Xuanzang felt truly wretched inwardly. According to Boluoye, the “saw-blade marks” on Lady Li’s body had been caused by intimacy with her husband — yet her husband himself believed it was a ghost. Was that not quite literally a haunting?

It had to be said: in the Great Tang, women occupied a relatively high status, and ideas about chastity were comparatively relaxed. It was not uncommon for women to lose their virtue before marriage, and after marriage — or after widowhood — affairs were even more frequently heard of.

But the problem was… why should he, a monk, get tangled up in this business for no reason?

Xuanzang tried every way he could to decline, but Guo Zai was an earnest, simple-hearted man who, having decided Xuanzang was a great monk, would simply not let him go. He first sent Ma Dianli away, and then shut the main gate and arranged lodgings for both Xuanzang and Boluoye. Xuanzang was completely at a loss. He was deeply fond of this giant county magistrate’s wholehearted sincerity, and thought to himself: if I use the Dharma to enlighten him a little, so that even if this matter comes to light in the future he can handle it with a calm mind, that would itself be a meritorious deed — so he stopped insisting.

Guo Zai was overjoyed, and immediately ordered Qiu’er to clear out two guest rooms for Xuanzang and Boluoye to stay in.

It was only the xu hour — night had just fallen, lanterns freshly lit — still early for sleep. The two sat down again in the main hall over fragrant tea to talk.

Guo Zai began to describe in detail the “strange occurrences” that had been happening to his wife — nothing different from what Mo Lan had described. Xuanzang listened with a heavy heart, gazing at him with compassion, not knowing what to say.

“Ah, to have married Youniang — that is the blessing of my entire life, Guo Zai,” Guo Zai said. When he spoke of his wife, he was visibly animated. “Youniang’s beauty goes without saying — look at the painting of the court lady on the wall — that is what Youniang looked like before she was wed. And that poem captures Youniang so perfectly, as if she were a heavenly immortal — well, she is a heavenly immortal.”

Xuanzang followed Guo Zai’s pointing finger and looked — it was the same painting he had seen earlier in the day. He could not help but be somewhat intrigued, and ventured to ask: “Your Lordship, do you understand the meaning within the poem?”

“Of course,” Guo Zai said with confidence. “It is praising Youniang’s beauty, is it not?”

Xuanzang was instantly at a loss for words.

“And not only is Youniang beautiful, she is also talented and learned — poetry, painting, music, chess — all of them she has mastered. And what is even more rare, her needlework is excellent as well,” Guo Zai said with pleased pride, patting his own official robe. “This robe was made by Youniang. The stitching is fine and close, and it fits well — even on this clumsy body of mine it looks quite presentable.”

Xuanzang found himself unable to think of how to converse with this man, and simply stayed silent, listening to his boasting. After Guo Zai had been speaking enthusiastically for some time and noticed that Xuanzang was saying nothing, he suddenly felt reproachful toward himself: “Ah, oh dear — right, I just remembered: venerable master, you traveled all the way from Chang’an to Huoyi specifically to find me. On my way back I heard this from Ma Dianli, but I was so excited that I completely forgot.”

At this, Xuanzang’s heart grew heavy and his expression gradually became solemn: “Amitabha Buddha — this poor monk did indeed come to visit Your Lordship on a matter.”

“Please speak,” Guo Zai said, slapping his chest. “As long as it is something within my power, I will not disappoint the venerable master no matter what.”

“This poor monk has come to investigate an old case,” Xuanzang said slowly. “In the 6th year of Wude, the county magistrate at that time was named Cui Jue — is that correct?”

At the name “Cui Jue,” a look of bewilderment flashed across Guo Zai’s face, followed by something like discomfort. He nodded: “That’s right — Cui Jue was the previous county magistrate. I succeeded his post.”

“I have heard that Cui Jue died while in office here as Huoyi County Magistrate?” Xuanzang watched Guo Zai’s expression and felt a surge of puzzlement in his heart, not knowing what about this was taboo — but the matter was too significant for him not to ask. “At the time, a monk came to the county office to find Magistrate Cui, the two of them spoke, and that very night Magistrate Cui hanged himself?”

Guo Zai picked up the teacup before him and slowly took a sip, glanced toward the door of the hall, and his eyes contracted slightly: “That is indeed the case. At the time, this official was still serving as county captain in Dinghu County — I was not transferred here until after Magistrate Cui’s passing, and so did not witness the events myself. But after taking up my post, I heard it discussed in private by colleagues in the yamen — Senior Clerk Gao and Deputy Magistrate Xu both spoke of it to me directly, so I do not think it can be false. Venerable master, please look —” Guo Zai rose to his feet and pointed to a tree in the courtyard. “That is the very tree under which Magistrate Cui hanged himself.”

Xuanzang was greatly startled. He rose and walked to the veranda to look. Sure enough, on the west side of the courtyard stood a paulownia tree, its wide canopy almost covering half the courtyard.

“That horizontal branch extending to the east — that is where the white silk was tied,” Guo Zai said behind him in a heavy tone.

It was sobering to think — seven years ago, a county magistrate had hanged himself from a tree right before their eyes. And now this place had become his home, with his official position the same one that man had once held. Of course Guo Zai carried a shadow in his heart.

Xuanzang gazed silently at the tree, without turning back, and asked softly: “Did anyone know the content of the conversation between the monk and Magistrate Cui at the time?”

Guo Zai thought for a moment: “That this official cannot say clearly — I have never heard it spoken of. A sixth-rank county magistrate hanging himself — an event of such magnitude — if anyone had known the content of their conversation, it would certainly have spread through the yamen. Apparently the prefect of the time dispatched a subordinate to come down and investigate the case of Magistrate Cui’s hanging, and took testimony from numerous witnesses. If anyone had known, they would have said so at the time. Since neither the prefecture nor the county ever mentioned it, there was presumably no one who knew.”

“Then what became of that monk afterward?” Xuanzang began to grow anxious.

“That monk?” Guo Zai was bewildered, and thought for a long time, ultimately shaking his head. “That demon monk appeared out of nowhere — after appearing that day at the county office, no one ever saw him again. The prefect even dispatched men to arrest him, but that demon monk had no known origin, no known destination, and in the end the matter was left unresolved.”

Xuanzang’s face was sorrowful, and he asked softly: “Not even his dharma name is known?”

“Unknown,” Guo Zai said decisively. “If it were known, how could he remain uncaptured? I served as a county captain for many years and made no end of arrests — what I fear most are precisely these suspects with no known background and no name.”

“Surely someone in the county office at the time must have seen him?” Xuanzang persisted, unwilling to give up.

Guo Zai nodded: “Naturally. When the monk came, there were two runners at the gate, and a revenue clerk also saw him. But that clerk was old and went back to his home village in the 9th year of Wude; of the two runners, one died of illness, and the other… how is it that I haven’t seen him in so many years?”

Guo Zai patted his head, then suddenly clapped his hands: “That’s right, venerable master — it just occurs to me that in order to attempt to capture this person, the prefecture at the time had a likeness drawn of that monk. Though the years have passed, I think it can still probably be found. Let me go look for it right now.”

This Guo Zai was an extremely warm-hearted person, and without even asking why, he immediately had Xuanzang sit in the hall and went striding off to the front office.

The county office naturally did not operate at night, but there were people on duty. Guo Zai did not mind the trouble, and went directly to the clerks’ quarters on the west side of the compound to find the night-duty scribe. Seeing the county magistrate himself had come, even at this late hour, the scribe did not dare delay, and hearing Guo Zai’s request, began searching through the room where documents were stored.

Old case files and records like these could not be found in a moment. Xuanzang sat alone in the reception hall with his eyes closed, his gaze lowered, fingering his prayer beads, silently reciting the Pure Land Rebirth Divine Incantation. It was said that reciting this incantation three hundred thousand times would enable one to behold Amitabha Buddha in person. Xuanzang was on his ninety-seventh recitation when he suddenly heard footsteps in the courtyard outside, followed by Mo Lan’s voice: “Young Miss, you’re finally back. Madam has mentioned you many times — if you’d been any later, she would have sent me to Lady Zhou’s to bring you.”

A young woman’s languid voice replied: “I grew tired from studying and rested there a while. Young Master Zhou has gotten his hands on some curious gadget from a man of the Western Regions — I’ll bring you to see it sometime.”

The footsteps reached the door of the reception hall. The young woman saw there was someone inside and asked curiously: “Who is in the reception hall? Where is Father?”

“A high monk from Chang’an came today, and Father has invited him to stay in the home,” Mo Lan said. “Just a little while ago Father had some urgent business and went to the yamen.”

“Mm.” The young woman paid no particular attention, but did not pass through the reception hall either. She went around through the side door into the inner quarters.

This young woman must be the county magistrate’s daughter, Lv Luo. Xuanzang paid no heed and continued reciting the incantation. When he reached the one hundred and fifty-third recitation, heavy footsteps announced themselves — unmistakably Guo Zai; no one else could make the floor sound like a beating drum.

“Ha ha, venerable master, venerable master!” Guo Zai walked in with great delight, raising a yellowed scroll in his hand. “Found it — we really found it.”

Xuanzang’s heart leaped. He quickly opened his eyes and took the scroll from Guo Zai’s hands — his hands were even trembling slightly. Guo Zai was inwardly surprised, and fell silent, watching him.

Xuanzang made a great effort to compose himself. His Chan mind was stable as a great river reflecting the full moon — when a stone falls in, it raises a brief ripple, which then scatters and vanishes. He calmly unrolled the scroll. Inside was a rough-brushed portrait of a monk. The brushwork was crude, and having been drawn from other people’s descriptions, it bore little resemblance to the true subject — only the outline was somewhat similar.

The overall impression was of eyes that were long and keen, a broad forehead, a high nose, and a square mouth. From the perspective of physiognomy, these features were the most likely to be inherited, and so it seemed the authorities had some basis for drawing it this way.

Xuanzang stared at the drawing in a daze, and slowly his eyes began to redden. For a single instant, his Chan mind faltered — surging like the rivers and the sea.

“Venerable master,” Guo Zai was immensely puzzled, and tilted his head to look at the drawing. Suddenly he paused. “It does look somewhat like the venerable master.” He immediately knew he had spoken wrongly. How could anyone compare the widely acclaimed Master Xuanzang of Chang’an with a demon monk who was a fugitive from the law?

But Xuanzang gave a light sigh and, unexpectedly, said in a perfectly calm voice: “Your Lordship is right. This fugitive monk bears a striking resemblance to this poor monk’s second elder brother — Changjie.”

Guo Zai was shaken to the core, and his eyes went wide. After a long silence, he murmured: “Venerable master — this is no matter for jokes.” He paused, then said in a low, serious voice: “You must have mistaken the likeness. This monk is a fugitive wanted by the authorities, while you are the ‘Young Thoroughbred of the Buddhist Gate’ whose reputation fills Chang’an. How can they be mentioned in the same breath? You have built a reputation of great virtue — please do not let some small flaw give others a handle against you.”

Guo Zai’s words were entirely well-meant. Whether or not this was truly his second brother, Xuanzang had only a conjecture — and even if it were, once one entered the Buddhist gate, all four elements of the self were empty, and worldly kinship fell far short of the importance of Chan cultivation. Why expose oneself to trouble for the sake of a suspected fugitive whose identity was not yet clear?

But Xuanzang slowly shook his head: “When this poor monk was a novice, I saw mountains as mountains and rivers as rivers — the great universe offered nothing distinct. Then while cultivating Chan at Konghui Monastery, there came a day when suddenly I saw mountains as no longer mountains, rivers as no longer rivers. And then, traveling the realm for ten years in study, in the end I found that I saw mountains as mountains still, and rivers as rivers still. An elder brother from one’s lay household is no different from what he was in childhood.”

Seeing Xuanzang begin to speak in the manner of Chan, Guo Zai immediately knelt and sat up straight, his expression reverential.

“People in the world all believe that the great path of cultivation is sought from without — that reciting the Rebirth Incantation twenty-one times each morning and evening can expiate the five deadly sins, the ten evils, and the slander of the Dharma; that reciting it three hundred thousand times can grant one sight of Amitabha Buddha. Building temples and stupas, holding vegetarian feasts and giving alms, copying sutras and making images — these may accumulate meritorious karma, but how can they compare to seeing one’s own nature and beholding the Buddha? To cultivate Chan is to cultivate the heart,” Xuanzang said. “Every person’s path of cultivation is as distinct as the grains of sand in the Ganges, as unique as the leaves on the Bodhi tree — no two are the same. Yet those who have attained enlightenment are beyond counting. This shows that every path can lead to realization of the Way. Who can know whether this trip to Huoyi is not a necessary passage on my road to realization? Who can know whether second brother Changjie, having committed this terrible offense, is not confronting a demonic obstacle that he must overcome on his own path?”

“And so,” Xuanzang smiled, “to see a kinsman crossing treacherous waters and not dare to acknowledge him — that is not a person who has not seen him clearly. That is a person who has not seen his own heart clearly.”

Guo Zai listened in a kind of rapture, his eyes filling with tears, and kowtowed in a choked voice: “Your Lordship — ah, no — this disciple understands.”

Xuanzang concealed nothing from this honest and earnest county magistrate, and told him in full detail the purpose of his visit to Huoyi — the search for his second elder brother Changjie.

From the time he was ten years old and his brother had brought him to Jingtu Monastery to enter monastic life, the two brothers had depended on each other, inseparable as form and shadow. In a time of chaos, once parted it was nearly impossible to meet again; and besides, the younger brother was still a child, and the elder wanted to care for him better. After the warfare in Luoyang, the brothers had fled to Chang’an, and from there made their way together to Yizhou, where they spent five years.

In the spring of the 4th year of Wude, Xuanzang felt that the great masters of Yizhou could no longer answer his doubts in Chan cultivation, and proposed to his brother that the two of them travel the realm together to seek out eminent teachers — especially to go to Zhaozhou to study the Chengshi Treatise with Dharma Master Daoshen.

But at that time, Changjie had been constantly occupied and did not know what with, and stubbornly refused to leave Yizhou. Moreover, Changjie was worried about Xuanzang’s safety — the realm was still at war, and the Great Tang had a policy of restricted passage. Travelers at checkpoints had to present a travel permit, and to cross a checkpoint without one was illegal, punishable by a year of hard labor.

Changjie warned him repeatedly, but Xuanzang’s resolve was firm. He had no choice but to leave a letter, and set out alone — passing the checkpoints illegally to leave Shu. That one departure lasted for years. As his studies advanced, his renown grew ever greater, and wherever he passed, tales of a brilliant young monk spread in his wake. In the 8th year of Wude, Xuanzang arrived in Chang’an, and after spending time in the company of the great Buddhist masters there — Fa Ya, Fa Lin, Dao Yue, Seng Bian, Xuan Hui — and especially after being invited to lecture on the Miscellaneous Heart Treatise and making a great name for himself, earning the title “Young Thoroughbred of the Buddhist Gate,” he finally heard news of his elder brother.

Only then did Xuanzang learn that his own brother had committed a shocking, appalling act and was wanted by the authorities.

In the 4th year of Wude, Changjie, at Konghui Monastery in Yizhou, had severed the head of the dharma master Xuancheng — and then fled as a criminal.

Xuanzang was horrified and heartbroken beyond measure. Dharma Master Xuancheng was a monk whom Xuanzang had deeply revered. When the two brothers had first arrived in Yizhou, they had resided at Konghui Monastery and been taught by Dharma Master Xuancheng. This venerable monk was kind-hearted — in the time of war in the Central Plains while Yizhou remained peaceful, countless monks had fled there as refugees, and though Konghui Monastery itself was not well-off, Dharma Master Xuancheng had kept the doors open and taken in all who came, sheltering a great many monks and novices. He was deeply fond of Changjie and Xuanzang, and had even designated Changjie as his own dharma heir, praising the two brothers as the “Twin Steeds of the Chen Household.”

Xuanzang had even once suspected that his brother’s reluctance to leave Yizhou and travel with him was due to attachment to Dharma Master Xuancheng’s dharma succession, unwilling to go. But he could never have imagined that in just four years, such a terrible tragedy had unfolded.

Xuanzang had inquired thoroughly in Chang’an, but the monks there had only heard the story second-hand and did not know the full details. Later he encountered a monk he had known from his time in Yizhou and from him extracted the full sequence of events — though “full” meant only the process after the authorities had become involved. As to why Changjie had killed his master, where he had fled, and what hidden circumstances underlay it all — no one could say.

Xuanzang immediately went back to Yizhou and visited old acquaintances there. The Buddhist community there harbored deep resentment toward Changjie, though they held no great grudge against Xuanzang himself. Still, he learned nothing new. He even paid a visit to the authorities, only to learn that they too had no clear explanation for the motive behind Changjie’s killing of his master. No one had been competing with Changjie for Dharma Master Xuancheng’s dharma succession. In recent years, the dharma master’s health had been in decline, and all the affairs of Konghui Monastery, large and small, had been settled by Changjie’s word alone. The military governor of the Yizhou circuit, the Duke of Zan Guo, Dou Gui, held Changjie in high regard — Changjie’s position and standing were illustrious and comfortable. What possible reason could he have had for such a deranged act?

Xuanzang could not fathom it no matter how hard he thought, and returned to Chang’an in a state of frustration.

But last year, he suddenly heard someone mention an old case from the Hedong Circuit: a monk, with no name and no known origins, had forced his way into the Huoyi County Office, spoken with the county magistrate, and somehow caused that upstanding county magistrate to hang himself. Had the magistrate been guilty of corruption or wrongdoing, one might accept it — but after investigation by the Jinzhou prefecture, he had been found to be an incorrupt and upright official with an outstanding record, well-known for his reputation throughout the Hedong Circuit.

That a magistrate of such great promise should be talked to death by a monk was simply inconceivable.

Xuanzang made thorough inquiries, and found that the monk’s age and height seemed to match his brother’s. He could not help but begin to wonder whether that monk might be his brother Changjie.

From the 1st year of Zhenguan onward, after Xuanzang in Chang’an had met the eminent Tianzhu monk Prabhakaramitra, he had begun to feel the pull of a pilgrimage west to Tianzhu. Prabhakaramitra was a disciple of the great Tianzhu master Shilabhadra, and his mastery of the Dharma was already so profound and deep — what manner of monk, then, was his own teacher? If Xuanzang could go to Tianzhu and receive the personal instruction of this master, would that not be a great blessing?

Over all these years of traveling the realm, Xuanzang’s fame had grown ever greater — yet his perplexity over the principles of the Dharma had also deepened. And so he had resolved to make the journey westward. But the road to the west was vast — tens of thousands of li — through great deserts and mountain ranges covered in snow, through the territories of countless foreign peoples. The chances of surviving the journey to reach his destination were exceedingly slim, and the chances of returning to the Great Tang were even more vanishingly small.

Yet his elder brother bore the burden of killing his own master and was wanted by the authorities, his whereabouts still unknown. If Xuanzang could not get to the bottom of it, he feared it would become a permanent demonic obstacle in his heart, with no liberation in sight.

So Xuanzang had made a solemn vow: to find his brother, to uncover the truth behind the matter — and then to set out on the westward road, the road with no return, in his quest for the Dharma.

After listening to Xuanzang finish, Guo Zai fell into a long silence, looking at Xuanzang with a somewhat complicated expression. After quite some time, he spoke in a low voice: “Venerable master’s resolve commands this official’s deepest admiration. If I can be of any assistance, I will do everything in my power — only…” He hesitated for a while, and then said dejectedly, “I really have no trace of a lead on this monk. To speak plainly: I served as a county captain, and if I had any lead on his whereabouts, I would have had him arrested and brought to justice long ago.”

“This poor monk naturally understands Your Lordship’s meaning,” Xuanzang said. “I have not come to find my second brother in order to clear his name. The law of the world has its own justice — a life for a life, this is both the law of heaven and the law of man, and this poor monk would not dare violate it. I only wish to find my second brother’s whereabouts and learn the truth behind the matter.”

Guo Zai nodded, frowned in thought, and said: “Venerable master, as for this monk I cannot say much — but as for the former county magistrate Cui Jue, I have heard some things that are very peculiar.”

“Peculiar? In what way?” Xuanzang asked, startled.

“County Magistrate Cui Jue, courtesy name Mengzhi, sobriquet Fengzi. It is said that the paulownia tree in the front courtyard was planted by his own hand — perhaps in allusion to the saying that the phoenix alights only in the paulownia. He became county magistrate of Huoyi in the 1st year of Wude, and his literary genius was so exceptional that even I, who have lived in northern Shanxi for generations, had heard his name long before. Not only was he a man of letters — he also knew military strategy. It is said that in those days when the retired Emperor raised his troops against the Sui and was blocked at Huoyi by Song Laosheng, it was he who offered a stratagem to surround and lure out the enemy, breaking Song Laosheng’s Sui forces. Afterward, when Song Jingang’s army came to the city walls, he dared to mount a night raid with only a band of militia; when the garrison commander Xun Xiang tried to defect, he concealed a blade on his person and went alone to Xun Xiang’s mansion to make an attempt on his life. The man had both literary and military genius, both courage and statecraft. From the time he became county magistrate of Huoyi, he governed the county in perfect order, and was deeply loved by the people. After his death in the 6th year of Wude, there arose among the local people a very peculiar legend.”

“Oh? In what way peculiar?”

“The people of Huoyi all say that after County Magistrate Cui died, he entered the Ni Li Prison,” Guo Zai said gravely. “He became the judge under the Yan Mouluo King, governing life, death, and reincarnation in the Ni Li Prison, and passing judgment on the good and evil of the mortal world.”

“The Ni Li Prison?” Xuanzang was stunned.

As a Buddhist monk, he was naturally familiar with the concept. The notion of the Ni Li Prison had been present since Buddhism was introduced to China during the Western Han dynasty. During the Eastern Han, the eminent monk An Shigao — formerly a crown prince of Parthia — came to China, translated Buddhist sutras, and among them translated the Sutra of the Eighteen Ni Li Prisons. But Buddhist views on the Ni Li Prison differed, and popular legends were even more varied. Just how the Ni Li Prison was structured — eight levels or eighteen levels — the monks themselves could not agree. The Southern Dynasties monk Sengyou compiled the Collected Records from the Tripitaka Compilation, which recorded more than ten versions of “sutras on Ni Li” that lacked clear attribution.

“Yes,” Guo Zai said with a wry smile. “A legend… and one only seven years old at that… It is said that Magistrate Cui ‘by day adjudicates affairs of the living, by night judges the grievances of the dead — ferreting out people and spirits alike, more discerning than any divine being.’ In this county alone there are many stories about judgments rendered by Magistrate Cui. One particularly strange case is called ‘The Clear Judgment of the Vicious Tiger Attack.’ The story goes that Mount Huo was frequently prowled by fierce beasts. One day, a woodcutter who had gone up the mountain to cut firewood was eaten by a tiger. His widowed mother was devastated and went to the court to cry her grievance. County Magistrate Cui immediately issued a warrant, ordering yamen runners to take an official summons up the mountain to arrest the tiger. The runners read the summons aloud before the mountain god’s temple and placed it on the altar — whereupon a tiger came bounding out from behind the temple, clutching the summons in its jaws, and stood before the runners, allowing itself to be bound with an iron chain. The vicious tiger was brought to the county office, and County Magistrate Cui immediately convened a trial. In the courtroom, Magistrate Cui enumerated the crimes of the vicious tiger in attacking and harming people — and the tiger nodded its head repeatedly. The final verdict was: having consumed a human life, the crime admits of no pardon. Thereupon the tiger struck itself against the steps and died.”

“Truly extraordinary,” Xuanzang sighed deeply. “The rain and mist of the past, once turned away, becomes nothing — and becomes a legend passed mouth to mouth.”

“This is not a legend,” Guo Zai’s face wore an unspeakable expression. “The yamen… has the case file for this matter.”

“What?” Xuanzang was dumbfounded.

“It does indeed.” Guo Zai drew a long breath. “After succeeding to the post, I was exceedingly curious about this former County Magistrate Cui — having spent my career on battlefields, I was all the more skeptical when I heard these tales. So I questioned my colleagues and examined the case files. To my astonishment… it was all there. The case of ‘The Clear Judgment of the Vicious Tiger Attack’ is recorded in full detail, and the yamen runner who went up to Mount Huo to arrest the tiger is even identified by name — he was called Meng Xian, a genuine runner at the yamen, who later drowned in a river while going to the countryside to collect grain taxes when the river suddenly flooded. That was in the 4th year of Wude. And today, some of the people who recorded those case files and took part in the proceedings are still alive — they witnessed these things with their own eyes!”

This time, Xuanzang was truly astonished. Though he believed in Buddhism, he had always sought the great path of the Tathagata with singular devotion, and paid no attention to magical arts, divination, or the occult — regarding such things as lesser pursuits of an inferior order, believing that excessive reverence for them would undermine one’s Chan mind. He had never expected to hear such an extraordinary tale today.

“And there is more,” Guo Zai continued. “After County Magistrate Cui’s death, the legend arose that he had entered the Ni Li Prison and become a judge. The local people, moved by gratitude for his beneficence, erected a shrine temple on Mount Huo, calling it the Judge’s Temple — the incense there burns without ceasing. When the people have a grievance or misfortune, they go to offer incense and pray, and as a result… that County Magistrate Cui — or I should say, Judge Cui —” Guo Zai gave a wry smile, “has proven miraculously efficacious!”

“What sort of efficacy?” Xuanzang asked curiously.

“Let me give a few examples,” Guo Zai said. “In the 8th year of Wude, an old man named Jin Laohan from Donggou Village — his wife and he were both past seventy — had only one son, who had gone with a tea merchant to Jiangxi to buy tea and had never returned. After all these years, they did not know whether their son was alive or dead. Old Madam Jin missed her son so terribly that she cried herself blind. The elderly couple heard that the Judge’s Temple was efficacious, and so trekked dozens of li and climbed Mount Huo to pray at the temple. They said: ‘Judge Cui — if our son is dead, let him appear to us in a dream, so at least we can set our hearts at rest; if he is not dead, please let him come home quickly. If we wait another two years, I fear both of us will die alone, with no one to care for our remains…'”

Xuanzang listened quietly. Guo Zai continued: “Oddly enough, the very night they returned home, Judge Cui appeared in their dream. He said: your son is not dead — he is now stranded in Lingnan. I have already sent word to him and told him to return home immediately. The elderly couple woke the next day half-believing and half-doubtful — but four months later, their son indeed came back from Lingnan. He said that in Jiangxi he had been cheated out of all his savings, and in shame had been unable to return home. So he followed a group of merchants to Lingnan to deal in tea. Then four months ago, he dreamed of a man in official robes who called himself Judge Cui, saying his elderly parents missed him desperately and telling him to go home at once…”

“Amitabha Buddha.” Xuanzang pressed his palms together in feeling. “The sincere love between parent and child moved even a ghost judge — how deeply felt.”

“Indeed! And there are many more such mysterious events,” Guo Zai continued. “Judge Cui’s reputation for miraculous deeds has spread throughout not just Huoyi but the entire Hedong Circuit. In recent years, people have been disappearing in Pingyao County in Fenzhou. One family named Zhao — their only son disappeared and was missing for several years without a trace. Hearing that the Judge’s Temple was efficacious, his mother, Zhao Shi, traveled several hundred li and knelt in the temple, weeping bitterly, begging the judge to reveal where her son was. After returning home, she dreamed of Judge Cui, who told her that her son had died long ago and his body was buried at a certain place. Zhao Shi went to that place, dug up the grave, and indeed found a skeleton — though impossible to identify, the skeleton’s neck bore a longevity lock, which was indeed her son’s.”

In the stillness of the deep night, within this ancient residence of many decades, listening to Guo Zai recount these miraculous events surrounding his predecessor’s death — the feeling was truly beyond description. Especially since that county magistrate had hanged himself from the tree not far away, right there…

Just then, the two men heard a sound of faint, indistinct footsteps gradually approaching. They had been talking of ghostly matters, and these sudden footsteps made their hair instantly stand on end. Guo Zai was about to call out when a startled cry came from behind the decorative screen: “Ah—!”

Followed immediately by a sharp crashing sound, crisp and clear in the silent night.

“Who is there?” Guo Zai rose quickly to his feet and demanded.

At this moment the senior maidservant Mo Lan came rushing out from behind the screen, her face flushed: “It’s the young miss. Madam sent the young miss to bring a night snack, but she accidentally dropped and broke a bowl.”

“Oh.” Guo Zai smiled and let the matter go.

But no sooner had he sat back down than another crash came from the inner courtyard. Guo Zai frowned: “What happened now?”

Mo Lan hurried out, then came back: “It was… it was a cat — it knocked over and broke your porcelain vase with the purple floral pattern and gold neck…”

Guo Zai’s face twitched, and he forced a smile: “Never mind — if it’s broken, it’s broken.”

But then after another little while, yet another crash came from the inner courtyard. Guo Zai grew agitated: “What on earth is happening now?”

The senior maidservant went to investigate with a mournful expression, and returned after some time, trembling: “It’s… it’s the cat…” She probably felt even she could not sustain the lie, so she told the truth: “It’s the young miss — she accidentally broke your piece of Han dynasty tile-end decoration…”

Guo Zai’s face turned green. After a long moment he recovered, and said with a smile: “Never mind, never mind — tell the young miss to be more careful.”

Guo Zai naturally knew his daughter was throwing a tantrum; he did not know the reason, and with Xuanzang present could not make inquiries. But before he had finished speaking, there was another prolonged crashing sound — this time, without waiting for Guo Zai to ask, the senior maidservant went running on her own, and after quite some time poked her head around the corner with a furtive look. Guo Zai heaved a sigh: “What has been broken this time?”

“Nothing was… broken…” The senior maidservant was almost in tears. “It was torn — your scroll — the Wandering in the Cloudy Valley by Gu Kaizhi — is torn…”

“Ah…” Guo Zai sank to the floor, unable to make a sound, his body almost limp.

“And then… the young miss accidentally bumped her head on your Eastern Han pottery jar…” The maidservant continued.

“Oh no!” Guo Zai instantly let out a cry, leaped to his feet, and rushed toward the inner courtyard — then stopped himself after a few steps and turned to Xuanzang with an embarrassed look: “Venerable master, forgive me — my daughter may have hurt herself. Allow me to be briefly excused.”

Xuanzang could not help but laugh, and nodded. Guo Zai, caring nothing for propriety, ran off in haste.

Xuanzang was moved. That such a rough and towering giant of a man could love his daughter to such a degree — it was truly something rare.

That night, Xuanzang lodged in Guo Zai’s home. The east and west side rooms on either side of the front courtyard served as guest chambers; he and Boluoye were housed in the eastern side rooms. Xuanzang sat cross-legged on the bed for a long while, his thoughts still in turmoil. Why had his second brother committed this act against his own master, Dharma Master Xuancheng? Where was he now? And why had he come to Huoyi, driving County Magistrate Cui to his death? And stranger still — why had County Magistrate Cui become a judge of the Ni Li Prison after his death?

The moon stood high in the middle sky, casting the shadow of the paulownia tree through the window latticework, the branches twisting like coiled dragons — perhaps it was just such a branch, in years past, from which Judge Cui had been suspended.

On the window latticework, the shadowed branches swayed in the wind, as if a hanged figure hung below — swaying, rocking, swaying, rocking…

In the days that followed, Xuanzang stayed in Guo Zai’s home. Guo Zai wanted him to perform a ceremony to drive the evil spirits away from Youniang. But since Xuanzang already knew the truth behind the “saw-blade marks” on Lady Li’s body, how could he still perform such a ceremony? It would be nothing but deception. So he stalled with every excuse he could think of, saying only that the county office was an old residence of several centuries and was a place where yin energy gathered — all that was needed was a morning and evening recitation of sutras and invocations to purify the atmosphere. Guo Zai could not press him too hard, and had to agree — but insisted on hosting Xuanzang for a few more days as a gesture of devotion to the Buddha.

Hosting a monk was such a common act of piety that Xuanzang could not refuse his warm-hearted hospitality, and so settled into his home. Guo Zai still had official duties at the yamen and could not always be in attendance, so he asked his wife to entertain their guest. Lady Li Youniang’s manner toward Xuanzang was decidedly cool — she kept her distance as a rule, and except when absolutely necessary, was nowhere to be seen. Xuanzang did not mind in the least, and spent his days sitting in meditation, reciting sutras, or carefully reading the Buddhist texts from his chest.

This thoroughly delighted Boluoye, who finally felt he had found his purpose. After following Xuanzang for several months of constant travel — wind and frost, open skies and bare ground — having life “settle down” like this suited him very well. This fellow began to deploy the full force of his chatterbox tendencies, spending his days sparring verbally with Mo Lan and Qiu’er. Within two days they were thoroughly familiar with each other — he had even discovered that Qiu’er’s parents had been betrothed to each other in an arranged marriage from childhood.

One day at noon, Xuanzang was leafing through the Chengshi Treatise with annotations by Dharma Master Daoshen when Boluoye tiptoed in with a furtive, sneaky look on his face. Xuanzang glanced at him, then lowered his head and continued reading. Boluoye climbed up onto Xuanzang’s bed and said in an air of great mystery: “Venerable master — disciple has found out a secret. A very — important — secret.”

“Oh?” Xuanzang raised his eyes. “What secret?”

Boluoye peered out the door, then lowered his voice: “Do you know — the county magistrate’s daughter — what — name she has?”

Xuanzang thought for a moment: “I believe it’s Lv Luo? I recall Magistrate Guo mentioning her.”

“Uh… not — her given name.” Boluoye patted his head. “Her family name.”

This Tianzhu man had always been confused by the sheer number of family names in the Great Tang, and found it simply unimaginable that even commoners had their own surnames — in Tianzhu, that was inconceivable.

“Family name?” Xuanzang laughed. “It must be Guo.”

“No, no.” Boluoye wore a triumphant expression. “She is not — named Guo — but Cui!”

Xuanzang was instantly taken aback. How could this be? A daughter not sharing her father’s surname? Unless Guo Zai had married into the woman’s family as a live-in husband — but that seemed impossible. A county magistrate, however you looked at it… even a county captain taking that role would be inconceivable.

Boluoye dropped the air of mystery and said: “Venerable master, I found out. This young lady — indeed has the surname Cui — she is not — County Magistrate Guo’s — biological daughter. Guo Magistrate’s — first wife — and sons — were killed by — the Turks — many years ago. Lady Li — had her daughter — and was widowed — and later married — County Magistrate Guo.”

“I see.” Xuanzang nodded and did not think much of it. After all, in the chaos of the late Sui, countless families had been torn apart, and now that the chaos had ended, the reconstitution of families was perfectly ordinary. “This is other people’s private matter — do not go prying into it. Do you understand?”

Boluoye was unconcerned: “The people of the county — all know — not private.”

His expression then became grave. “But venerable master — do you know — Lady Li’s — first husband — was?”

“Who was he?” Xuanzang saw how solemn he was and grew curious.

“The previous — county magistrate — Cui Jue!” Boluoye said. He pointed out the window. “On — the tree — the one who hanged himself — that one.”