six lines were second nature to him,
the eight trigrams ran clear in his mind.
He could know the logic of Heaven and Earth,
and understand the feelings of spirits and ghosts.
A single board of heavenly stems and earthly branches was set before him;
within his belly all the stars were laid out bright.
Truly things not yet come and things long past
he saw as clearly as a moonlit mirror;
the rise of one house and the fall of another
he judged like a god.
He fixed ill luck and good, declared death and life,
his speech set wind and rain moving,
his brush startled ghosts and gods.
On the signboard his name was written plain:
Master of Divine Lessons, Yuan Shoucheng.

And who was this man? None other than Yuan Shoucheng, uncle to Yuan Tiangang, the court astrologer of Great Tang. His appearance was indeed uncommon, his bearing fine, his name known throughout the realm, his skill unmatched in Chang'an.

The Dragon King entered and exchanged greetings with him. After the formalities, he was invited to sit, and a young attendant brought tea. The master asked, "What does the gentleman wish to ask?"

The Dragon King said, "I ask to know the weather in Heaven. Will there be rain or shine?"

At once the master made a calculation by sleight within his sleeve and declared:

"Cloud will dim the mountain peaks, mist will shroud the forest tips. If it is rain you seek, then rain will surely come tomorrow."

The Dragon King said, "At what hour tomorrow? And how much rain?"

The master answered, "Tomorrow at the hour of chen the clouds will gather. At si thunder will begin. At wu the rain will fall. At wei it will be done. The total will be three chi, three cun, and forty-eight points."

The Dragon King laughed.

"These are not words to trifle with. If tomorrow there is rain exactly as you say, at the hours and in the measure you name, I will bring you fifty taels in payment for the lesson. But if there is no rain, or if the time and amount do not agree, then I tell you plainly: I will smash your shopfront, tear down your signboard, and drive you out of Chang'an on the spot. You shall not be allowed to bewitch the people here any longer."

Yuan Shoucheng answered with easy cheer, "That shall be entirely as you say. We may leave it there and meet again after tomorrow's rain."

The Dragon King took his leave, left Chang'an, and returned to the water-court. The greater and lesser water-gods came out to meet him and asked what he had learned of the fortune-teller.

"There is one, yes. But no more than a smooth-tongued spring-beggar. I asked when it would rain, and he said tomorrow. I asked the hour and the measure, and he told me chen for cloud, si for thunder, wu for rain, wei for the end, and three chi, three cun, and forty-eight points in all. I wagered him fifty taels if it proved true. If it were wrong in even the slightest point, I would smash his shop and drive him from Chang'an."

The water-folk all laughed.

"Your Majesty commands the eight rivers, master dragon of rain itself. Whether it rains or not, only Your Majesty can know. How could he dare talk such nonsense? The fortune-teller is sure to lose."

They were all in the midst of their merriment - dragon heirs, fish officers, crab ministers - when a voice rang through the air:

"Jing River Dragon King, receive the decree."

All lifted their heads. A strongman in gold robes was descending from the sky, holding in both hands a jade-inked edict of the Jade Emperor. The Dragon King hurriedly set his clothing in order, lit incense, and received it with all due reverence. When the celestial messenger had departed, he opened the seal and read:

By decree of Heaven's command,
governor of the eight rivers,
go forth with thunder and lightning in hand.
Tomorrow bestow rain in mercy,
and bring relief to the city of Chang'an.

The hours and measure in the decree matched the fortune-teller's divination to the breadth of a hair. The Dragon King was so startled that his soul all but flew from him. When at last he recovered, he said to the water-folk:

"There truly is a spirit-man in the dusty world below, one who can understand the principles of Heaven and Earth. I cannot beat him at this."

Then the shad counselor stepped forward.

"Your Majesty, be at ease. What difficulty is there in defeating him? I have a little stratagem that will shut his mouth."

The Dragon King asked his plan.

"If Your Majesty sends the rain at the wrong hour and reduces the measure by a few points, then the man's divination will be proved false. Will that not defeat him? Then you may smash his signboard and drive him away from Chang'an. What could be easier?"

The Dragon King followed the advice and let his worry go.

Next day he summoned Wind Earl, Thunder Duke, the Cloud Lad, and the Lightning Mother, and rose into the high skies over Chang'an. There he delayed matters on purpose: clouds were not spread until the hour of si, thunder did not roll until wu, rain did not begin until wei, and it stopped only at shen. The total came to no more than three chi and forty points. Thus he shifted the hour by one full branch and cut the rainfall short by three cun and eight points.

Once the rain had passed, he dismissed the divine officers and sent them back. Then he lowered the cloud, became again the white-robed scholar, and stormed into Yuan Shoucheng's divining shop on West Gate Street. Without a word he smashed the signboard, the brushes, the inkstone, and everything else together. The master sat in his chair and did not move.

The Dragon King snatched up the door-plank and made to beat him with it.

"You lying devil, babbling disaster and blessing, bewitching the crowd! Your divination failed, your words were wild, the hours and measure of today's rain did not match at all. And still you sit there like a lord? Be off at once, and I will spare your life."

Yuan Shoucheng still did not show the least fear. Tilting his face upward, he gave a cold laugh.

"I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I have no death-guilt to fear. It is you who have death-guilt on your head. Others may be fooled, but not I. I know you. You are no scholar. You are the Dragon King of the Jing River. You disobeyed the Jade Emperor's decree, changed the hour, and cut the measure short. You have violated Heaven's law. At the Dragon-Slaying Terrace you will be lucky to escape a single stroke. And you still stand here cursing me?"

The Dragon King heard this and felt terror seize his bones. Hair and flesh stood on end. He dropped the door-plank, straightened his robes, and knelt before the master.

"Do not be angry, sir. Those earlier words were no more than a jest. I never knew play would turn to truth. Now that I have indeed broken Heaven's law, what am I to do? I beg you, save me. If not, I will not let you go even in death."

Yuan Shoucheng said, "I cannot save you. I can only point you toward the road of salvation."

"I beg instruction."

"Tomorrow, at the third quarter of noon, you are to be executed by Wei Zheng, official of the human bureaucracy. If you truly want your life, go at once and beg Emperor Taizong of Tang. Wei Zheng is his Chancellor. If you can win some personal favor from the emperor, then there may still be hope."

Hearing this, the Dragon King took his leave with tears in his eyes.

The red sun sank west, the moon climbed up, and all at once the world was like this:

Mist gathered purple in the hills while crows grew tired on the wing;
travelers on the long road made for their inns.
Fresh geese settled on the sandbars by the ferry,
the Milky Way appeared,
the watch-drums urged the hours on,
and in lonely villages the lights burned without flame.
Wind bent the incense-smoke at quiet monasteries,
and in butterfly dreams men were nowhere to be seen.
The moon shifted flower-shadows onto the railings,
stars broke and ran,
the water-clock changed,
and before one knew it the night was deep beyond half.

The Jing River Dragon King did not return to his palace. Instead he waited in the sky. Around midnight he gathered in his cloud and folded up his mist, then came straight to the gate of the imperial palace. At that very time Emperor Taizong, in a dream, had gone strolling outside the palace beneath moonlit flowers.

Suddenly the Dragon King took human form, stepped forward, and knelt.

"Your Majesty, save me, save me!"

Taizong said, "Who are you? I will save you if I can."

The Dragon King said, "Your Majesty is a true dragon. I am a karma-bound dragon. Because I violated Heaven's law, I am to be executed by your worthy minister Wei Zheng, who serves in the human bureaucracy. I have come to beg 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 and do not fear."

The Dragon King, overjoyed, kowtowed and left. When the emperor awoke, the dream clung to his mind. By then the third watch of the fifth drum had already come, and court was about to assemble.

What a court it was:

Mist over the phoenix towers, fragrance through the dragon halls.
Light played across the vermilion screens; clouds brushed the emerald canopies.
Lord and ministers fitted one another like Yao and Shun;
their rites and music held a majesty near to Han and Zhou.
Attendant officials with lamps, palace women with fans,
all shone in paired reflections.
Peacock screens, qilin halls,
light glimmered everywhere.
They cried ten thousand years, they blessed a thousand autumns.
The still-whip cracked three times,
caps and robes bowed to the dragon-crowned throne.
Palace flowers blazed, heavenly fragrance came in waves.
Light willows along the embankments moved to imperial music.
Pearl curtains and kingfisher curtains hung on high gold hooks;
dragon-and-phoenix fans, mountain-and-river fans stood beside the jeweled carriage.
Civil ministers were refined, military generals keen.
On the imperial way they took their places high and low.
Gold seals and purple sashes rode the triple emblems,
while Earth enduring and Heaven long vowed ten thousand times ten thousand years.

When the audience rites were complete, each official took his place. Emperor Taizong looked from beginning to end over the assembled ranks. Among the civil officials stood Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Xu Shiji, Xu Jingzong, Wang Gui, and the others; among the military officers stood Ma Sanbao, Duan Zhixuan, Yin Kaishan, Cheng Yaojin, Liu Hongji, Hu Jingde, Qin Shubao, and their peers. All stood in proper majesty.

Only Wei Zheng was missing.

The emperor summoned Xu Shiji and said, "Last night I had a strange dream. A man came before me and called himself the Dragon King of the Jing River. He said he had broken Heaven's law and was to be executed by Wei Zheng, who serves in the human bureaucracy. He begged me to save him, and I gave my word. Yet now, before the court, Wei Zheng alone is absent. What does this mean?"

Xu Shiji answered, "The dream speaks true. Wei Zheng must be summoned to court, and Your Majesty must not let him leave the palace today. If the day can be passed in that way, the dragon from your dream may be saved."

Taizong was delighted. He immediately ordered that Wei Zheng be brought in.

Now Wei Zheng, in his own residence, had been watching the celestial signs that night and burning precious incense when he heard cranes crying in the highest sky. A heavenly messenger had come by command of the Jade Emperor, bringing a golden decree that ordered him to behead the old dragon of the Jing River in a dream at the third quarter of noon.

The Chancellor, having thanked Heaven's grace, fasted, bathed, tested the edge of his wisdom-sword, and gathered his spirit. That was why he had not yet come to court.

The moment the imperial summons arrived he was seized with alarm. Yet he dared not delay the emperor's command. So he hastily dressed, belted his robes, and entered court, where he knelt before the throne and asked pardon for his lateness.

Taizong said, "Your fault is forgiven."

The court had not yet been dismissed, but at that point the emperor ordered the screens drawn and audience ended. He kept Wei Zheng behind, summoned him into a more private hall, and first discussed with him plans for securing the realm and stabilizing the state.

As the hour approached the end of si and the beginning of wu, the emperor ordered:

"Bring the great chessboard. I would play a game with my worthy minister."

The palace women at once brought out the board and laid it on the imperial table. Wei Zheng thanked the throne and began to play. Move followed move and the battle-lines opened on the board.

It matches well what the Classic of the Rotten Axe-Handle says:

The way of go prizes exactness. The high stones belong in the belly, the low stones on the sides, the middle stones in the corners - such is the common law of the game. The rule says: better lose one stone than lose the initiative. Strike left and watch right; attack behind and mind the front. There is before within after, and after within before. Do not cut apart two living groups, nor join together what may live without joining. Wide shapes must not be too sparse, dense shapes not too cramped. Better to abandon a stone and seize the victory than cling to life through attachment. Better to reinforce oneself than to go wandering with no business. If the enemy is many and you are few, seek first to live; if you are many and the enemy few, spread your force. The best victor does not contend; the best strategist does not fight; the best fighter is not defeated; the best loser is not thrown into disorder. Go begins with ordinary methods and ends with strange victory. Whenever your enemy reinforces himself for no apparent reason, he means to cut something off. When he abandons a small thing and will not rescue it, he is plotting for something larger. A man who plays at random has no plan; a man who answers without thought walks the road to defeat. The Book of Odes says: "tremble with care, as though standing on the brink." This is what it means.

A verse says:

The board is earth and the stones are Heaven,
their colors complete all yin and yang transformations.
Once the game reaches the subtle point where change runs deep,
one laughs to boast of the immortal who lost his axe-handle watching.

So ruler and minister played. Just as the game reached the third quarter of noon and the ending still hung unresolved, Wei Zheng suddenly drooped forward over the table and fell into a deep snoring sleep.

Taizong laughed.

"My worthy minister labors so hard for throne and state, and has worn himself out in founding and sustaining the realm, that he cannot help but doze."

He let Wei Zheng sleep on and did not wake him.

After a little while Wei Zheng came to and threw himself to the floor.

"I deserve death, I deserve death. Just now I was overcome with weariness and knew not what I did. I beg Your Majesty to forgive my discourtesy."

Taizong said, "What discourtesy is there to forgive? Rise. Clear away the broken game and let us begin anew."

Wei Zheng thanked him, and had just taken a stone in hand when there came a great shouting outside the palace gates. It was Qin Shubao and Xu Maogong, carrying in a dragon's head, dripping with blood, which they flung down before the emperor.

"Your Majesty, we have seen seas dry and rivers fail, but never such a marvel as this."

Taizong and Wei Zheng rose together.

"Where did this thing come from?"

Qin and Xu answered, "South of the Thousand-Step Corridor, at the crossing on Ten-Street Square, this dragon's head fell from the clouds. We dared not fail to report it."

The Tang king turned in alarm to Wei Zheng. "What is the meaning of this?"

Wei Zheng turned, bowed, and said, "It was your servant who beheaded it in a dream."

The emperor was greatly astonished.

"While you slept, you never moved hand or body, and there was no sword in sight. How then could you have slain this dragon?"

Wei Zheng answered:

"Your Majesty, while my body remained before the throne, my dream departed from it. My body sat before Your Majesty facing the unfinished game, eyes closed in a blur. My dream left Your Majesty and mounted an auspicious cloud, spirit fully roused. There on the Dragon-Slaying Terrace the dragon had already been bound by the heavenly soldiers. I said to him, 'You have broken Heaven's law and are rightly marked for death. I act now under Heaven's command and cut short your remnant life.'

"The dragon heard and wailed in misery; your servant gathered his spirit. The dragon, hearing and grieving, drew in claw and scale and accepted death. I, gathering myself, lifted my robes, advanced a step, and raised the frosted blade. With one sharp stroke the sword went through, and because of that the dragon's head dropped into the empty air."

When Taizong heard this, joy and grief rose together in him. Joy, because Wei Zheng was such a minister that with men like this in court what danger could the realm fear? Grief, because in his dream he had promised the dragon life, yet in the end the creature had been executed all the same.

All he could do was force his spirits steady, order Qin Shubao to hang the dragon's head in the market for the people of Chang'an to see, reward Wei Zheng, and dismiss the court.

That night, back in the palace, he remained heavy-hearted. He thought again and again of the dragon from his dream, weeping and pleading for life, and never guessed how relentless fate could be. The longer he brooded, the more weary his spirit grew and the more unwell his body became.

Then, in the second watch of the night, crying was heard beyond the palace gate. The emperor's fear only deepened. Half asleep, half waking, he suddenly saw the Jing River Dragon King before him, carrying in his hand his own blood-slick severed head and shouting:

"Tang Taizong, give me back my life! Last night you promised with your whole mouth to save me, so why when day came did you call in the man of the human bureaucracy to kill me? Come out! Come out! I will drag the matter before the Lord of the Dead and argue it through."

He seized the emperor and would not let go, crying and raging again and again. Taizong could not force out a word and struggled till sweat poured from him.

Just when all seemed impossible to untangle, fragrant clouds and bright mist appeared in the south. A holy woman stepped forward and flicked her willow branch once. At once the headless dragon gave a grief-stricken cry and fled northwest.

This was Guanyin, traveling east under the Buddha's command to seek the scripture pilgrim. She had been staying in the earth god's shrine in Chang'an. Hearing ghosts wail and spirits cry in the night, she came at once, drove off the karmic dragon, and saved the emperor.

The dragon went on to the courts of the dead to press his complaint; we leave that matter aside for now.

As for Emperor Taizong, when he woke he could only shout, "A ghost! A ghost!" The three palaces of empresses, the six courts of concubines, the eunuchs, and all the close attendants shook with fear and passed the whole night without sleep.

When the third watch of the fifth drum came, all the civil and military officers were already waiting outside the court gates. Yet dawn came and still the emperor did not appear. Every man there was frightened and uncertain. Only when the sun had climbed high was an order issued:

"The emperor is unwell. The ministers are excused from attendance."

Five or six days passed in this way. The ministers grew more and more alarmed and were just on the point of forcing their way in to ask after the emperor's health when the Empress Dowager sent out an order summoning the court physicians into the palace.

The ministers waited at the gate for word. After a time the physicians came out, and the ministers asked what the illness was.

The physicians replied, "His Majesty's pulse is disordered: weak, yet hurried. He raves of seeing ghosts. We also find the signs of decline: one pulse-beat out of ten lost, the five organs empty of force. We fear that if no miracle intervenes, death will come within seven days."

The ministers went pale with shock.

In the midst of that dismay another order came from the Empress Dowager, summoning Xu Maogong, Duke Protector of the Realm Qin Shubao, and Yuchi Gong to attend the emperor.

The three answered the command and were led beneath the pavilion of the divided palace. After they had bowed, Taizong forced himself upright and said:

"Worthy ministers, since I first took up arms at nineteen, marching south and north, blocking east and clearing west, through all those bitter years I never once saw so much as a hint of demonic trouble. Yet now I have come to see ghosts."

Yuchi Gong said, "Your Majesty founded the realm and has killed countless men. Why fear ghosts?"

Taizong said, "You do not believe me. Outside the gate of my sleeping palace, every night there comes the sound of bricks thrown and tiles smashed, while ghosts and demons howl. By day I can endure it; by night I cannot bear it."

Qin Shubao said, "Let Your Majesty set your mind at rest. Tonight your servant and Yuchi Gong will stand guard at the palace gate and see what ghosts dare come."

Taizong approved. Xu Maogong thanked the throne and withdrew. That evening the two generals took their armor and arms, dressed in full mail, and stood outside the palace gate holding gold maces and battle-axes.

What generals they were. Look how they stood:

Golden helms blazing bright on their heads,
scale armor upon their bodies like dragon-hide.
The mirrors over their hearts flashed with cloudlight;
lion-clasps were buckled tight,
embroidered sashes bright as dawn.
The one had phoenix eyes that made the stars themselves afraid to look;
the other ringed eyes flashing like lightning in the moon.
They were old heroes, merit-rich ministers,
yet it was given to them at last to be praised for a thousand years as door-guards,
and for ten thousand ages as guardian gods of the gate.

The two generals stood there all night long. By dawn not the least hint of ghost or demon had appeared. That night the emperor slept peacefully in the palace, and when morning came he summoned the generals in and rewarded them richly.

"Since I fell ill I have not slept for days. Last night, thanks to the awe of you two, I rested in peace. Go now and take your ease. But tonight I will trouble you to guard me once more."

The two generals thanked the throne and withdrew. For two or three nights they kept watch, and all was well. Yet the emperor's appetite failed, and his sickness only grew heavier.

At length Taizong could not bear to wear out the two generals any further. So he summoned Qin Shubao, Yuchi Gong, and the rest - Du Ruhui, Fang Xuanling, and the others - and said:

"These last few days I have known peace, but only by making Qin and Hu keep hard watch through the night. I mean to summon skilled painters, have the two generals' true likenesses taken, and paste them on the gate so they need not labor further. What do you think?"

The ministers all agreed. Two expert portrait-painters were chosen. Qin and Hu stood again in full armor, and their images were painted exactly as they appeared. The portraits were then pasted to the gate. At night there was no trouble there either.

But after two or three nights more, a pounding of bricks and tiles was heard at the back gate of the palace. At dawn the emperor summoned the ministers and said:

"For the front gate, by good fortune, there has been peace these past days. But last night the rear gate rang out instead. Must I now be frightened to death from that side?"

Xu Maogong stepped forward.

"If the front gate was secured by Qin and Yuchi, then the rear gate should be secured by Wei Zheng."

Taizong approved and ordered Wei Zheng to stand watch at the rear gate that night. Wei Zheng accepted the command and, dressed in full order, took up the very sword that had beheaded the dragon and stood guard before the back gate of the palace.

And truly he looked the hero:

A blue silk kerchief bound against his brow,
a brocade robe and jade belt falling at his waist.
His wind-tossed cloak gave off a frosty gleam,
his face outdid even a guardian god.
Black boots planted firm,
sharp blade in hand,
his round eyes staring to the four sides -
what spirit of evil would dare come near?

All night the lamps burned bright, and no ghost or demon showed itself. The gates, front and rear, were quiet now, yet the emperor's body continued to worsen.

One day the Empress Dowager ordered the ministers summoned to discuss the matters of burial and entombment. Taizong also called Xu Maogong near and entrusted to him the great affairs of state, in the manner of Liu Bei leaving his orphaned charge. When he had said all that needed saying, he bathed, changed his clothes, and sat ready for the hour to come.

Then suddenly Wei Zheng stepped out, caught at the dragon robe, and said:

"Your Majesty, set your mind at ease. Your servant has one thing that will surely preserve Your Majesty's life."

Taizong said, "My illness has already reached the marrow. My life is in danger. How can it be preserved?"

Wei Zheng answered, "I have a letter. I ask leave to place it in Your Majesty's sleeve so that you may take it with you to the underworld and deliver it to Judge Cui Jue of Fengdu."

The emperor asked, "Who is Cui Jue?"

Wei Zheng said, "Cui Jue served before the late august emperor. He first held office in this province and later rose to be Vice Minister of Rites. While living, he and I became sworn brothers, and our friendship was deep. He is dead now and serves in the underworld as the judge who keeps the ledgers of life and death in Fengdu. He still meets me often in dreams. If Your Majesty carries this letter to him, then for the sake of our old friendship he will surely send Your Majesty back. I guarantee that your soul will return to the world of light and your imperial face again be seen in the capital."

Taizong heard this, took the letter, and tucked it into his sleeve. Then he closed his eyes and died.

At once the three palaces and six courts, the empress and the concubines, the crown prince, the close attendants, and all the civil and military officers raised the cry of mourning and put on white. The imperial coffin was set out in White Tiger Hall, and there we leave it.

But how Emperor Taizong returned from death is another matter, and must wait for the next chapter.