Xuanzang turned to look. Kong Cheng was walking out of the side gate with a warm smile, and perhaps stirred by the grandeur of the great dharma assembly, this old monk had shed every trace of his usual wan and withered manner — his spirit was robust and his bearing full of vigor. On his deeply wrinkled face, not a hint of the frailty one might expect from a man of his years could be seen.
“What does Elder Brother mean by that?” Xuanzang asked with a smile.
“The shifting changes of the mortal world turn in endless cycles. The Buddhist tradition does not use the events of this world as a measure of good and evil, right and wrong,” Kong Cheng said. “The mind that distinguishes and discriminates is the deluded mind, and it is that mind which gives rise to the cycle of birth and death — for it separates self from others, right from wrong, and from that discrimination springs greed, anger, and delusion, which produce karma and suffering. Therefore, for the Buddhist tradition, which aims to break down the deluded mind, there is ultimately no right and wrong, no good and evil in the cosmos. Whether a virtuous person or a wicked one, all may attain Buddhahood.”
“Elder Brother speaks truly,” Xuanzang agreed with a nod.
Kong Cheng made no move to come closer, leaning instead against the ancient pine and fixing his gaze on Xuanzang. “To recognize the deluded mind is to recognize obsession and attachment. Only when obsession and attachment are utterly severed will the Master be like all the Buddhas and Tathagatas — neither born nor extinguished, neither in decline nor in age, neither subject to illness nor to sickness. Yet now the Master, for the sake of a fixation in his heart, has defied the imperial decree — is that not unwise?”
Xuanzang knew what he had come for and considered for a moment before smiling. “Why did Shakyamuni sit beneath the Bodhi tree to attain Buddhahood?”
Kong Cheng was taken aback, and thought for a moment. “Bodhi means awakening. To see the Bodhi tree is to see the Buddha.”
“That is not it.” Xuanzang shook his head. “Because the Bodhi tree had large branches that could provide shade from rain.”
Kong Cheng was speechless.
“Look, Elder Brother. Since all living beings are equal, why did Shakyamuni not sit under a bamboo? Under a clump of wild grass? For Shakyamuni, life held no distinction of high and low. Yet he chose the Bodhi tree precisely because of its usefulness — it could provide shade from rain and shelter from sun. For Shakyamuni, nothing more than that. All four elements are empty; the Bodhi itself is only emptiness,” Xuanzang said. “For me, the abbotship of Zhuangyan Monastery is nothing more than a bamboo stalk that Shakyamuni passed on his way to the Bodhi tree. As for defying decrees and such — that too is a product of the deluded mind. Why place it in one’s heart?”
“Very well, very well.” Kong Cheng conceded helplessly. “Junior Brother’s eloquence is without obstruction — this old monk is no match for you. But there is a weighty matter today I wish to speak with you about.”
The two sat down again on the stone bench in the courtyard. Kong Cheng said, “Do you know whose suggestion it was to appoint you as abbot of Zhuangyan Monastery?”
“The Right Counselor-in-Chief, the honorable Pei Ji,” Xuanzang said.
Kong Cheng nodded. “Counselor-in-Chief Pei Ji is the most trusted confidant of the former Emperor, and the foremost minister at court. He and Xiao Yu, the Junior Director of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, are the most powerful advocates for Buddhism within the government. For a figure of such stature to personally recommend you — do you understand what deeper purpose lies behind this?”
Xuanzang shook his head. Kong Cheng asked, “What is the surname of the reigning Emperor?”
“Li.”
“And what is the surname of the founding patriarch of the Daoist school?”
“Li…” Xuanzang suddenly grasped it.
“Junior Brother — the Tang Emperor considers himself a descendant of the Daoist ancestor Li Er. What does that mean for our Buddhist tradition?” Kong Cheng said with sorrowful gravity. “In the fourth year of the Wude reign period, when the Great Tang had barely established itself, the Grand Astrologer Fu Yi submitted a memorial advocating the suppression of Buddhism. He claimed that Buddhism deluded the people, drained their resources, depleted the state treasury, and requested that the clergy be reduced and dismissed — ten charges in all, each one striking at the heart! At the time the former Emperor was on the throne, and he issued a decree questioning the monks: ‘In abandoning your parents’ heritage, removing your hair, and discarding the garments of sovereign and subject — wherein lies the benefit, and what purpose does it serve?’ He accused the monks of having no loyalty to ruler or parents, and ordered a reduction in monasteries and towers and a dismissal of clergy. At that time, the Venerable Fa Lin composed his Treatise to Break Deviant Teachings, and repeatedly defended the dharma, engaging in fierce debate with the Daoist faction. Fortunately, the Tang dynasty had not yet fully consolidated its power, and our tradition’s losses were limited.”
In the fourth year of the Wude reign, Xuanzang had just left Yizhou and was still wandering. He had heard of this, but it had not struck him with the same depth as it had Kong Cheng.
“In the seventh year of the Wude reign, Fu Yi submitted another memorial claiming that Buddhism was harmful to the state — that the short-lived dynasties of the Six Dynasties were all due to their reverence for Buddhism, and he cited Emperor Wu of Liang and Emperor Xiang of Qi as cautionary examples. This struck directly at the question of the dynasty’s fortunes, touching the most sensitive nerve in any ruler’s heart. At the time, Xiao Yu, who was then the Secretary of State, engaged in fierce debate with Fu Yi, but in the end could not overcome the doubts already planted in the Emperor’s mind.
“In the eighth year of the Wude reign, the former Emperor declared the policy of Three Teachings: the teachings of Laozi and Confucius, indigenous to this land, would take precedence, and Buddhism, having arrived later, should be treated as a guest. The Daoist school would rank first, the Confucian school second, the Buddhist school last. In other words, the Great Tang had set as state policy that no matter how prosperous our Buddhist tradition might become, it would always occupy the last place, ranked behind the Daoist and Confucian schools. Beyond that, the former Emperor issued a decree to reduce the number of monks and nuns throughout the kingdom — three Buddhist monasteries were to be preserved in the capital, and one in each prefecture; all others were to be abolished.”
Xuanzang was very familiar with this history, for he had been in Chang’an at the time. The pressure on Buddhists had indeed been enormous. Daoist factions had also seized the opportunity to attack — Li Zhongqing had written the Ten Different Discourses and Nine Confusions, and Liu Jinxi had written the Treatise of Manifest Rectitude, mounting fierce assaults on Buddhism. Monks such as Fa Ya, Fa Lin, Dao Yue, and Zhishi had engaged in a series of debates, and Fa Lin had written the Treatise of Distinguishing Rectitude in tenacious resistance.
Xuanzang nodded. “Fortunately, the following year the former Emperor abdicated, and the current Zhenguan reign has not seen any large-scale suppression of Buddhism. The sweeping decrees to reduce monks and nuns issued during the Wude reign were abolished by the new Emperor before they could be implemented. It seems the flourishing of Buddhism in the days to come is something we can look forward to.”
“Not so, not so at all!” Kong Cheng repeated with cold laughter. “This new Emperor of ours has a rigid interior beneath a benevolent appearance. In truth, he has no faith whatsoever! In this old monk’s view, he has only one creed — the Tang dynasty’s rivers and mountains! An Emperor who could bring himself to kill his own elder and younger brothers, who drove his own father from power — do you truly think he will sincerely promote Buddhism? Being a descendant of the Laozi makes an excellent banner for him — and I fear that under the Zhenguan reign, our tradition’s standing will be even more precarious.”
Xuanzang said mildly, “Elder Brother, there is something this poor monk cannot understand. Why must our Buddhist tradition compete with the Daoist school over who comes first and who comes last?”
“Of course we must compete!” Kong Cheng said sharply. “If the Daoist school is ranked above us, how can we speak of Buddhism flourishing?”
Xuanzang shook his head. “This poor monk cannot agree. First — the ancestor of the Daoist school has the surname Li, and the Tang Emperor also has the surname Li. That advantage will never be overcome regardless of which Emperor sits on the throne; every ruler will honor the Daoist school. Second — is this rank truly worth fighting over? If the dharma is not genuinely spread, and if we lose our congregation of believers, what good is it even if the Emperor grants us first place? They will not take refuge in us simply on imperial decree. Third — the flourishing of our Buddhist tradition depends heavily on imperial support, yes, but that is not the most fundamental reason for its success.”
Kong Cheng was shaken. “Oh? Junior Brother, continue. What is more important than imperial support?”
“There is,” Xuanzang said firmly. “It is the influence our tradition has on imperial power — and on the people. If Buddhism can stabilize imperial rule and win the devotion of the common people, then no matter which Emperor rules, he will honor it. That cannot be altered by any ruler’s personal preference. Even if he personally favors the Daoist school, the court and the realm will still esteem Buddhism. But if Buddhism fails to serve this purpose — then even if one or two emperors happen to honor it, once those emperors pass away, it will fade again into obscurity. There is a common saying in the world: when the man is in power, his policies thrive; when he dies, his policies die with him. Why is that? Because those policies reflected only one person’s preferences.”
Kong Cheng was struck as if by a thunderbolt, utterly shaken, murmuring, “Junior Brother is correct… So in your view, what should our Buddhist tradition do at this moment? Following Counselor-in-Chief Pei Ji’s thinking, the hope is that you would take up residence at Zhuangyan Monastery. Our tradition has been struggling in the capital of late, and Junior Brother, you have ten years of debate experience behind you, your eloquence is without obstruction, and your reputation is flourishing — if you were to come to Chang’an, you could give those Daoist practitioners a thorough thrashing.”
“I see.” Xuanzang now understood why Pei Ji had recommended him for Zhuangyan Monastery’s abbotship. But he had his own thinking. “Elder Brother — during the Wude reign’s suppression of Buddhism, when the debates were at their most fierce and I was already in Chang’an, I did not take part in a single one of those debates. Do you know why?”
“Why?” Kong Cheng asked in surprise.
“Because we monks ourselves have not yet fully understood the true meaning of the scriptures. Since the Wei and Jin dynasties, Buddhist schools have proliferated — sect competing with sect, lineage fighting over lineage — and we ourselves are mired in disagreements. How can we persuade our followers? How can we persuade the Emperor? I have traveled for ten years and examined all the schools, and came to discover that what drives the different sects to argue is the inconsistency in how the teachings have been expounded and interpreted. To stand firm on Buddhist doctrine, we must have no internal divisions and disputes. And to have no internal disputes, we must unify the schools. To unify the schools, we must trace the source of the teachings!” Xuanzang said with grave solemnity.
Kong Cheng drew in a sharp breath. “Junior Brother, what a grand and sweeping aspiration! And to trace the source of the teachings…”
“We must journey west to Tianzhu!” Xuanzang’s eyes shone with a brilliant light. “To the place beneath that Bodhi tree, in the Garden of Anathapindada, and obtain the true dharma of the Tathagata, the Mahayana teaching! This is precisely why this poor monk cannot accept the abbotship of Zhuangyan Monastery.”
Kong Cheng was left entirely stunned, murmuring, “Junior Brother — this is to place yourself in a situation of nine chances of death and one of survival…”
From the Great Tang to Tianzhu, there were in theory three routes. One was by sea — crossing open ocean for several months. But this was far too dangerous, given the limitations of maritime technology, and very few attempted it. Another was through Tubo and then through Piao Kingdom and Nibo Luo Kingdom, before eventually reaching Tianzhu.
The third was the Silk Road — departing from Chang’an, passing through Longyou and the western desert territories, crossing the Congling Range, proceeding through the Central Asian kingdoms, and then through the mountain passes of the Hindu Kush to reach northern Tianzhu. Along the way lay a thousand li of drifting sand, where death lurked at every moment.
It was abundantly clear that at this moment, a western journey to Tianzhu was essentially impossible. Apart from the sheer dangers of the road, the Eastern Turks held dominion over the great steppe, their cavalry constantly raiding the north and the Hexi Corridor. The court had strictly forbidden anyone from crossing the passes. Without official travel permits and passage documents issued by the court, anyone who crossed the frontier checkpoints without authorization was treated as communicating with the enemy. In fact, Xuanzang himself was well aware that he had already submitted a memorial requesting permission in the first year of the Zhenguan reign, and it had been flatly rejected.
“What is birth and death? A flower blooming, a flower falling. What is death and birth? The evening drum, the morning bell.” Xuanzang murmured softly.
Kong Cheng looked at this brilliantly gifted young monk with a complex expression and remained silent for a long while. Finally he said, “Since Junior Brother has such a great and sweeping aspiration, why delay here at all? Why not set out at once?”
“My elder brother, whose dharma name is Chang Jie, is currently missing. This journey crosses ten thousand li of desert, and I may not return. I hope to find him first and put this matter to rest.” Xuanzang said.
Kong Cheng fell silent. He knew of the matter of Chang Jie killing the monk Xuancheng, but did not know how to address it and could only sigh for a long while, his expression heavy with melancholy.
In the Hedong Circuit, the city of Puzhou.
Puzhou was a major stronghold of the Great Tang, situated at the critical junction of the three great capitals of Chang’an, Luoyang, and Jinyang, commanding the grain transport routes of the Yellow River, and a necessary passage between Chang’an, Luoyang, and the northern borders of Taiyuan. The prosperity of its markets could be said to surpass all others in the Hedong region.
In the residence of Puzhou Prefect Du Chuke, a distinguished guest had recently arrived. Prefect Du was himself keeping this person company in a garden pavilion, where a chessboard rested between them, and the two were in the midst of a game.
Du Chuke was one of the core advisors of Emperor Li Shimin and the younger brother of Du Ruhui, the Left Counselor-in-Chief. A man of great talent and lofty aspirations, he had originally been living in seclusion on Mount Song. Li Shimin, mindful of his abilities, had summoned him from his retreat and appointed him to no small post — directly to Puzhou Prefect, overseer of this crucial and strategic city.
Du Chuke was a classically handsome man, around thirty years of age, with a graceful and luminous bearing. Across from him sat a man of about fifty, wearing a plain cloth robe with a three-strand black beard, his face all sharp angles and defined contours, with an expression of remarkable ease and vigor. Du Chuke had considerable skill at chess, yet in this man’s presence he felt constrained, unable to give full play to his abilities.
“Enough, enough.” Du Chuke pushed the chessboard aside with a sheepish laugh. “Who does not know that you Daoist Wei have the highest chess skills around? Playing against you, I am simply looking for trouble.”
Daoist Wei broke into hearty laughter. “Little Du, you play far better than your brother Old Du. He takes one look at me and flees.”
Du Chuke laughed and changed the subject. “Director of the Imperial Library, the Emperor has sent you to inspect Hedong, but here you are, content to stay right in my Puzhou without moving. That is already seven or eight days, I reckon. You are still someone who ‘participates in governance at court.’ Should you not head north without delay and attend to the Emperor’s business? Why keep lingering in my home winning all my chess games?”
The Office of the Imperial Library was one of the inner departments of the court. Its director oversaw the court’s archival documents and important records. Though it had no direct authority over state policy, it was a position that brought one into close contact with the court’s central decision-making apparatus — a vital role. And this man in his plain cloth robe — a Daoist practitioner — was its director, a third-rank official no less!
What was more, this Director of the Imperial Library also bore the title “Participates in Governance at Court” — a title of great significance. Only those holding posts such as the Left or Right Counselor-in-Chief, the Director of the Palace Secretariat, or the Director of the Department of State Affairs could truly be considered chief ministers. Shortly after ascending the throne, Li Shimin, wishing to draw more trusted officials into participation in state affairs, had granted certain favored officials titles such as “Participates in Governance at Court,” “Participates in Consultations on State Affairs,” and “Participates in Knowledge of Political Affairs,” enabling them to enter the Council of State. Anyone bearing one of these titles was effectively counted among the Tang dynasty’s ruling ministers.
This plainly-dressed Tang dynasty minister was hiding in Puzhou, playing chess with the prefect day after day!
“My old Daoist has calculated that I need to wait for a certain piece of news to arrive from Huoyi before I should be on my way!” The Daoist Wei said with a great laugh. “Do you believe me if I count three and the news arrives?”
“Three? I don’t believe it,” Du Chuke shook his head. “You have been in my home for several threes of days now. I simply cannot believe the timing could be so perfect.”
“Heh heh,” Daoist Wei pinched his fingers together in calculation, then intoned, “One! Two! Three—!”
Before the sound of his voice had faded, a household servant came running over, entered the pavilion, and bowed. “Daoist Master — Master — Administrator Xu has returned from Huoyi and is requesting an audience with the Daoist Master.”
Du Chuke stood there, stupefied.
Daoist Wei looked supremely pleased with himself and waved his hand. “Show him in.”
After a short while, the servant led Administrator Xu Wentan of the Court of State Ceremonial into the garden. The moment Administrator Xu saw Daoist Wei, his face showed a look of reverential wariness, and he bowed respectfully. “This official Xu Wentan pays his respects to the Director.”
“Mm,” Daoist Wei picked up a chess piece and said lightly, “You went to Xingtang Temple? Did you see Xuanzang?”
“I did,” Administrator Xu said with his head lowered. “This official has delivered His Majesty’s decree to him.”
“And what did Xuanzang say?” Daoist Wei asked.
“He…” Administrator Xu said with difficulty, “He refused.”
“What?” Daoist Wei stared at him in astonishment. “He refused? What do you mean?”
“Refused means… he is defying the decree,” Administrator Xu said, his body trembling slightly, clearly in great fear of this Daoist Wei. “He will not take up the abbotship of Zhuangyan Monastery.”
Daoist Wei was struck dumb. He looked at Du Chuke, and Du Chuke looked back at him. Du Chuke suddenly broke into a great laugh. “They all say your calculations are precise enough to make you half an immortal — and now you have miscalculated for once, haven’t you!”
Daoist Wei looked deeply embarrassed and fixed his gaze on Administrator Xu. “Tell me everything that happened, word for word. Leave nothing out.”
“Yes.” Administrator Xu recounted the entire episode of delivering the decree to Xuanzang, omitting nothing — not even Xuanzang’s exact expression or exact wording — and finally said, “Director, the memorial he composed for the Emperor is still on this official’s person. Would you like to see it?”
“Absurd!” Daoist Wei said coldly. “As a subject of the realm, how can one privately peruse a memorial addressed to the Emperor? Submit it through proper channels. This official will see it in due course.”
“Yes.” Administrator Xu dared not say more.
“You may go,” Daoist Wei said, his brow deeply furrowed, waving him off. “Return to the capital and report your findings. What occurred at your meeting with this official here — do not speak of it to anyone.”
Administrator Xu nodded repeatedly, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and backed away and withdrew.
“To trace the teachings to their source and restore the proper lineage!” Daoist Wei struck the table with his palm and gave a long sigh. “This monk — what great aspirations, what magnificent boldness!”
“It seems you underestimated him after all!” Du Chuke murmured softly.
Daoist Wei smiled bitterly. “Not only I — that chief minister at court has also misjudged him. Xuanzang is truly a thoroughbred of the Buddhist world. A single monastery could never confine him. I, Wei Zheng, have not submitted to any man all my life, yet today I must submit to this monk!”
Du Chuke pondered for half a while, then said, “Since affairs in Huoyi have now departed from Pei Ji’s projections, I am afraid things have shifted from what you anticipated. Will you still go north?”
Wei Zheng shook his head. “Huoyi County has already become a tiger’s den — there is no need to walk into danger. The mission His Majesty entrusted to me is to inspect the people’s livelihoods in Hedong — why should I concern myself with such a great calamity? Now that Pei Ji and his faction have misjudged Xuanzang, they will certainly have to adjust their plans. This old Daoist will bide his time — strike only after the other side has moved.”
“And yet…” Du Chuke’s expression was grave. “The other party has been laying this groundwork for so many years, with deep and entrenched preparation. The situation right now is on the verge of breaking open. If you do not go, who else can match that one’s intellect? If things come to a head, will we not be helpless and without the means to fight back?”
“Hmph.” Wei Zheng let out a cold laugh. “Whether the chess pieces are truly held in whose hands — even that scheming monk may not have calculated to the end. There are those who wish Xuanzang to leave. This old man will ensure that he stays. Let us see just how deep the waters of Xingtang Temple truly run!”
“Still, you must not be careless,” Du Chuke remained concerned. “This matter is simply too vast. Once the other side makes their move, I fear the world will shake to its foundations, the Tang dynasty will tremble, and the effects will be felt for a hundred years of national fortune. Setting aside Pei Ji, you know the scheming monk’s methods well enough — they may rightly be called a genius of inspired design, deep as the ocean, said to have calculated across the Three Thousand Worlds without missing by a hair. You, though you are skilled in divination and the mysteries of yin and yang, if you were to slip up even once, you might live to regret it.”
“This old Daoist is well aware,” Wei Zheng said, sounding somewhat demoralized. “This scheming monk truly makes one’s scalp prickle. We have expended no small amount of manpower and resources, and even now we still have no idea what his scheme actually is. Alas.”
His expression turned quite despondent — but Du Chuke, seeing this, actually broke into a smile. “There we are! There is that look again. Every time you show weakness, it means you have a contingency in reserve. My brother has eaten enough bitterness because of you!”
Wei Zheng was immediately rendered speechless, murmuring, “So this old Daoist has that habit? I’ll have to be careful about it in future. Cough cough — Little Du, I will not conceal it from you — this old Daoist does have something in reserve, planted right at the scheming monk’s most vital point. As for what effect it can have, that remains to be seen.”
“Tell me, tell me!” Du Chuke clapped his hands eagerly.
Wei Zheng put on a solemn expression. “The Buddha says, it cannot be spoken; the Old Master says, it cannot be named. When two sages both forbid me to speak, this old Daoist would not dare — would he?”
Du Chuke was left speechless.
“Very well then,” Wei Zheng thought it over and said. “Since Xuanzang has caused the scheming monk’s calculations to go wrong, and right now they are scrambling to adjust, this old Daoist might as well fan the flames a little — you pass along a piece of news, and stir them up.”
“What news?” Du Chuke asked.
“That the Emperor will conduct an inspection tour of Hedong next month,” Wei Zheng said coldly. “I simply do not believe they will remain motionless.”
News that the Emperor would soon be conducting an inspection tour of Hedong spread as though it had grown wings, traveling through the entire official community of the Hedong Circuit within a matter of days. At first, officials at every level were half skeptical — but a few days later, the Ministry of Rites issued a formal announcement stating that on the eighth day of the fourth month, the Emperor would depart on an inspection tour of the Hedong Circuit, and directing all local officials along the route to make ready for the reception. The announcement was followed by a note carrying the Emperor’s own words: “All arrangements should place strict simplicity first. There is to be no extravagance, and on no account should the people be disturbed.”
Such words notwithstanding, local officials throughout Hedong would never dare be negligent. This was the new Emperor’s first inspection of Hedong since ascending the throne. Hedong was the land where the dynasty’s fortunes had risen — Taiyuan, where the imperial enterprise had been founded, was the very root of the dynasty, known as the “Northern Capital.” For the Emperor to inspect the Northern Capital carried weighty significance indeed.
Jinzhou Prefect Zhao Yuankai was in a particularly acute position — Jinzhou lay directly on the route to Taiyuan, and the counties of Hongtong, Zhaocheng, and Huoyi within his jurisdiction all needed to receive the imperial party. This was a matter requiring considerable judgment. Prefect Zhao sent decree after decree to the three county magistrates, ordering them to make preparations and report their specific plans.
Receiving the imperial party was not a matter of accommodating two or three people. The Emperor leaving the capital meant at minimum hundreds of officials in attendance, with five or six thousand imperial guards from the Sixteen Guards — and possibly a retinue of musicians and palace ladies as well. The scale of hospitality required could well be imagined. The three counties immediately erupted in chaos, and their three magistrates were thrown into agonizing distress — none more so than Magistrate Guo Zai of Huoyi County. This former military warrior-turned-local-official, who had risen from county lieutenant to county magistrate, was utterly in the dark when it came to protocols for receiving the imperial party, and within a matter of days the colossal iron man had been vexed to the point of going white at the temples.
Fortunately, in these same few days, Lu Luo’s condition was gradually improving — the fever had broken — but the girl herself seemed somewhat listless, her large eyes often unfocused, gazing at nothing for half the day at a stretch. Guo Zai ached to see it but was consumed with his own responsibilities, and could only ask Youniang to spend more time with the girl.
On one such day, after Guo Zai had hurried off to the yamen, Li Youniang went to her daughter’s room. Lu Luo was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up, small form curled into a ball, staring blankly at a bow-knot on the bed curtain. Li Youniang sighed quietly, picked up a bowl of medicine from the table, walked over, and sat beside her on the bed. In a soft voice she said, “Lu Luo, drink your medicine.”
Lu Luo turned her face mechanically toward her mother, as though looking at a stranger.
Li Youniang’s heart lurched. A bowlful of medicine sloshed out of her hands and spilled across the brocade blanket.
“Who was he?” Lu Luo murmured.
“Who?” Li Youniang forced a smile, fussing to wipe up the medicine, lowering her head, not daring to look her daughter in the face.
“Are you still going to hide it from me?” Lu Luo bit out. “In Xingtang Temple — in the Saha Courtyard — that monk. Your lover.”
“Lu Luo—” Li Youniang’s face went chalk-white. Though frightened, the emotion most evident in her eyes was fury. “You are not to insult him!”
“Insult him?” Lu Luo looked at her mother with contempt. “I do not just insult him — I killed him!”
Li Youniang’s body went rigid.
Lu Luo narrowed her eyes, watching her mother like a cat poised to strike at prey. “So you already knew. Too bad you were not there to see it — I drove the blade straight into his heart. He clutched his chest, could not even cry out, because his mouth was full of blood. He looked at me as that filthy blood seeped out between his fingers, gush after gush. Then he said something to me. Would you like to know what it was?”
Li Youniang looked at her daughter with sorrowful eyes, red-rimmed, her tears trembling at the edge — her whole being had gone numb.
“He said he had not imagined he would die at my hands.” Lu Luo’s gaze was sharp as a blade. “He had not imagined it? He was a monk — had he not contemplated the cycle of cause and effect, that what is sown must be reaped? You clearly protect him so fiercely that even now you will not reveal his identity. So — you went willingly.”
She said the last words one by one, through clenched teeth, as though carving each one into stone.
“You disregarded your own reputation and honor. I have nothing to say about that. But do you know—” She spoke each word deliberately: “You have shamed my father. You have shamed my foolish, clumsy stepfather. And you have shamed me.”
The final sentence was torn from her like a cry of agony. Tears broke loose all at once, pouring unstoppably.
Li Youniang’s tears also flowed unchecked. This elegant, beautiful woman wept openly before her daughter, all her composure abandoned, as though years of pent-up grief and anguish were finally released.
After weeping for some time, Li Youniang stopped. She drew out a silk handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, then murmured, “This is not how you imagine it to be. There are things your mother could not help…”
“I did not imagine anything. I saw it with my own eyes,” Lu Luo said coldly. “What you have done — I do not wish to hear a word of it right now. It sickens me. I ask you only one thing: who is he? The one I killed and the abbot of Xingtang Temple — which one is the true Kong Cheng?”
Li Youniang did not answer.
“You will not tell me?” Lu Luo was furious, her voice breaking to a shriek. “What is so wonderful about him? What is so worthy about him that you would abandon the love you shared with my father, abandon the bond of husband and wife with Guo Zai, abandon the dignity of me as your daughter — and give yourself to him in secret? Even after he is dead, you still defend him at every turn and will not even reveal his name?”
Li Youniang had always lived surrounded by elegance. Before her marriage she had been celebrated as a woman of great literary talent, and both her husbands had cherished her — neither had ever spoken a harsh word to her. To be so berated by her own daughter today was a pain beyond any she had known how to name. Yet she only shook her head, murmuring, “I cannot tell you… I cannot tell you…”
“You will not tell me — very well. You will not tell me…” Lu Luo’s rage turned frantic. “Do you think I cannot find it out myself? I could not find the body, but does that mean I cannot find the courtyard? Cannot find the passage? They covered their tracks without a seam — I cannot imagine how they did it. But I believe that anything done by human hands will have its crack. I can find it!”
“And furthermore!” Lu Luo cried out. “Do not force me to extremes — otherwise I will tell Guo Zai! I will tell the Hedong Cui clan! Let us see whether a county magistrate still values his dignity — and whether the Cui clan, calling themselves Hedong’s premier family, still values theirs!”
Li Youniang’s face turned as white as paper. At these words, she actually smiled — bleak as it was, a glimmer of warmth showed in her eyes. “You will not say it.”
“How do you know I will not?” Lu Luo cried.
“Because you bear the Cui family name, and you love that name more than your own life. And because, deep in your heart, you feel guilt toward Guo Zai. Say what you will about him — you raise your nose and pick at him every day — but you know he loves you more than he loves his own life. You cannot face him.”
“You…” Lu Luo’s rage went beyond containment.
“You are my daughter. I raised you with my own hands. I know you better than I know myself.” Li Youniang said softly.
“Silence! Be quiet—!” Lu Luo snatched the medicine bowl from her mother and hurled it to the floor.
Mother and daughter argued loudly in the room. Though Li Youniang had sent Mo Lan and Qiu’er far away, even they heard the sound of crockery shattering and came running. Li Youniang sighed and said, “You rest now. When you have calmed down, we will talk again.”
With that she lightly dabbed the corner of her eyes, rose with graceful steps, and left the room.
When Guo Zai came home that evening, he went first to Lu Luo’s room to see his precious daughter. Lu Luo had had her outburst earlier in the day and, though well enough in body, was lying listlessly on the bed, still fuming. When her stepfather came in, she paid him no mind. Guo Zai questioned Mo Lan thoroughly, confirmed that the young lady was in no danger, and set his heart at ease. Colliding with a wall where Lu Luo was concerned was something he had grown accustomed to over the years — he took no offense and returned to his own room with a cheerful air.
Entering the room, he found Youniang lying on the bed facing the wall. He was momentarily taken aback. What had happened to these two today, sleeping in the same position?
“My Lady, I am back,” Guo Zai said softly. “Are you unwell anywhere?”
“No.” Li Youniang rose and helped him out of his outer robe, folded the official garment neatly, and draped it over the clothes rack. “Why have you been so busy these past few days, Husband? It is already past the hour of Dog.”
“Ah!” At the very mention of it, whatever good mood he had recovered while visiting Lu Luo was instantly extinguished. He dropped onto the bed and murmured, “I have worried myself to gray hair!”
“What is the matter?” Li Youniang got up onto the bed and knelt behind him, slowly kneading his shoulders.
Guo Zai very much enjoyed this warm comfort. His eyes half-closed with contentment, he sighed. “The Emperor is going to conduct an inspection tour of Hedong.”
“What has an inspection tour of Hedong to do with you?” Li Youniang said, surprised. “You have governed Huoyi County well enough for all to see — the people are at peace and prospering. If the Emperor sees it, he might well reward you. What is there to worry about?”
Guo Zai gave a bitter smile. “A reward? Hardly — the county prospers because Hedong is already prosperous. That is nothing to my credit. Never mind that. The issue is how to receive the imperial party. Huoyi County sits on the only road north to Taiyuan. The Emperor fought his very first battle of the Great Tang’s rise right here in Huoyi, when he was still accompanying the former Emperor in the campaign against the Sui — he will certainly stay for a few days. But… where am I to put him up?”
“That is indeed a problem,” Li Youniang conceded, her instinct for these matters considerably sharper than Guo Zai’s when it came to this kind of military man turned official. “When the Emperor travels on an inspection tour, even a modest retinue of personal attendants and officials would come to five or six thousand people. An extravagant one might be ten thousand or more, and this county of ours… we would truly be hard pressed to accommodate them.”
“Is that not exactly it!” Guo Zai lamented repeatedly. “I have been discussing this with my colleagues for days, and have even summoned all the prominent households in the county to contribute ideas. My real hope was to persuade one of the great families to offer up their estate. But in this land of ours, with its many mountains and little flat ground and its winding roads, even the wealthiest households have estates that are not particularly large. A compound large enough to house a hundred people is already considered impressive — where would I find one that could accommodate the Emperor?”
“This is indeed a serious matter,” Li Youniang murmured.
“And I am not the only one in difficulty. The county magistrates of Hongtong and Zhaocheng are equally troubled — though at least they are better off than me. Their two towns are close together, so the Emperor will only stay overnight in one of them, and the two of them can consult with each other. But I am alone — I have no one to turn to!” Guo Zai was nearly losing his mind.
Li Youniang suddenly smiled. “Husband, you are so caught up in the problem that you cannot see the obvious solution. Have you forgotten that one particular place? It is large enough, has beautiful scenery, and can accommodate several thousand people without difficulty. And most importantly — the Emperor will certainly be pleased.”
“Mm?” Guo Zai’s eyes flew open at once. He turned around and stared at his wife. “Is there really such a place? Lady, tell me quickly!”
“And what reward will you give me if I tell you?” Li Youniang asked archly.
Guo Zai felt a warmth rush through him, his very soul on the verge of taking flight. “My Lady, you need only find this place, and whatever you ask for, I will get it! Even if you asked me to bring down the moon from the sky, I would reach up and take it down!”
“What would I want with that moon…” Li Youniang looked at him with a faraway tenderness. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, and said softly, “Having you is enough.”
Guo Zai’s bones turned to mush with emotion, but he had not forgotten the matter at hand and pressed her urgently again and again. Li Youniang said, “Xingtang Temple!”
Guo Zai froze for a moment, then burst out laughing and clapping his hands. “Wonderful! Wonderful! My Lady is a true strategist among women! The county officials were all suggesting that the county contribute funds to build a temporary imperial residence. I was pained at the thought of spending all those coins — and here my Lady has solved this enormous problem without spending a single one! Yes, yes — Xingtang Temple! The grounds are vast, the meditation courtyards numerous, more than enough to accommodate the Emperor and a hundred or more officials, and the empty space before the mountain gate could house troops… and the name is a good omen — Xingtang, Arising Tang! The Emperor will certainly be delighted!”
“Husband owes me a reward, doesn’t he?” Li Youniang smiled. But deep within her eyes there was a flash of deep, concealed pain.
“A reward! Right now!” Guo Zai laughed heartily, and in one swift motion pulled off his clothing, laid his wife flat on the bed, and brought his enormous body down to cover her. His frame was simply so colossal that the petite Li Youniang was instantly swallowed beneath it…
[1] During the Wude reign period of Tang Gaozu, following the precedent of the preceding Sui dynasty, the government established the Secretariat as an inner department, headed by the Secretary of State. During the Zhenguan reign of Emperor Taizong, it was renamed the Department of the Center for the Secretariat, with its head retitled the Director of the Center.
[2] The Tang dynasty’s term for the western territories. “Qi” refers to the Mohe Yan desert, located in the Hashun Desert between modern-day Hami and Dunhuang.