In no history book do their names appear. Yet they deserve to be remembered more than anyone. For they were people who followed the true wishes of their own hearts, and sincerely poured their lives into living.

【Prologue】

Goose-yellow and deep black interwove across the dimly lit floor, and I walked upon it as though drifting slowly through the river of time.

Jiu Jue walked ahead of me, his lake-blue hair reflected in the pristine glass display cases all around, as though a fragment of color had been plucked from the clearest sky and embedded there, vivid and alive within his focused gaze.

It was both our first time in Xi’an, our first time setting foot in this grand, towering history museum that housed a thousand years of stories.

Jiu Jue had come for an autumn excursion, and I had been forcibly hired as his companion — the terms of employment being: first, a crate of gold bars; second, that whenever he came to drink at my establishment in future, he must pay in cash and would not be permitted to ask for a discount.

Walking through a place that gathered mementos of a thousand ages under one roof, I felt something rather strange. The artifacts displayed in those cases — things now regarded as national treasures — had once been merely ordinary trinkets that passed between hands and were played with thoughtlessly during the years I had walked through. Branded now with the heavy seal of history, their fate had led them to these small glass cases, revered by ten thousand eyes, placed beyond reach. Would there come a day when I too, like them, was permanently confined within a glass case? That odd thought suddenly drifted through my mind. Yet however odd my thoughts, they were no match for the peculiarity of that old strange creature, Jiu Jue.

He stood before one particular display case for at least ten minutes, then turned his head, pointed at what was inside, and smiled at me: “Give me this as a birthday present!”

What rested in that case was a Tang dynasty silver pot engraved with a dancing horse holding a cup in its mouth. The pot was smooth and supple, its lines rounded and full, with a gilded lotus-flower lid on top, a fine pure-silver chain along the side, and both faces of the pot engraved with gilded dancing horse motifs — vivid and lifelike, a true masterwork of extraordinary craftsmanship. Yet to me, who had witnessed countless rare and precious objects, this wine pot held nothing particularly special.

“If you, you old drunkard, want a wine pot for your birthday, I can be generous and gift you a Swarovski limited-edition crystal decanter — that would be no trouble,” I said, standing behind him with my arms folded, brow raised. “But don’t even think about making me shoulder the crime of stealing a Class One national cultural artifact.”

“I only want this one.” Jiu Jue pointed at it stubbornly. “Give it to me.”

“Have the nerve to take it yourself — I’m not being an accomplice.” I refused firmly, though inwardly I thought: what has gotten into this old thing? With his cultivation, taking this object would be utterly effortless — so why did he insist it pass through my hands? He sighed and dropped his hand in disappointment. I had never seen Jiu Jue — who always wore that roguish grin and was never serious — look the way he did at that moment. He looked like a puppet from which the spirit had been extracted.

“Hey, you… it doesn’t have to be like this. If you give me a reasonable explanation, I could…” I felt my heart soften. After all, this fellow had helped me a great deal in the past, and though his request was a little strange, it wasn’t beyond my ability.

“Ha — little tree spirit, I was teasing you!” Jiu Jue suddenly turned, reverting to his usual self with lightning speed, and laughed playfully. “It doesn’t belong to me.”

Yet at the corner of his eye, there was clearly a trace of loss and lingering longing that he was deliberately trying to hide.

“Let’s go, time to eat.” He turned and walked away.

“You have something weighing on your mind,” I said, pulling him back.

“I want to eat!” He brushed past me and headed straight for the museum’s exit.

I fell far behind him. This old creature — forever wearing that look of being simpler than anyone, more guileless than anyone, easier to see through than anyone. Yet I knew he was the most impenetrable person I had ever known. His heart, like that aberrant lake-blue hair of his, was as elusive as a dream, impossible to capture.

I had known him for a thousand years and more. He spoke with me of all things under heaven, of ancient and modern times — yet he never once mentioned his own past. Only on Fulong Mountain many years ago, in a gap between his games of chess with another person, did I dimly overhear something — that he seemed to have been searching for someone for a long time, yet could never find them…

I hurried after him. Near the exit, where visitors could leave messages, he had just set down his pen.

I turned to the last page of that guestbook, crowded with handwriting of every kind. In his elegant, graceful script:

A thousand li, following the fragrance — laughing at the reflection in the cup.

Ahead of me, his retreating figure drifted away in the traces left by the autumn wind. In the air, there lingered faintly the sounds of a melodious little tune he was humming — one I had never heard before…

【001】

“Demon! Don’t you dare run!”

“You bald donkey — you’ve chased me for three days and three nights, your stamina is truly impressive!”

“Insolent words! If I don’t capture you, this poor monk shall take his own life before the face of the Buddha!”

“Hee hee — your aptitude is dull and your intentions are crooked. I’m afraid the Buddha would refuse to take you in as well!”

“How dare you!”

Beneath the veil of night, amid the mountain forest, hazy moonlight tangled with the mist among the peaks, and all that could be seen was a murky blur. Only the sounds could be heard — the swaying of branches and the wild scattering of falling leaves. Two whooshing sounds rang out, and two silhouettes — one blue, one white — leapt out from that chaos in a single bound, vaulting into mid-air, treading upon clouds and racing through that expanse of clean moonlight.

“Hand over that object, and this poor monk may spare your life!” The monk in white robes, one hand forming a seal and the other gripping his ritual staff, shouted furiously at the figure fleeing ahead.

“Say that again once you can actually beat me!” Moonlight illuminated a head of lake-blue hair tossing in the night wind. On that young face was nothing but scornful mockery.

The monk grew even more furious. He recited a chant; the cloud beneath his feet flew faster, and he was nearly upon the blue-haired young man.

“Damned baldhead — three days without eating or drinking, and you can still run this fast…” The blue-haired youth sensed things turning bad. He suddenly dipped his cloud low and plunged downward into the deep mountain below…

【002】

The splendor of Chang’an had always been unrelated to the seasons. The various figures, horses, and carts that moved beneath the feet of the Son of Heaven filled every street without regard to hour or time of day. The shops and residences that lined both sides of the roads — some simple, some ornate, each with its own character — regarded these people, some native-born, some arrived from afar, with the broad and unhurried air of masters of their domains. Even the wind threading through small alleys and among flowers and trees was steady and generous.

It was the end of summer. Several days of heavy rain had brought a hint of autumn cool. Today, fine weather had finally returned, and from early morning the streets were thick with foot traffic and tremendously lively. Yet this scene of bustling, orderly splendor was torn to shreds by a storm of urgent hoofbeats. A fine horse with snow-white coat and bright green eyes carried a young gentleman in purple robes, shooting through the marketplace like a bolt of lightning. In the wake of those hooves, dust and smoke rolled in great waves — the surge of air not only overturning the flimsy little stalls along the way, but also sending flying the small hats from the heads of certain unlucky souls, exposing a stretch of mortifyingly bald crowns. Women clutched their small children, who had been frightened into wailing by the commotion, and even as they soothed them, shouted curses at the retreating hindquarters of the horse:

“That calamity again, I’d wager?”

“One look at those green-eyed prize horse and you’d know — there’s only one like that in all of Chang’an.”

“This devil incarnate — all because his maternal grandfather is a high court official and his father a great merchant in his own territory, he’s been spoiled rotten, utterly without restraint — ai!”

Su Qiuchi, of course, could hear none of these remarks, because no one possessed the courage to say them to his face. “Little Devil King of Chang’an,” “Invincible Bane of Ghosts” — such “distinguished titles” had not been bestowed on him in vain.

“Green Ear, run faster still — if I don’t catch that little wretch, I’ll write my surname Su backwards!” Su Qiuchi found even this pace insufficient, and slapped his beloved horse on the head, shooting like an arrow loosed from a bow out through Yanping Gate on the western edge of the city.

Within Chang’an, that little wretch was the first person who, having smashed Su Qiuchi’s newly bought wine pot, had the audacity to throw him a line like “Do you not watch where you walk?” Su Qiuchi ground his teeth in fury. What rotten luck today — he had barely managed to wait until his old man left for Yangzhou on a business trip, leaving no one at home to keep him in check. The weather had been wonderfully fine; on top of that, the proprietor of Gu Huang Zhai had half-sold, half-gifted him that peerless silver pot engraved with dancing horses holding cups, making it a day that ought to have been entirely satisfying and triumphant. Who could have known that the moment he stepped out of Gu Huang Zhai’s front door, he would be sent sprawling on all fours by a richly dressed gentleman on a chestnut horse? And that gentleman had not only failed to dismount and apologize or offer compensation, but had actually cursed him out and ridden away with a flourish. Su Qiuchi had never suffered such humiliation, and naturally leapt onto his mount to chase the direction the richly dressed gentleman had vanished — yet he had chased all the way to the foot of Cuiwei Mountain without catching so much as a glimpse of the man’s back.

Su Qiuchi reined in his horse and looked around in every direction, but saw only the shimmering mountain in full radiance — flowers blooming, grass lush — and apart from himself and Green Ear, along with the chirping of birds in flight, not a single other living creature was visible. Su Qiuchi wandered through the mountain for some time, following those winding mountain paths to the halfway point. Beyond flower, grass, and stone, he found nothing. Continuing upward, the paths grew increasingly narrow and treacherous — at the very least impassable by horse, possible only on foot. By now, the evening sun was sinking, the mountain wind growing cold, and a chill creeping up his spine kindled in him a desire to turn back.

“Ptui! Count yourself lucky, little wretch, that you escaped my grasp!” Su Qiuchi wrapped his clothes more tightly around himself and spat in indignation. “I only hope heaven has eyes and lets wolves and tigers catch you for their supper!”

From the dense forest on both sides of the mountain path, as the light gradually dimmed, increasingly strange sounds emerged, as though a pack of wild beasts might burst out at any moment. Su Qiuchi swallowed hard and quickly turned his horse around, galloping back the way he had come.

Unfortunately, he had gotten lost. He distinctly remembered coming up by the fork on the left — there had even been a jagged, reddish-dark rock beside it — yet when he tried to retrace his steps, he found before him not the open flat terrain beyond the mountain but a dense mist-shrouded grove of purple bamboo. Pale white and cold purple were entwined within it; in the wind, bamboo branches crossed and struck one another, emitting an unceasing rustling, as though ten thousand venomous serpents were simultaneously flicking their tongues.

Su Qiuchi was a habitual drinker by nature, but heaven and earth bore witness — he had not touched a drop of alcohol that day, so dizziness from drink and a wrong turn were impossible. Faced with this bamboo grove that had appeared out of nowhere and was strange inside and out, even Green Ear hesitated and was unwilling to step forward. Feeling profoundly uneasy, Su Qiuchi was about to turn his horse around when his gaze, cast into the bamboo grove, caught sight of something abnormal through the gap created as the mist shifted — behind layer upon layer of purple bamboo, on that pitch-dark muddy ground, a person lay prone. A moon-white garment amid all that darkness was like a gardenia petal fallen into filth: conspicuous above all else.

A horse’s whinny — one that did not belong to Green Ear — emerged from within the bamboo grove. As the mist shifted further away, Su Qiuchi discovered that not far from that prone figure stood a familiar chestnut horse. White garment, red horse… Su Qiuchi’s expression changed abruptly. In an instant he forgot every misgiving, spurred his horse into the bamboo grove, and rode straight for the figure lying within.

【003】

It was indeed him!

Su Qiuchi stared at the handsome young gentleman who lay unconscious in his arms. He thought of the wine pot that had been smashed, and ought to have felt a belly full of fury rising up — yet the look of this young man drew his gaze for a careful examination. The person in his arms appeared to be sixteen or seventeen years of age. The moon-white silk robe he wore was embroidered with a pattern of phoenix birds clasping auspicious clouds in silver thread, belted at the waist with a purple-gold jade sash, the workmanship exquisitely fine. His black hair was gathered neatly within a crown set with eight precious stones and colored cords. His face held the fresh vitality of a half-opened flower; his snow-white skin surpassed even the smoothness of silk; his brows were sword-straight and his eyes graceful; his lips were as though painted with rouge. Though his entire appearance conveyed a heroic air, his frame was perhaps a touch slight — the weight of him pressing into Su Qiuchi’s arm was genuinely light. Su Qiuchi muttered inwardly: this young man was clearly someone who had entered the world with a silver spoon in his mouth. How had he come to faint here of all places?

Just as he was puzzling over this, an unhurried but firm strike landed on the back of his head — a small stone bounced away. Su Qiuchi clapped a hand to the back of his skull and looked around in all directions, but besides the two of them, plus the red and white horses, there was nothing.

Thud! Another one. It struck his head with the playfulness of a prank.

“Who’s there?!” Su Qiuchi erupted in fury, shooting to his feet. “Which blind wretch dares toy with your grandfather Su!”

“Hey hey! Up here, up here!!” A clear, bright voice came from directly above Su Qiuchi’s head. He looked up sharply — and there, floating in mid-air, was a figure that looked exactly like the young man on the ground. In appearance, build, and dress, they were identical in every detail.

This…twins? But that notion was quickly dismissed, for Su Qiuchi could clearly see that the figure in the air had no feet — below the knees, there was only a translucent cloud of mist shaped like a serpent’s tail.

“Good heavens! A ghost!!” Su Qiuchi let out a strange cry and stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

“Don’t you dare faint!” the figure in the air shouted urgently, following this immediately with a volley of scolding: “And here you call yourself a seven-foot man — to be so craven and timid as a mouse! Which ghost do you know that dresses this properly?! I’d say you grow neither eyes nor a brain — no wonder you threw that broken wine pot at me!”

Stung by the scolding, Su Qiuchi sprang upright and pointed at the figure in the air, bellowing: “Say that again if you’ve got the nerve!”

“I’d say it a hundred times!” The other refused to back down, their pretty face flushing red. Su Qiuchi rolled up his sleeves, clearly about to charge upward and throw a punch.

“Hey, you — the one with no eyes — don’t act rash first!” Seeing his expression, the young man quickly waved a hand at him, his tone easing somewhat. “Personal grievances we can settle later. If you count yourself a real man, rescuing someone from peril should come first. Can you…can you help me return to my body? I’m not a ghost — my soul has simply left its shell. Right now I cannot control my own movements; I cannot return to my physical form.”

Soul departure was something Su Qiuchi had only heard of, never witnessed firsthand. Now that he had a living example right in front of him, angry as he was, there was still a fair measure of fascination. He scratched his chin, looking at the one lying on the ground, then looking at the one in the air, and then, after a long pause, suddenly clapped his hands together with gleeful schadenfreude and burst out laughing: “Excellent, excellent! I knew this little wretch would come to no good end. Ha ha — now look, split into two! How amusing, how very amusing!”

The young man’s soul, seeing that not only was there no intention of rescue but the man was dancing about like a monkey, was about to lose his temper — yet in a moment he too laughed, and said: “If you won’t help me, that’s perfectly fine. Only — without me to guide you, I suspect you’ll never find your way out of this bamboo grove in all your life.”

“Nonsense!” Su Qiuchi cast him a glance and pointed behind himself. “I charged in along a straight path without a single turn. What kind of logic is it that one can enter but not exit? Since you put it that way, I’m afraid I won’t keep you company. You, sir, may float here at your leisure. Farewell!” With that, he turned to mount his horse, intending to drive Green Ear back the way he had come — only to discover, with a shock, that the straight path by which he had entered had vanished at some unknown point, replaced by swaying clusters of purple bamboo that sealed the way out completely.

Those dim-witted bamboo stalks actually resembled petty thieves who had gotten away with their crime, each one standing there… smirking.

Su Qiuchi rubbed his eyes vigorously. What he saw remained unchanged — this was no illusion. This was blatant entrapment! He pulled Green Ear along and turned in circles, but the purple bamboo stalks were hard and dense, their formation compact. There was not a single gap through which to leap to freedom.

“This is your doing!” Su Qiuchi stormed back to his original spot, pointing at the young man and ranting at the top of his lungs. “You yourself are in pieces, and now you want to drag me down with you! You wicked thing! Say it now — how do we get out of this wretched bamboo grove!”

“Help me return to my body first.”

“Tell me how to get out first!”

“Help me first, otherwise the two of us shall live not as bedmates and die not as gravemates — and we will die as gravemates!”

“You—!”

“Don’t believe me? Try it and see!”

The ultimate outcome of their back-and-forth bargaining was this: Su Qiuchi, following the other’s instructions, lifted his physical body onto his back, then, under the other’s direction, kept changing direction and his manner of walking, darting and weaving rapidly between the bamboo stalks that seemed to be moving on their own.

“Run faster! Why are you shuffling along like an old granny!” The soul floating alongside, maintaining a constant three-foot distance from its own body, kept looking upward and urging him on without cease.

Su Qiuchi grew more and more furious, and before he could get a word in edgewise, the other cut him off again: “You had best not lose your temper. If we don’t find what I need before the bamboo leaves overhead seal the grove shut, I’m afraid the two of us truly will become a pair of ghost brothers.”

Beneath the increasingly violent rustling sound from all around, Su Qiuchi instinctively looked up — and was horrified to find that the interleaved bamboo leaves overhead were growing at a frantic rate, like a swarm of locusts descending en masse, rapidly devouring the sky. The light, due to this uncanny filling of leaves, grew dimmer and dimmer. Their circle of open space was shrinking by the moment. Before long, these suddenly sprouted leaves would close over them like a lid, sealing them inside the grove completely.

“How can this be? What kind of cursed place is this?” Su Qiuchi no longer had time for complaints or anger; his feet spun like wheels as he darted through the bamboo grove.

【004】

When it came to running, Su Qiuchi was also a first-rate expert in Chang’an. After an unknown amount of frantic sprinting, the moment he burst through a gap between two intertwined purple bamboo stalks, he felt the world brighten before his eyes. A refreshing breeze, carrying a slight humid warmth, struck his face, and the sound of rushing water met his ears — an open expanse amid the mountain stretched before him. Majestic mountain rocks and lush trees surrounded an oval-shaped pool, its water rippling, green as jade. A waterfall of modest but pleasing proportion hung like a silver chain in mid-air; its snow-white color actually made the already-darkening sky appear bright and clear. Several large birds he had never seen before, trailing long, colorful tail feathers, glided through the air from time to time. Su Qiuchi had never imagined that within this small bamboo grove, there could be hidden such a paradise.

“Idiot, quickly go and retrieve that brocade pouch!” The richly dressed young gentleman suddenly pointed to a patch of red visible among the pile of scattered rocks to the left. “There’s a seven-alarm signal arrow inside — send it up! Quickly!”

Su Qiuchi hastened to comply. The signal arrow shot straight into the sky, then burst open in sequence into seven flowers of different colors. Su Qiuchi asked: “Calling for rescue?! That’s the method you spoke of for getting out of the bamboo grove?”

“What else?” The other spread his hands. “Did you think I could lead you out myself?”

“Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been implying all along?!” Su Qiuchi erupted.

“I have some superficial knowledge of mystical arts — I only knew that this bamboo grove should not exist in this space, and that every bamboo stalk and every stone in here has been arranged according to Fu Xi’s Pre-Heaven Eight Trigrams Formation. Once one enters, without the guidance of a skilled expert, one can only die trapped inside. What I could do was limited to guiding you back to the path I had walked before and finding the signal arrow to call for help.” The richly dressed young gentleman was far calmer than him. He turned his eyes upward. “I can only hope we’re found before we starve to death.”

The moment Su Qiuchi heard words like “space” and “Fu Xi’s Pre-Heaven Eight Trigrams,” his head exploded.

“Sit and wait then. Chances are you’ll soon be needed to carry me again.” The richly dressed young gentleman pointed at the large cyan-colored rock nearby. “Oh, and — what is your name?”

“What business is it of yours what I’m called!” Su Qiuchi plunked himself down and shot him an unfriendly glare. “But I’ll tell you anyway — Su Qiuchi. Known as the Little Tyrant of Chang’an. Hmph!”

“This one is Li Huai, a native of Chang’an.” The young gentleman introduced himself with generous ease. “In this way, we may be said to have made each other’s acquaintance. We are, at the very least, companions in adversity. If I have caused any offense previously, please do not take it to heart. Today I intended simply to go for an outing, yet did not expect to blunder into this place, and further implicated Mister Su — truly not my intention.”

This fellow had finally said a few decent words. Su Qiuchi’s anger subsided somewhat. He kept his expression flat as he asked: “How did you end up in this cursed place, and how did your soul leave your body?”

“Ai — coming down from Cuiwei Mountain, I saw this bamboo grove and found it novel and interesting, so I entered to have a look. I walked all the way to the edge of the pool, and seeing the water clear and lovely, I drank a few mouthfuls. Having found nothing else of note, I turned to retrace my steps — but as I walked, things went wrong. The world spun, my body burned like fire, and then I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was like this — and I had lost the brocade pouch with the signal arrow. I also discovered that my soul cannot move more than ten feet from my body. Fortunately you blundered in, otherwise in my current state…” Li Huai said despondently. “If I’d known, I would have stayed properly in the palace — no, in my home — and not come out.”

“Ptui! You wretched wretch!” Though Su Qiuchi’s mouth kept up its insults, his heart found it strange as well. Could it be this place had been touched by demonic sorcery?

Just then, a five-colored bird descended from the air and landed on the surface of two large rocks that stood facing one another close to the water’s edge, and sang in a melodious, winding voice. Looking more carefully at those two rocks: each stood about the height of a person, translucently jade-like all over, with a faint blue light seeping through — extraordinarily beautiful to behold.

Su Qiuchi was drawn by the bird and the rocks, and quickly stepped closer for a better look. Upon approaching, however, Su Qiuchi, drawing on his years of experience handling antique jade objects, concluded these were simply two ordinary rocks. Yet on the chessboard-smooth surface at the top of each rock, there was a pile of bamboo leaves arranged in the shape of a human figure. Two bamboo-leaf figures, one on each strange rock, clearly facing each other in a posture of standoff.

“What is this?” Su Qiuchi found it peculiar. He casually picked up the figure on the right-hand rock and, on a whim, plucked up its “right arm,” holding it close to his eye for inspection. It was nothing more than a genuine bamboo leaf — who on earth had been so bored as to arrange them like this?

Just as he was puzzling over it, a rush of white vapor suddenly burst from the body of the bamboo-leaf figure that was now missing one “arm,” accompanied by a furious shout of “Hateful!” — and a white-robed monk materialized out of that white vapor, left hand clutching his right shoulder, glaring ferociously at Su Qiuchi. Simultaneously, the bamboo-leaf figure on the rock opposite gave off the same phenomenon — the shadow of a man gradually appeared from its white vapor… Su Qiuchi let out a shout and toppled ignominiously to the ground, pointing at the two figures that had materialized from nowhere on the rocks, too stunned to speak.

“Demon — count your lucky stars today! Next time, things won’t be so easy!” The monk snarled at the man on the opposite rock, then fixed Su Qiuchi with another furious glare. He murmured a chant, dissolved his body into a wisp of green smoke, and dissipated into the air.

“No matter how many cycles of reincarnation — still the same incorrigible nature.” The man shook his head, brushed off his green robe, and jumped down from the rock.

“You…” Su Qiuchi could not be certain whether the man before him was human or ghost, god or demon. His vision held only that sweep of lake-blue hair and that clean, warm, delicately jade-like face. If this man were human, his looks — not to speak of other men — would make even women envious.

“Please do not be afraid, Mister Su.” The blue-haired man extended his hand politely toward Su Qiuchi, smiling. “Please rise — I must sincerely thank both you and Mister Li today. Had you not intervened from the side and disrupted that bald donkey’s formation, I would have had great difficulty escaping this ordeal.”

“You…” Su Qiuchi stared blankly at the other man. All he could sense from the man’s gaze was goodwill, no danger. He let himself be pulled to his feet. After recovering his wits somewhat, he immediately jumped back to one side and shouted: “What manner of being are you?”

The man smiled, cupped his hands toward Su Qiuchi: “This one is Jiu Jue. A mountain village commoner, nothing more.” Su Qiuchi was thoroughly baffled. “How did you know my surname is Su?”

“I overheard your conversation. Shall we first help Mister Li out of his predicament?” Jiu Jue walked toward Li Huai, who had been anxiously craning his neck from a distance. The poor fellow, tethered to his physical body, had been unable to follow Su Qiuchi to the area between the two rocks, and was frantic with impatience.

Both Su Qiuchi and Li Huai felt that Jiu Jue had done almost nothing — merely dipped his finger into the pool water, then used that moistened finger to trace a couple of lines on Li Huai’s forehead, then flicked the remaining droplets onto Li Huai’s wandering soul. He leapt up and seized the soul’s hand, drawing it back toward the physical body — and in mere moments, that body, which had been silent as death, drew in a breath with a gasp, and sprang up alive and kicking, pinching its own hands and feet in amazement, crying out: “Wonderful, wonderful! I’m alive, I’m alive!”

“That pool water is not something ordinary people can drink.” Jiu Jue cast a glance toward the jade-green pool, and smiled. “This pool is called ‘Carefree.’ If an ordinary person drinks directly from it, their soul will leave their body. Without rescue, they can only remain here as a wandering spirit forever.”

Su Qiuchi and Li Huai broke into cold sweats upon hearing this. Li Huai muttered: “The name sounds quite lovely — ‘Carefree’…”

“The troubles of the human world all arise from this stinking sack of flesh and bones. Cast off that shackle, draw forth the soul, and all things are seen with clarity — naturally, there is nothing to worry about.” Jiu Jue laughed heartily, then changed the subject: “If you two gentlemen trust that I am not a bad person, please come with me to my humble abode to rest for a while. I also have some aged fine wine, which I can offer as hospitality.” His gaze turned toward the forested mountain behind the waterfall, and he extended a warm invitation.

“Let’s go! Let’s go! I’ll go!” The moment he heard there was wine to be drunk, the craving for drink within Su Qiuchi’s belly immediately began cheering without restraint, all other considerations forgotten. Li Huai cast Su Qiuchi a look of contempt, muttered “drunkard,” but did not object to Jiu Jue’s invitation either. The truth was, the uncanny events he had encountered throughout that one day had already left him thoroughly exhausted. If there were a place to rest for a while now, with a few cups of wine to drink, that would be ideal. The three of them followed Jiu Jue along the Carefree Pool toward the mountain behind the waterfall.

“So you said this bamboo grove should not exist in this space — how did you and that monk get in here? How did you come crawling out of those bamboo-leaf figures?”

“All of this — would it not be better to tell you at my home, Mister Su?”

“Your name is so strange — Jiu Jue. Is there even a surname ‘Jiu’? Is your older brother called Eight Jue?”

“…”

“Su Qiuchi, say one more word, and I, Li Huai, swear I will throw you into the pool to feed the fish!”

“Shut your mouth, little wretch — if not for me, you’d still be on the other side of the bamboo grove right now as a wandering spirit!”

“I’ll have your head when I get back!”

“Your face-changing is even faster than a woman’s! One moment you’re calling me a companion in adversity, and the next you want to take my head. Let me tell you — my maternal grandfather is the current Grand Councilor; who will end up taking whose head remains to be seen. And you smashed my wine pot that cost eight hundred silver taels — compensate me!”

“Who told you, you big oblivious goose, to block my path? That I didn’t trample you to death was already an extraordinary act of mercy on my part.”

All along the way, Su Qiuchi and Li Huai clashed at every turn, mortal enemies and sworn rivals, destroying the naturally peaceful and tranquil air of the surroundings utterly.

Looking at these two restless young gentlemen, Jiu Jue only smiled and said nothing.

【005】

The fifth watch of the night. The Grand Ming Palace. The Hall of Diligent Governance. Candle shadows swayed faintly in the darkness; all was still and silent. The two young eunuchs waiting attendance outside the hall huddled with their hands tucked in their sleeves, yawning from time to time.

She had long since accustomed herself to focusing intently on reviewing memorials at this hour and in these surroundings. Apart from the two young eunuchs, everyone else had been dismissed; even the candle flames had been reduced to a single one.

The vermillion imperial brush set down characters one by one, each significant in its own right. What ought by rights to be the responsibilities of a sovereign, her husband had, under the name of wind-illness and headache, handed to her in this disguised fashion — all the affairs of the empire. He said it was a tacit understanding between husband and wife, born of trust.

Only when she closed the last memorial did the monk who had been crouching in the shadows before her — head bowed, hands dropped, not daring to make a sound — carefully step forward one pace from the darkness.

“Your Majesty the Empress, we were only one step away. Once this poor monk’s vitality is restored, the treasure will surely be taken from that demon.” The white-robed monk from the bamboo grove was filled with trepidation. The woman before his eyes was approaching middle age, yet her beauty was, if anything, more enchanting than in her younger days. Only in the depths of those brows and eyes lay an authority and heroic spirit that even ten thousand men could not match. Clad in a plain gauze robe, her high-pinned hair adorned only with a single nine-colored glaze phoenix hairpin worn with casual ease — candlelight playing upon it, black hair and beautiful ornament, shimmering with flowing brilliance — this manner of dress made her a standout even amid the murk of such a deep night.

“Is Princess Duanyi well?” She straightened the stack of memorials and did not spare the monk a glance.

“This…” Cold sweat broke out on the monk’s forehead. “It had originally been proceeding as Your Majesty wished, only a meddling young wretch appeared halfway through and disrupted this poor monk’s entire plan… Please be at ease, Your Majesty — within one month, this poor monk will surely carry out Your Majesty’s decree. The Three-Life Dream-Waking Book will definitely be retrieved, along with… the Princess’s life!”

“I truly cannot say whether to reward you or punish you.” She lifted her eyes slightly, regarding the monk. “You are still not clever enough. Never mind — I have other plans for the matter of the Princess.” She paused briefly, then her gaze sharpened with sudden keenness. “However, that Three-Life Dream-Waking Book — one month is your limit. If it cannot be done within that time, the Dharma Master will face the danger of becoming a corpse.”

“Yes, yes — this poor monk obeys Your Majesty’s decree!” The monk wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

“You may withdraw.” She raised her hand slightly. The monk, as though granted amnesty, rose and retreated back into the shadows — a wisp of green smoke drifted past, and the figure was gone.

In the moonlight, the Taiye Pool lay filled with the drifting fragrance of lotus flowers, lotus blossoms opening everywhere, a pool of green water gently swaying, its sound like a lullaby sung by a mother to her child — gentle and soft.

She lay upon a comfortable bed, the fragrance of incense drifting in all directions.

“Does it sound beautiful? The sound of that water.” Someone came from beyond those layers of curtains, stepping lightly — each step like a blooming lotus flower.

“Who’s there?!” She sat upright from the bed, drew aside the curtain, then broke into a cold smile: “Empress Wang — it’s you again!”

“I have only come to ask — does the sound of this Taiye Pool compare to the lullaby you once sang to your daughter?” The figure paused, conversing with her through a layer of gauze curtain with a smile. The feeling of a needle piercing her chest arose instantly, yet she maintained her cold smile: “And what of it, whether it does or does not?”

“Wu Meiniang — in those days, to wrest the title of Empress from my hands, you did not hesitate to destroy your own infant daughter with your own hands, then frame me, Wang the Empress, until the furious Emperor deposed me. Now I tell you — she has returned. The plum-blossom mark on her palm is so beautiful! She will do it on my behalf, on behalf of all the souls who perished beneath your ambition — she will take back everything from you! Ha ha ha.” Beyond the gauze curtain, the laughter was desolate and shrill.

“No one has any standing to take anything from me!” She tried to rise, yet could not move.

“A god can!” The figure beyond the curtain announced triumphantly.

“I will stand in a place higher than any god.” She was calm, yet every word fell like iron.

A chill rose from within her chest. She wrenched her eyes open. She was still lying there in perfect order, on her high bed with its warm pillows, only the back of her robe drenched in sweat. Layer upon layer of gauze curtains still hung low. Beyond them, there were only palace maids and eunuchs — no other person. She sat up, pressed her hand to her forehead in exhausted support. She had lost count of how many times over these years she had repeated this dream. Each time, she woke amid the chill that knotted itself in her heart. To truly step to a place higher than any god — only then would those things be forever trodden underfoot and never recalled again, would they not? She had asked herself this many times, and the answer was always — yes.

No one could be allowed to disrupt her order. What she wanted was not the phoenix hairpin — it was the dragon robe. Yes, surely the truth was exactly that. She had a task to complete — but right now, there was still a little confidence she lacked.

【006】

So this was what immortals looked like.

Su Qiuchi still could not quite believe he had met a living immortal, even though that fellow had been entirely candid in his self-introduction. How could an ordinary person transform a cup of plain water into fine wine in the blink of an eye? And if it was demonic art — were there demons in the world who looked so clean and luminous? In any case, as long as fine wine could be obtained from him, even if he were a demon it did not matter — within a very short time, Su Qiuchi’s understanding of Jiu Jue wound its way through circling thoughts and arrived at a settled conclusion.

He and Li Huai had stayed only a few hours in Jiu Jue’s bamboo house — situated beyond the Carefree Pool outside the purple bamboo grove of Cuiwei Mountain — so why was it that when they returned home, their household members had rushed out one by one, weeping bitterly, saying he had been missing for a full three days? The house had long since reported it to the authorities, and his maternal grandfather had even dispatched a company of sturdy soldiers to search all of Chang’an for him.

A single day in the mountain, a thousand years in the world? Su Qiuchi could only turn his imagination in that direction. Of course, he told no one of his strange encounter on Cuiwei Mountain — he simply said he had been enjoying the mountain scenery and lost track of time.

That evening, Su Qiuchi, uncharacteristically, did not go out to carouse. He sat with his chin in his hand, in a daze beside his bedroom window, holding the exquisitely wrought silver pot engraved with a dancing horse holding a cup. This wine pot, when Li Huai had sent him crashing into it, had had the chain connecting its lid torn apart — yet after Jiu Jue had fiddled with it casually for a few moments, it was as good as new. That day, Jiu Jue had poured half a potful of the wine he had brewed himself into it. The taste — truly a hundredfold more mellow and rich than even the finest imperial wine gifted by the Emperor. Now the wine was gone, but the fragrance remained. It seemed Jiu Jue had been telling the truth.

Jiu Jue had said he was the wine-brewing immortal official of the Celestial Realm. By the nature of his duties, he frequently descended into the human realm to seek the fine raw ingredients needed for brewing wine. That monk had a private grudge against him, and, seizing the opportunity of his descent to the mortal world, had attempted to seize an object he held. The two had fought for three days and three nights, and he had the worse of it; he had no choice but to lead the monk into the purple bamboo grove, using bamboo leaves as decoys to conceal his traces. But that monk had still refused to give up and, using the same formation, placed his own body and soul into the bamboo leaves and entered the other end of the space in relentless pursuit. The two were fighting a battle to the finish in a void invisible to ordinary people when, fortunately, the bumbling Su Qiuchi — led there by Li Huai — had stumbled in by chance, disrupting the monk’s decoy, thereby rescuing him from the predicament. That monk had been wounded by the blow, losing enough vitality that he would need at least a month to recover.

In Jiu Jue’s bamboo house, Su Qiuchi and Li Huai had listened to this account in complete bewilderment, and then had been muddled along out of the purple bamboo grove by Jiu Jue, returning safely to the open terrain beyond Cuiwei Mountain.

Su Qiuchi remembered: he had mounted his horse and looked back, and Jiu Jue had still been not far off, waving and smiling at them. He looked away, and that breathtaking sweep of lake-blue hair was already gone without a trace — as though the person who had just waved and smiled at him had been only a phantom. Li Huai’s expression had mirrored Su Qiuchi’s completely, except that he showed even more reluctance to leave, looking back at every other step. The purple bamboo grove, the Carefree Pool, Jiu Jue — all of it had felt as unreal as a dream. At the thought of this, Su Qiuchi suddenly tightened his grip on the wine pot, fished a small brocade pouch from his body, examined it, then abruptly leapt to his feet and rushed out the door.

The pouch had been given to him and Li Huai as parting gifts by Jiu Jue, containing a bamboo dragonfly and a small square-mouthed porcelain bottle. Jiu Jue had said: not wishing to be disturbed, he had arranged the purple bamboo grove in which he lived according to Fu Xi’s Pre-Heaven Eight Trigrams Formation, separating this grove from ordinary space by means of a boundary. Their blundering in had been nothing more than a fortuitous circumstance. If they wished to visit him again, they need only enter the mountain and sprinkle the water of the Carefree Pool onto the bamboo dragonfly — the dragonfly would then guide them there.

Hurrying into Cuiwei Mountain, Su Qiuchi followed Jiu Jue’s instructions, opened the porcelain bottle, and sprinkled the water onto the bamboo dragonfly. In the blink of an eye, the bamboo dragonfly flapped its wings as though alive and flew off into the depths of the mountain forest.

【007】

In Jiu Jue’s bamboo house, someone had arrived before Su Qiuchi and was sharing wine in warm and cheerful conversation with Jiu Jue.

“You, you, you…” Su Qiuchi stormed in like a sudden tempest, pointed at Li Huai with one hand, and seized the wine pot from the table with the other, gave it a hard shake, then stamped his foot in fury. “You’ve drunk all the wine! Without me!”

His frantic manner startled the bamboo dragonfly guide into fleeing back out the window, nearly colliding with the frame. Li Huai remained perfectly composed, holding up his cup and deliberately offering a faint smile: “Mister Su has never been a person of any particular importance — your absence is of no consequence.”

Su Qiuchi feigned a move to go hit him, which was laughingly blocked by Jiu Jue, who said: “This humble abode may lack other things, but as for wine — there is as much as one could want. Mister Su need have no concern.” At these words, Su Qiuchi’s expression immediately went from cloudy to clear, and he grinned cheerfully at Jiu Jue: “Good immortal — then do quickly bring out as much as possible!”

“You must have drowned in a wine vat in your previous life.” Li Huai dabbed at the corner of his mouth with refined composure, set down his cup, and said, “For a boor like you — a wild boar in human clothing — to drink the wine here would be a pure waste!”

“Surname Li — don’t think you won’t get hit just because you’re good-looking!” The few times Su Qiuchi had ever been mocked like this, he was livid with rage. He charged forward and sent a fist straight at Li Huai’s face. But Li Huai was remarkably agile — in the moment of dodging aside, his right hand had already clamped around Su Qiuchi’s right wrist, and with a sharp twist, Su Qiuchi actually howled like the wild boar he had been called, and simply threw his whole body forward, landing on Li Huai. The two of them rolled and wrestled on the floor, punching and kicking, their fine clothes stained utterly black and brown with dust — an absolute disgrace.

Jiu Jue did not intervene, but backed away to one side with his wine pot in arms, laughing with undisguised schadenfreude as he pointed at them: “A true pair of destined antagonists! This little house of mine has not been this lively in many a year.”

The two, fighting back and forth and finding that no one was going to break it up, lost interest, and each clambered up from the floor with mutual grumbling and cursing. Su Qiuchi had a black eye; on his otherwise handsome face there was now a shoe print, and with a bruised mouth he bellowed: “You wild, reckless monkey! Have you never heard the saying ‘when you hit someone, don’t hit their face’?! Doing this to me — how am I supposed to show my face at the House of Ten Thousand Flowers now?!”

“You truly are a wild boar in disguise — resorting to biting!” Li Huai nursed his fist-reddened nose and held up his right arm, on which a clear row of tooth marks had been pressed. He cursed bitterly: “I’ll have you slaughtered and made into cured meat one day!”

“Ha ha ha!” Jiu Jue laughed himself into the armchair, relishing every moment of it. Only when he sensed that the furious gazes Su Qiuchi and Li Huai were both directing at him had reached a tacit agreement to unite against a common enemy, did he stop laughing, sit up, clear his throat, and say: “Well, now… as the saying goes, one cannot make friends without a fight. The saying also goes: enemies in this life are lovers in the next. Lovers in the previous life are enemies in this life. You two can be said to have a connection.”

“Lovers?!” Su Qiuchi and Li Huai looked at each other, then simultaneously spat hard at one another. “Ptui!”

“I have no such inclinations toward men.”

“I have no fondness for the company of other men in that regard.”

Jiu Jue smiled warmly at this pair of antagonists who had spoken with one voice. “Very much in sync.”

“Hey — I didn’t come today to listen to your rubbish.” Su Qiuchi lost patience, went over to grab hold of Jiu Jue, and said: “Quickly bring out eight or ten jars of fine wine! Otherwise — immortal or not — I’m not impressed. I’ll burn down your little shack. Hmph!”

Hardly had his words fallen when a child of around ten years of age, hair done up in twin buns, came in carrying a pot of wine. His clean, crisp white cloth garment was printed with black patterns; his bearing was serene and his eyes bright with a kind of knowing light. He seemed somehow different from an ordinary child.

Jiu Jue introduced him to the two visitors: “My household page, Lan Ting.” Lan Ting gave the two a slight nod, said nothing further, set down the wine pot, and stood to one side.

A rich, mellow, crisp fragrance seeped out from the mouth of the pot. All who smelled it could not but feel their mouths water. Without stopping to address the injuries on his face, Su Qiuchi lunged forward, pulled off the lid, and tipped the pot toward his mouth. Yet not a single drop came out. Baffled, he took the pot, shook it hard — there was indeed the sound of wine sloshing within. He closed one eye and peered inside — it was full. Yet when he tipped it toward his mouth again, the pot was plainly empty once more. Li Huai snatched the pot away, but had the same experience as Su Qiuchi — visible but impossible to drink.

“If you wish to drink freely of the fine wine of this household in future, there are rules.” Jiu Jue cleverly took the pot back. “The earlier invitation for you to drink was my thanks for your help in rescuing me. Starting from this pot, it can no longer be drunk simply by wishing to.”

“How much silver do you want?” Su Qiuchi responded quickly. Since tasting Jiu Jue’s craft, the wine of other establishments had ceased to arouse his interest at all. For such exquisite wine, he would willingly pay any amount. Li Huai pushed him aside and said only: “Whatever he pays, I’ll pay double.”

“You two truly present a united front.” Jiu Jue spread his hands in a show of reluctance. “My rule is this: each person composes a poem. If I find it satisfactory, from then on, fine wine is yours to enjoy at will.”

Su Qiuchi and Li Huai looked at each other and again spoke in perfect unison: “Is silver acceptable instead?”

“No.” Jiu Jue shook his head. “Even if the two of you contribute one line each, that would be acceptable.”

The thing Su Qiuchi was worst at in all his life was composing poems and couplets. Li Huai, scratching his head anxiously on the other side, was probably in the same boat. With fine wine dangling before them, Su Qiuchi rummaged through the meager literary resources in his belly over and over, and finally, after considerable effort, squeezed out one line: A thousand li, following the fragrance. On the other side, Li Huai, having torn out a handful of hair, followed with: Laughing at the reflection in the cup.

A thousand li, following the fragrance — laughing at the reflection in the cup. Jiu Jue was motionless for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and smiled: “Neither accomplished nor terrible. Very middling.” Su Qiuchi and Li Huai turned red with embarrassment, regretting only that they had not listened more carefully to their teachers, and acquired a stronger foundation in literature.

“Lan Ting — come and fill in the last two lines.” He beckoned to Lan Ting.

Lan Ting took up brush and ink from the side, spread them across the table, and without a moment’s hesitation, wrote: A thousand li, following the fragrance — laughing at the reflection in the cup. Golden branches shake jade leaves — she in skirts outshines he in beard.

At sight of that last line, a flicker of agitation crossed Li Huai’s face in an instant.

“Ha ha — this doggerel verse barely passes muster.” Jiu Jue laughed, holding up that sheet of paper and ruffling Lan Ting’s head. “Well, we’ll let them through.”

Lan Ting broke into a grin and nodded. Su Qiuchi glanced at the lines Lan Ting had written. He — who had considerable knowledge of antiques and calligraphy — felt only that in those scant twenty characters, every character showed variation; there was at once the floating ease of drifting cloud and the vigorous dynamism of a soaring dragon, turning and spiraling with unhurried composure. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed this brushwork could have come from the hand of a ten-year-old child.

“This…this…you write so beautifully!” Su Qiuchi, with a thousand and one words to say, reduced them all to one sentence. Lan Ting smiled at him and said nothing.

Though Li Huai was no expert in calligraphy, he too felt this work’s air of distinction set it apart from ordinary pieces, and gave Lan Ting a thumbs-up as well, asking: “Lan Ting, was this fine hand of yours taught by your master?”

“How could I have taught him.” Jiu Jue quickly clarified. “Lan Ting’s abilities are entirely innate.” Well — Jiu Jue was a celestial immortal, was he not? Naturally, someone who served as an immortal’s page could not be an ordinary person.

After the commotion had settled, everyone sat together around the table. Lan Ting brought out a few delicate small dishes. The wine was fragrant and the food warm. The group, accompanied by the slanting rays of the evening sun through the window and the singing of birds returning to their nests, raised their chopsticks and cups and spoke freely. The long-awaited Su Qiuchi, after draining three pots of wine, gazed at Jiu Jue through tipsy, hazy eyes and asked blankly: “You’re really…what kind of wine-brewing immortal official?”

“You really are a woman! People have already told you they’re an immortal, and you still ask!” The wine-tolerance-challenged Li Huai, swaying and stumbling, gave him a push and leaned against him with slurred speech, slowly sliding down to the floor and using Su Qiuchi’s leg as a pillow.

“Hey…I feel like Jiu Jue looks really familiar…and you look familiar too…do you owe me a lot of money from somewhere?” Su Qiuchi poked at Li Huai’s head. “You, a man…look more refined than a woman…but have more strength than me…I feel like we’re really similar!”

“Nonsense! Who looks like you…you’re so ugly! Jiu Jue is better looking…” Li Huai punched him.

Jiu Jue watched these two little drunken cats with a smile, shook his head, supported them one by one into the inner room’s beds, tucked the covers around them, blew out the lamp flame, and gently closed the door.

【008】

Outside the bamboo house, the night had grown heavy. Stars and moon were sparse; the few pale strands of light that trickled down from the sky delicately stained the blue-purple bamboo house, where light and shadow blended in just the right measure. Before the bamboo fence of the courtyard, several trees of osmanthus were blooming at the finest moment of their season, their secluded fragrance entering the very marrow of one’s being, deeply appealing.

There were no tables or chairs in the courtyard. Jiu Jue sat on the ground with his back against the osmanthus tree, beneath him a reed mat scattered with fallen osmanthus petals — stars and points of them. A pot of wine stood before him, not a drop touched. He half-closed his eyes and gazed into the distance, though the distance held nothing but a hazy blur of light and shadow.

“Master, do you have something weighing on your mind?” Beside the osmanthus tree, Lan Ting’s small figure stepped out from empty air. His lips did not move, yet he spoke clearly — his childlike voice like a part of the air itself.

“I’ve said it for hundreds of years — don’t call me Master.” Jiu Jue did not stir, not even bothering to lift his eyelids. “With a memory this poor — no wonder, after such a long time, your cultivation has not progressed in the slightest. When I first encountered you, you were a child. Now, still a child.”

Lan Ting pursed his lips disdainfully and said: “The level of my cultivation makes no difference to me. But you — the Mid-Autumn Festival is almost here, and your wish is nearly fulfilled. What could still be troubling you?”

“I feel there’s something amiss, yet I cannot say where.” Jiu Jue raised his face, inhaling the fragrance in the air, and smiled. “I truly am a rather ineffectual immortal.”

“You’ve saved many people — including me! How is that ineffectual?!” Lan Ting was displeased.

“Heh.” Jiu Jue opened his eyes and changed the subject. “If your cultivation were a little higher, should a day come when I am no longer here, you could at least keep yourself safe.”

Lan Ting lowered his head, twisting his fingers in silence.

“The monk San Jie and I are lifelong enemies of equal ability. From when he and I were both in the Celestial Realm, there was old enmity between us. After he was cast down into the mortal world, he has opposed me in life after life, and this lifetime he is the most difficult to deal with. After that incident where Su Qiuchi ruined his plans, he certainly will not let it rest.” Jiu Jue flicked his forehead. “You had best stay sharp — that monk may come to cause trouble at any time.”

“He is no match for you.” Lan Ting thought carefully for quite some time before saying this.

“My true adversary is not the monk San Jie.” Jiu Jue sighed. “It is Empress Wu.”

“Merely a woman.”

“Though born as a woman, she loves dominion over the world, not rouge and powder. She is harder to deal with than ten San Jie monks.” Jiu Jue picked up the wine pot, tilted his head and drank a small mouthful, then patted Lan Ting’s head. “But never mind — I will protect you for as long as I am able. All right, go to sleep. Tomorrow’s affairs can wait until tomorrow.”

“I’ll sleep right here.” Lan Ting sat down on the reed mat with a plop, curled close against Jiu Jue and lay down — very much like a cat that depended upon its master. “This feels safer.” Having said this, he fixed his gaze, full of expectation, on the wine pot in Jiu Jue’s hand, and asked again: “Master, may I have just a little? Just a tiny bit…it smells so good!”

Jiu Jue smiled and flipped his hand, producing a cup, then poured a thin, shallow layer of wine into it and passed it over, saying: “This is the only time.”

The fine wine having reached his belly, before long Lan Ting began to snore — and with each snore, his body shrank a size, until at last it dissolved into a spread-open scroll. At the heading of the scroll were four characters: Lan Ting Ji Xu — the Lan Ting Preface. And at the very last, from the middle of the scroll, a sphere of light gradually swelled upward, trembling faintly like a breath. A book emerged from within the sphere. As the light dispersed, all that remained was a yellowed cover bearing two characters: Dream-Waking.

A cool breeze passed through, turning the pages — and beneath that cover, there was nothing but emptiness: the entire book had only one page remaining. Jiu Jue, seeing this, set down his half-drunk wine, removed the outer robe he wore, and draped it over the book, shaking his head: “I’ve never seen a demon as slow to progress as you. A few drops of wine and your true form appears.”

Yes. Lan Ting was a book. The monk San Jie wanted this book. The Empress Dowager wanted this book. Throughout the past thousands of years, those who had sought to obtain this book were as numerous as fish crossing a river.

The Three-Life Dream-Waking Book — behold ten thousand years of affairs from afar. Lan Ting — more accurately, it should be said that this was a demon that had always grown into the form of a book. In former times, half its life was spent showing people who came to it for help a glimpse of their so-called “fate wheel” — the turning of destiny; the other half was spent fleeing for its life from one malicious, ill-intentioned villain after another. According to popular legend, if you ground the Three-Life Dream-Waking Book to ash, steeped it in water, and drank it, you would become an unrivaled prophet, capable of foreseeing the future and manipulating destiny. The truth, however, was that even if one consumed it, the ability to foresee destiny would not be transferred to the other party. This irresponsible piece of false information had caused this demon immense suffering.

Three hundred years prior, Jiu Jue had rescued Lan Ting from Yun Ding Mountain, where it was being hunted by a Red Bear old demon, and had learned that this muddle-headed book demon was perpetually being ensnared in the pursuit of those with ill intentions. During the Eastern Jin period, a Taoist priest had tracked it down relentlessly, intent on taking it apart for use in alchemy. While fleeing for its life, it had spotted in a wild mountainous area an old scholar, drunk on wine, wielding a brush and pouring ink across paper. It simply hid its true form inside the scroll that the old scholar was writing. What it had not expected was that this old gentleman surnamed Wang was vastly talented — a true embodiment of the celestial spirit of literature — and his aura of pure, clean brilliance thoroughly expelled every trace of its demonic energy. From then on, no one could track it down by its aura. Thus the eternally celebrated “Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection” became the dwelling place of a demon, and basking in the renown of this masterwork, even its cultivation improved. Though it could take human form only as a young child, it was quite satisfied. Beyond that, it even came to possess a belly full of poetic and literary spirit, and simply renamed itself “Lan Ting.” Later, its encounter with the Red Bear old demon had been entirely due to its own weakness for drink — it had passed out drunk in the forest and given away its hiding place. After Jiu Jue rescued it, it came to regard him as its master, followed him back to the residence in the purple bamboo grove, became his page, and had lived there in peace and contentment ever since.

Jiu Jue knew Lan Ting well. Its greatest virtue was its kind heart; its greatest weakness was also its kind heart. Faced with those with careworn, sorrow-filled faces who came to it seeking knowledge of their futures, it was always forthcoming, answering each inquiry and revealing what was asked. What it did not realize was that each question it answered would burn away one page.

When they’re all burned, you’ll have nothing left, you’ll be nothing. Jiu Jue had warned it.

Born from the void, to the void shall I return. I simply cannot bear to see those people in their grief. If a small sacrifice can change their futures, it is worth it. That is how Lan Ting had answered him.

It was, after all, only a book — even if called a demon, it held within itself only those square, clean thoughts. But did knowing the future, seeing through destiny, truly matter? This was a question Jiu Jue had secretly pondered for many years. Yet the reality he had to acknowledge was this: one page of Lan Ting had once been burned to ash for his sake.

Two hundred years prior, he had asked Lan Ting one question: When will I finally find him? Lan Ting’s answer had been: A thousand li, following the fragrance — laughing at the reflection in the cup.

【009】

Everyone in the Su household believed their young master had been possessed by something. Since those days when he had gone to Gu Huang Zhai and bought the wine pot, this person who had been devoted to drink as though to life itself had not touched a single drop of the household’s wine. He was no longer seen at the antique shops or the House of Ten Thousand Flowers or similar establishments. He, who had always said “scholars are the most useless of all people,” had one night actually clutched a poetry collection and studied it under the lamplight for half an evening. And he would frequently slip away before even finishing breakfast, returning later with his mind perfectly clear, yet his person always surrounded by a pleasant fragrance of wine.

Su Qiuchi had always believed the only thing drawing him back again and again to the purple bamboo grove was the wine brewed by Jiu Jue — that immortal of still-uncertain status. Li Huai thought so too. One accidental blundering, one pot of fine wine — these had linked three people who had originally had nothing to do with one another. Beneath a high sky of wide clouds, in warm sunlight amid green mountains, at Jiu Jue’s dwelling place like something out of a paradise — filled at all times with the fragrance of wine, and from time to time the drifting notes of a flute.

Sometimes they would be inside the bamboo house, with a small stove lit and the mountain delicacies that Lan Ting had gathered slowly simmering in warming, steaming pots. The three of them would eat at leisure and sip slowly. Su Qiuchi and Li Huai would invariably wage battles with their chopsticks, neither willing to yield, and Jiu Jue would seize the moment of their squabbling to pick out the largest and finest wild mushrooms for himself. Lan Ting never ate, only stood to one side laughing in quiet amusement. Other times, in the outer courtyard, a reed mat would be spread across the ground, and cups and plates and bowls set out at random. The three of them didn’t stand on ceremony or maintain any dignified postures — some sitting, some lying down, chopsticks abandoned entirely, picking up the fragrant spiced beef and putting it straight into their mouths, doing whatever felt comfortable, heart unconstrained by worldly ways, conduct without restriction. Amid seemingly chaotic laughter and revelry, they would speak of the ancient sages, discuss today’s common people, and share strange tales from across the world — vivid and fascinating. When the conversation reached a particularly spirited height, Su Qiuchi might roll onto the ground and kick his legs in laughter, not even noticing his shoe had gone flying.

Here is joy — no thought of going home. Su Qiuchi and Li Huai never said these words, yet they were written plainly in their expressions and gazes. They loved this place, loved Jiu Jue’s wine, and seemed also to love Jiu Jue as a person. As the visits grew more frequent, when Su Qiuchi and Li Huai looked at each other, it seemed neither was quite as bristling with hostility as before. Though they still bickered endlessly, though Li Huai still pulled that trick of digging a small pit in the ground to trick Su Qiuchi into falling in, though Su Qiuchi still did that thing of sneaking half a jar of salt into Li Huai’s wine pot — all of this seemed to have turned into a kind of pleasure.

There was one particular evening, after the third round of wine, with the sunset just right in the distance. A brilliant, shimmering gold, like the swells of the sea, rose and fell in layer upon layer — with a slow and far-reaching brushstroke, tucking the mountain and water before their eyes into magnificent and painterly lines. Jiu Jue took up his bamboo flute and lounged lazily against the trunk of the osmanthus tree, his blue hair gently dancing, his sleeves floating light. He parted his lips slightly, and from the green bamboo flute arose the most wonderful music in the human world. Su Qiuchi’s literary talent was modest, but he had some rough knowledge of music. He had Lan Ting bring out Jiu Jue’s ancient qin from indoors, sat cross-legged, the instrument balanced across his knees, and with the benefit of a few cups of pleasant intoxication, plucked the strings in accompaniment to Jiu Jue’s flute. Flute and qin — each made the other more complete. Li Huai, hearing the music and feeling moved, rose to the center of the courtyard, and keeping time with the beat, danced with grace and elegance. Steps like the opening of flowers, sleeves like cloud and water; in the flow of those expressive eyes, a tipsy charm swayed — in each gesture, each smile, one might have thought an immortal had descended to the mortal world. Not a trace of masculinity remained.

Flute and qin in harmony, a beauty dancing — these three people had, without realizing it, composed the most beautiful scene in the world. Lan Ting, pressing against the window ledge, had eyes only for the rare and beautiful sight outside. His brush moved rapidly across paper.

If time cannot stand still, let this beauty — belonging only to the three of them — be preserved within a painting.

【010】

Today, the light morning rain had not stopped until afternoon. On Cuiwei Mountain without sunlight, everywhere was gray and white.

Li Huai had not come in five days. Su Qiuchi kept saying that wretch’s absence was for the best — good wine shouldn’t be wasted on him — yet his eyes kept drifting toward the area outside the bamboo house.

“Not used to not seeing that person anymore, are you.” Jiu Jue saw through him with ease. “That’s as it should be. It’s a good thing that you’re worried about that person.”

“Nonsense! Why would I worry about a grown man!” Su Qiuchi shot him a glance.

“There’s no one else here — no need to keep pretending.” Jiu Jue chuckled. “Since that evening sunset dance, if you still cannot tell whether that Li Huai is male or female — then you truly are a wild boar without eyes in its head.”

“I…so what if I know that person is a woman? In all his life, Mister Su has laid eyes on more beauties than meals eaten. What business do I have worrying about a passably-looking, bad-tempered woman with a mannish air?” Su Qiuchi’s face reddened, then he puffed out his chest and said stiffly.

Saying one thing and feeling another is not necessarily a woman’s prerogative — men have their share of it too. Since that evening, when Su Qiuchi had hazily intuited Li Huai’s true sex, thinking back over everything, a feeling he could not quite put into words rose quietly within him. To call it admiration didn’t quite fit — who falls for someone they’ve met by chance, whose origins are unknown, and who loves to be contrary? To call it appreciation didn’t fit either — what particular merit did that person have? Yet he simply felt the two of them should be together. The longer he spent in Li Huai’s company, the stronger this feeling became. It was genuinely strange.

“Since we have nothing else to do, let me cast a hexagram for that Lu Huai.” Jiu Jue, having no further wish to contradict him, had Lan Ting bring out the turtle shell and bronze coins. He shook them several times; the coins inside the turtle shell rolled out with a jingling clatter onto the table.

“What does it say? Could that wretch have fallen into a river and been swept away?” Su Qiuchi stared at those three coins showing different combinations of heads and tails, blurting the words out.

“You have perfectly pronounced your own blessed curse.” Jiu Jue glanced briefly at the coins and put them away. “Great misfortune.” Su Qiuchi was momentarily speechless.

“Let’s go!” Jiu Jue seized Su Qiuchi and pulled him along. “We’re going to find her!”

“You know where she is? Even her name is probably false!”

“I am an immortal!” Su Qiuchi was dragged straight up into the sky, and saw fluffy clouds rushing past beneath his feet — he shut his eyes in fright.

Lan Ting tilted his head back to watch those two figures fly rapidly away, set down the little dishes he had been holding — which had not yet had time to be brought to the table — back into the kitchen, let out a long sigh, and his face full of worry, faded into the shadows…

【011】

Su Qiuchi had never imagined that he would make his first visit to the imperial palace by passing through walls.

Dressed in red hairpins and silk garments, jade pendants softly chiming, with a head of cloudlike beautiful hair done up into an elaborately delicate bun — Li Huai was sitting before a bronze mirror in a daze when the sudden appearance of these two persons before her eyes caused her to overturn a box of rouge in fright.

“You two…” Li Huai gaped in astonishment, clutching her mouth, unable to speak. Hearing the noise from inside, a din of footsteps and urgent knocking immediately arose outside the sealed door: “Your Highness the Princess! What has happened!”

Li Huai steadied herself and called out sharply: “What is all this screaming? I’ve knocked over a rouge box by accident — stand down!” The sounds outside quickly fell silent.

“How did you find this place?” Li Huai turned around, lowering her voice to ask.

“Don’t ask an immortal that kind of question.” Jiu Jue, as always, gave her a roguish smile.

“You you you…” Su Qiuchi opened his mouth wide and circled Li Huai a good ten full times. “You’re actually a princess of the current dynasty?!”

Seeing that her identity could no longer be concealed, Li Huai raised her chin and with deliberate indifference said: “Yes! Princess Duanyi of the Great Tang, family name Li, given name Zhun. In future, you had best mind yourself — otherwise you won’t even know how your head comes off!”

Li Huai…Li Zhun. One stroke of difference; worlds apart. Jiu Jue looked around at all four sides, and said with a cold smile: “The people outside aren’t here to wait on you, I’d wager.”

“To keep watch.” Li Zhun looked at the tightly sealed doors and windows all around, and smiled bitterly. “Since you are an omniscient immortal, you should know this place has been sealed completely — one can enter, but not leave.”

“Why have they placed you under house arrest? You are the current princess!” Su Qiuchi suddenly sensed the gravity of the situation.

“Five days ago, the Empress Dowager issued a decree requiring me to forge a marriage alliance with the Tujue. Until I am sent away as a bride, I may not set foot outside the palace gates by so much as half a step.” Li Zhun’s face was expressionless, utterly unlike the mischievous, laughing, scolding, willful “Li Huai” — they might have been two completely different people. “The court has received intelligence that the twenty-four tribes of the Eastern Tujue may be harboring rebellious intentions; the Western Tujue and Tibet have been in frequent contact. With wolves before and tigers behind, the borders of the Great Tang are in a critical state.”

“These foreign troublemakers — what does that have to do with you?!” Su Qiuchi asked urgently.

“When Princess Wencheng forged a marriage alliance with Tibet in those earlier days, it brought goodwill between the two sides and stability along the borders. Now, I suppose, they want me to carry that same burden.” Li Zhun played with the jade pendant on her garment’s sash, and laughed coldly.

“Though I’ve read only a moderate number of history books, I know that Princess Wencheng was merely a woman of the imperial clan — not true imperial blood. Yet you are a genuine princess in every sense; the Empress is your mother. How could she issue such a decree!” Su Qiuchi did not believe any mother could push her own daughter into a fire pit.

Li Zhun raised her head and said steadily: “I am not of the Emperor’s and Empress’s bloodline. My father was formerly a close personal guard to the Emperor, holding the rank of General Huaihua. Ten years ago, during the autumn imperial hunt, he saved the Emperor — who had overestimated his own strength — from the jaws of a strange python, though he himself was swallowed alive by the creature. The Emperor, moved by my father’s valiant and gruesome death, by his lifelong loyalty and integrity, and by my mother’s early death leaving me without a guardian, broke with precedent and took me in as his adopted daughter, granting me the imperial surname and enfeoffing me as Princess Duanyi. From the time I entered the palace, the Empress Dowager at first treated me like her own daughter — yet from the moment she saw the plum-blossom mark on my palm, her attitude changed completely. She no longer drew close to me. With every year I grew older, the look she gave me turned one degree colder. The reason behind it all, I still don’t understand to this day. In any case, now that a fine opportunity has presented itself, she is naturally making good use of it to remove this thorn in her eye.” Having said this, Li Zhun spread open her right hand. On her palm, five tiny cinnabar moles were arranged in exactly the shape of a lovely, delicate plum blossom.

“This woman has something wrong with her!” Su Qiuchi was incensed. “Could it be she is jealous that the flower is beautiful?!”

Having taken the opportunity to examine that plum-blossom mark, Jiu Jue said calmly: “When Empress Wu was still a Worthy Consort, in order to seize the title of Empress, she personally took the life of her own infant daughter, and then framed Empress Wang for it — which finally drove the furious Emperor Li Zhi to depose Empress Wang. From that point, Empress Wu rose without impediment, her power overawing all under heaven. I have heard that the little princess who died so young had a plum-blossom cinnabar mark on her right palm.” He looked toward Li Zhun at these words. “You have had your share of misfortune — to have such a coincidence fall upon you. Regarding that daughter who died young, Empress Wu has always harbored a heavy, deep-seated knot in her heart. You entered the palace from out of nowhere, and Empress Wu, upon seeing your plum-blossom mark — compounded by the fact that you are the daughter of a military man, with a firm and unyielding character and no regard for propriety — she must have believed you to be a demon sent by heaven to seek revenge upon her. Given how ruthless Empress Wu is, that she has allowed you to survive until now is already a testament to your considerable fortune.”

Jiu Jue’s penetrating, well-reasoned analysis woke the dreamer. Li Zhun clenched her silver teeth tightly, and could not utter a single word. “Outrageous!” Su Qiuchi cursed inwardly.

“Come with me.” Jiu Jue extended his hand to her. “The imperial palace is not your place.”

“No.” Li Zhun shook her head, looked at Su Qiuchi, and said: “If I flee, the Su family will be charged with the crime of deceiving the sovereign — the entire household exterminated. Your maternal grandfather would be implicated as well.”

“Have you lost your senses?” Su Qiuchi stared wide-eyed. “Who knows I came here? I followed this immortal straight through the wall!”

“I’ve heard from some of the older palace women that the Empress has a sorcerer monk beside her who can summon wind and rain and conjure soldiers from scattered beans. As long as you have come near me, he can discern your identity from any trace invisible to ordinary people.” Li Zhun drew a deep breath and made every effort to produce a teasing smile. “Though I have no particular friendship with you, this thickheaded fool, and you always manage to irritate me — I cannot do something that would cause your entire family to come to a bad end because of me. The two of you should go quickly.” She pushed Jiu Jue and Su Qiuchi toward the exit. “I’m sure there will be opportunities in future for us to share wine and merriment again, singing and dancing at our ease.”

“Enough talk!” Jiu Jue, rarely, showed a flash of anger. He gripped her wrist firmly, seized Su Qiuchi with his other hand, and said: “Both of you — come with me!”

In the struggle, Jiu Jue’s hand touched the jade bracelet on Li Zhun’s right wrist, and he could not help but briefly furrow his brow — then returned to his usual composure, and pulled the two of them through the wall and out of the palace.

【012】

Jiu Jue did not take them back to the purple bamboo grove, nor did he fly them to some far and distant place of refuge. Instead, they took up residence in an ordinary house in Water Bucket Lane in Chang’an. The more people around, the easier to conceal one’s traces. The closer to one’s enemies, the more easily one is overlooked. So Jiu Jue said.

Su Qiuchi remained worried throughout about what Li Zhun had said — afraid of bringing trouble to his family — and did not dare return immediately to the Su household. He planned to wait some time, and only go home once he was certain nothing was stirring. Lan Ting had come along too, taking careful charge of their daily needs.

On the third day of their cramped stay in Water Bucket Lane, Li Zhun and Su Qiuchi — who had gone out in disguise for some fresh air — found Chang’an filled with refugees who had fled back from the borders: every one of them exhausted and battered, covered in wounds. The women’s infants in their arms were all little more than skin and bone, some even with broken hands or feet, weeping without cease in misery. Li Zhun and Su Qiuchi found the sight suffocating, and after giving away every coin they had on them, the two returned home in wordless silence, feeling low.

Before long, news of the rebellion of the twenty-four Eastern Tujue tribes spread throughout Chang’an. The border was engulfed in war. The next reports to arrive were battle dispatches announcing one defeat after another for Tang forces. With the situation critical, the court levied more troops. Following the Empress Dowager Wu’s counsel, the Emperor led an army of three hundred thousand in a counterattack against the Eastern Tujue.

Today was the Mid-Autumn Festival. Despite the raging war at the frontier, Chang’an was still hung with lanterns and decorations, alive with festive cheer. That evening, they heard two pieces of news: first, that General Pei Xingjian’s great army would set out for the Tujue tomorrow. Second, that the Emperor had dispatched a large force to surround the Su household and the Councillor’s residence where Su Qiuchi’s maternal grandfather lived, claiming to have discovered Tujue spies in both establishments.

Lan Ting had prepared a large table full of fine dishes. Jiu Jue poured wine for Li Zhun and Su Qiuchi. These two sworn antagonists ate that meal in an unusually silent manner, not a word passing between them.

Jiu Jue was also very quiet. After drinking a few hasty cups of wine, he said: “Mid-Autumn Festival — there ought to be some holiday celebration. I’ve arranged a shadow puppet performance for you — come out and watch. After it’s over, do as you wish.”

Su Qiuchi and Li Zhun set down their bowls and chopsticks, and stared at him blankly.

The courtyard outside had already been set up with a screen. Two shadow puppet craftsmen were sorting through the delicate figures — translucent as cicada wings — in their boxes. Two musicians responsible for accompaniment were tuning their two-stringed fiddle and vertical flute.

This performance was one neither Su Qiuchi nor Li Zhun had ever seen before. Its content was novel enough: In the Celestial Realm, there was a young immortal whose duty was to brew wine. He accidentally killed a snow lynx that had been sneaking sips of the immortal wine, drawing the vengeance of that beast’s owner — the Guardian Star Official, who oversaw the comings and goings of all four gates of the Celestial Realm. This Guardian Star Official, being the younger brother of the Celestial Empress and relying on that connection, spent his days idle and dissolute, his character erratic, his intentions twisted. In order to avenge his pet cat, he conspired behind the backs of all the other celestial beings: not only did he revert this immortal youth — who had cultivated himself up from a demon — back to his original demon form, but he also intended to cast him into an alchemical furnace and destroy him entirely. Fortunately, he was stopped by a great golden armored deity who was passing by — the one who guarded the northern heavenly gate. This armored deity held a minor divine position and had a particular fondness for wine; he had few friends among the celestials. But the immortal youth knew his temperament — loyal and upright, though rash — and had always shared some immortal wine with him to satisfy his cravings. Over time, they had become close as kindred spirits. The armored deity reported the Guardian Star Official’s crimes to the Celestial Emperor. The Celestial Emperor was furious, but out of consideration for the Celestial Empress’s feelings, he punished her younger brother only with confinement to his quarters as reflection. Though the immortal youth had escaped one calamity, the armored deity was not so fortunate. On one particular Mid-Autumn night, the armored deity was drunk and sleeping beneath the heavenly gate, and the Guardian Star Official, seizing his opportunity, pushed him down into the mortal world and into the cycle of the Six Realms of Reincarnation. Beyond that, he cast a spell to split the armored deity’s primordial spirit into two halves, vowing that this nuisance would never be permitted to return to the Celestial Realm. Later, when the crime came to light, the Celestial Emperor, disregarding the Celestial Empress’s pleas, banished the Guardian Star Official into the cycle of reincarnation, never permitting him to set foot in the Celestial Realm again. The armored deity, whose primordial spirit had been split into yin and yang halves, was reincarnated as one man and one woman, drifting in the mortal world, cycling through existence lifetime after lifetime. As for the immortal youth — after years of diligent cultivation, when he had grown into a wine-brewing immortal official capable of acting on his own — he used the pretext of seeking raw materials for brewing wine to search the mortal world for the pair of souls in which the armored deity had been reincarnated. But because the armored deity had fallen into the mortal world by accident and bore no mark of a heavenly fall upon him, finding him was genuinely no easy matter. Over a thousand years, this immortal official wandered in circles through the human realm. He knew: if he could find, nine hundred and ninety years later, on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, the pair of souls — male and female — in which the armored deity had been reincarnated, and draw out the yin and yang halves of the primordial spirit from their bodies and reunite them into one, then the armored deity could return to the Celestial Realm and resume his divine post.

The shadow puppet performance ended when the immortal official, within a mountain called “Cuiwei,” happened upon a man and a woman.

The shadow puppet troupe having been dismissed, in the enclosed courtyard, there remained only Jiu Jue, Su Qiuchi, and Li Zhun — along with the slender crescent of a blade-like moon overhead. Su Qiuchi and Li Zhun sat staring vacantly at the spot where the screen had just been, as though the performance were still continuing.

“Is it true?” The two of them, once again, spoke simultaneously.

“I spent nearly a thousand years staking everything on being able to find you.” In the darkness of the night, Jiu Jue’s blue hair shimmered with a strange luminescence. “It would seem I won.”

“This…how could there be such a thing…” Li Zhun firmly slapped her own face, then looked at Su Qiuchi. “He and I — we are each one half of a heavenly deity’s spirit?”

Jiu Jue nodded and said: “Come with me back to the Celestial Court to resume your divine post, great armored deity.” With that, he reached out his hand toward them.

“Wait!” Su Qiuchi suddenly pushed his hand aside and jumped back as though having stepped on a venomous snake. “I have no intention whatsoever of going to any Celestial Court with you.” Jiu Jue froze.

“I don’t know anything about any armored deity. I only know my name is Su Qiuchi, and my father, my maternal grandfather, and all several hundred members of the Su household are right now with blades pressed to their necks. This is surely the Empress Dowager Wu’s doing. There is no possibility that I would abandon them to their fates and go with you to some broken Celestial Court to be some broken deity!” Su Qiuchi had never spoken in such a solemn and earnest tone. “The only question I’ve been thinking about all evening is how to save my family from this dire situation. Nothing else interests me in the slightest.”

For the first time, Li Zhun looked at Su Qiuchi with admiration. She spoke: “Whether what that performance told is true or false — it does not matter to me. What I know is this: past and future are both of no great importance to me. The past is already fixed; to dwell on it is useless. The future has yet to arrive; to fret over it is equally useless. What I value is only my present. What I can control is also my present. The past me and the future me are neither as important as the me of right now. Jiu Jue, your good intentions are received.” She gave him a bright, luminous smile. “I have never been so certain of what I want to do as I am at this moment. If it’s possible — could we treat that shadow puppet performance as nothing more than a shadow puppet performance?”

“The past me, the future me, are neither as important as the me of right now…” Jiu Jue murmured, repeating Li Zhun’s words.

Li Zhun and Su Qiuchi, in their lives, had at last achieved a genuine and perfect understanding. They exchanged a glance and without hesitation walked toward the main gate. At this moment, Lan Ting suddenly appeared, holding two cups of wine, standing in their way.

“Little spirit — a farewell toast?” Su Qiuchi raised an eyebrow.

“Look after your master well in future. He is a good person. Or a good immortal.” Li Zhun leaned close to Lan Ting’s ear and whispered this, then both of them raised those two cups of wine reflecting the night sky. However, Jiu Jue stepped forward in a single stride and knocked both their cups to the ground. Before the two of them had time to register their astonishment, he had already turned and walked back inside, flinging one word back at them: “Go!”

When the sky began to grow faintly light, Lan Ting stood in the room where the candles had been extinguished, looking at the tall, slender figure standing before the window, and asked: “The moment those two people die, the armored deity’s primordial spirit will be released from them, and you would be able to take it and return to the Celestial Realm. Why did you not let them drink the poisoned wine? It is the only method to bring the armored deity back. Now that this opportunity has been missed, there will be no other… ai. You waited nine hundred and ninety years. When I saw how close you grew to them, I worried you would not be able to bring yourself to act. And so it proved…”

“Lan Ting…” He called its name softly, his voice hoarse to its depths. “What those two said just now reminded me — I seem to have been making an error.”

“What error?”

“He is now Su Qiuchi, and she is now Li Zhun. Whether or not they are the armored deity — what does it matter?” The first ray of morning light at the horizon brushed gently across Jiu Jue’s beautiful yet slightly ashen face. “What is important is the present, not the past and not the future. Such a simple truth — how is it I only understand it now?”

Before the words had finished, he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. His body swayed, on the verge of collapse, and everything before his eyes dissolved into a haze of drifting smoke.

“Master!” Lan Ting cried out in alarm and rushed forward.

【013】

On the billowing commander’s banner was printed a great, imposing character: “Pei.”

An army of three hundred thousand moved in high spirits, vast and mighty.

Some cheered, some wept. Clothes, shoes, and provisions were pressed without cease into the hands of loved ones and beloveds who were about to walk into a battle of life and death. Cup after cup of wine was drained and filled again. Drink yet one more cup, my friend — west of the Yang Pass, no old friends remain.

Su Qiuchi knocked on the armor covering his body and grinned at Jiu Jue: “Impressive, isn’t it?” Li Zhun, also in military dress, pursed her lips at Su Qiuchi and said: “As though it wasn’t someone who could barely string two words together before the Emperor out of sheer terror!”

“I was simply overcome with emotion!” Su Qiuchi corrected her vehemently.

The previous night, they had made the greatest decision of their lives. Li Zhun, with Su Qiuchi at her side, had returned to the palace resolved to accept any consequence — even death — and knelt before the Emperor to confess her crime of having slipped out of the palace without permission. Before the Empress Dowager Wu could attack, Li Zhun took the initiative and petitioned the Emperor, earnestly requesting that the Emperor of the Great Tang permit her — this princess — to don armor and take the field alongside General Pei Xingjian, ride out beyond the passes, sweep the Tujue, and make amends through merit. Should she fail to distinguish herself in battle, she would be buried beyond the passes and never return to the Central Plains. Su Qiuchi simultaneously made his own petition: as a subject of the Great Tang, and the grandson of a Grand Councillor at that, he had all the more reason to kill the enemy and serve the nation.

Lofty and high-sounding — reasonable and in full accordance with propriety. The Emperor had no grounds to refuse, and neither did the Empress Dowager Wu. The campaign against the Tujue was perilous; how many could return whole? To remove that source of anxiety in a manner that was upright and above reproach, without inviting the gossip of others — of course the petition was granted.

Very quickly, every soldier surrounding the Su household and the Councillor’s residence was withdrawn without a trace. The calamity hanging over those two great households on that previous night had — after one bold petition delivered in the golden throne hall — dissolved into nothing.

“This is going to war, not to drink wine.” Jiu Jue looked at Su Qiuchi’s self-satisfied manner and smiled, asking: “No regrets?”

“I think I must have had a sudden illness of the mind. Ha ha. But it’s not only to get my family out of danger — I suppose the time has finally come to do something genuinely worthwhile.” Su Qiuchi scratched his head vigorously. “If I can defeat the Tujue this time around, I wager my father and maternal grandfather won’t be calling me a worthless spendthrift anymore. After crushing these Tujue bandits, I’ll be the true Little Overlord of Chang’an! Am I right?”

Jiu Jue smiled and nodded. A thousand words reduced themselves to a single action: he clapped Su Qiuchi firmly on the shoulder and said: “Return in triumph.”

“When we return in triumph, you must have a few good pots of wine ready, and we shall sing and carouse freely, laughing and talking of all under heaven.” Li Zhun mounted her horse. In her silver-white battle armor gleaming brilliantly, she gave Jiu Jue a radiant smile. “The time we spent in the purple bamboo grove — no immortal’s life could match it. We are only flesh-and-blood mortals. If such a life is, in an immortal’s eyes, a fall from grace — then I would rather remain enchanted by this mortal world, beyond cure.”

“Well said.” Jiu Jue waved his hand at her with a look of serenity. “I’ll have that wine ready and waiting for you to come back and drink it.”

“Hey — I’ve made an oath.” Su Qiuchi suddenly took the silver pot engraved with the dancing horse holding a cup from his traveling pack, shook it a few times, and announced loudly: “Until I defeat the Tujue, I will not touch a drop of wine. I’ll carry this wine pot with me, and only fill it with the victory wine you prepare for us when we return.”

Jiu Jue took the pot, drew from his robe a thin paper rolled into a tiny scroll, and tucked it inside the pot before returning it to Su Qiuchi with a smile: “A thousand li, following the fragrance — laughing at the reflection in the cup. Take care.”

The great army receded into the distance, leaving only settling dust behind. Those who had come to see them off waited until they could no longer make out their loved ones’ silhouettes before wiping their tears and dispersing. Whether what lay ahead was life or death’s parting — they dared not dwell on it.

【014】

Out in the wilderness beyond the city, Jiu Jue’s face had grown increasingly pale. He had not mounted a cloud — he walked, and now even walking had drained him of strength. He sat on a large rock, breathing faintly.

“Come out then. Have you not been waiting for this moment for a long time?” He smiled coldly, as though speaking to himself.

By the old tree behind him, the monk San Jie materialized, his face full of triumph.

“Guardian Star Official — you’ve been reincarnated as a monk, yet you still cannot achieve a mind of clarity.” Jiu Jue glanced at him sideways. “Even the Decaying Spirit Grass — you’ve resorted to that.”

“Heh heh — you didn’t expect me to refine the venom of the Decaying Spirit Grass into poison needles, concealed on the bracelet on Li Zhun’s wrist, did you?” San Jie laughed loudly. “You became so close to that girl — when she was in danger, you would certainly lend a hand. You thought you’d escaped certain death, but in fact everything unfolded exactly as I calculated.” This monk had certainly gone to considerable trouble — even tracking down the Decaying Spirit Grass that grew in the depths of the poison pools of the Xi Ming You Sea. Once touched by the venom of this grass, any demon or immortal, regardless of the level of their cultivation — whether they had taken human form or attained immortality — would have their power utterly stripped away, reverting to their original form, with no cure.

“I said I would take you in sooner or later, you demon.” San Jie looked at Jiu Jue, whose body was already beginning to lose its solidity, and smiled with cold malice.

“You think you’ve won?” Jiu Jue’s purpling lips made a strenuous effort to curve upward. The venom of the Decaying Spirit Grass had thoroughly corroded his body and primordial spirit.

“If you are willing to hand over the Three-Life Dream-Waking Book, I can still agree not to destroy your original form.” San Jie’s expression shifted, and from within his robes he drew a sharp short blade. “If you remain obstinate…”

“Don’t even think about it.” Jiu Jue would not even deign to look at him.

The world began to shake. Heaven and earth seemed to have swapped positions. Jiu Jue at last could hold on no longer and fell to the ground. His body grew increasingly insubstantial, and countless seven-colored points of light scattered and dissipated from within him. The last image he saw was: beneath the setting sun, beside an osmanthus tree, with wine fragrance drifting everywhere, someone playing the qin, someone dancing… A bronze wine goblet, surrounded by a layer of gentle lake-blue radiance, ancient and elegant, lay quietly upon the ground.

“Infuriating!” San Jie erupted in fury and brought his short blade crashing down toward that wine goblet.

“Stop!” A childlike voice rang out from behind him…

【015】

In the most concealed underground chamber of the Grand Ming Palace, Lan Ting made a transaction with the Empress Dowager Wu.

It would give her the one answer she most wished to obtain. In exchange, the wine goblet was to be sunk intact to the bottom of the lotus pond in Cuiwei Mountain. For thirty years, it was not to be touched. And the monk San Jie, above all, was not to set foot in Cuiwei Mountain by so much as one step.

The Empress Dowager agreed. These conditions were effortless to fulfill.

“In truth, Your Majesty the Empress already arrived at the answer herself long ago.” This was the last thing Lan Ting said to her. The Three-Life Dream-Waking Book’s final burning blazed with an extraordinary brightness — like a grand and solemn farewell.

In the ash that fell to the ground, several rows of characters appeared:

The bright moon reigns overhead; the sovereign commands all under heaven. Born from the void, to the void shall it return.

An unseen dark wind arose from some unknown source, and the ashes on the ground scattered and vanished without a trace. On the ground, there remained only one scroll: the Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection. The Empress Dowager let out a long, long breath — as though she had not breathed freely in an entire lifetime.

The following morning, two guards dressed in plain clothes carried a lacquered box up to the lotus pond on Cuiwei Mountain…

【016】

In the first year of the Diaolu era, General Pei Xingjian’s great army closed in and successfully pacified the rebellion of the twenty-four Eastern Tujue tribes. Yet the Tang forces also suffered devastating casualties; a great number of the officers and soldiers who perished in battle were wrapped in their horses’ hides and their souls left beyond the passes. Among the personal effects and letters being transported back to Chang’an, one silver pot engraved with a dancing horse holding a cup was particularly conspicuous. Inside that pot there was not wine, but a painting.

Surviving soldiers recounted that the owner of this pot was said to be the son of a high official who had voluntarily requested to march out beyond the passes and kill the enemy. He had frequently fought shoulder to shoulder with a general clad in white armor, and they had been extraordinarily courageous. Yet in one Tujue ambush, the force they were with blundered into a trap. The two of them cut down several dozen enemy commanders, but in the end, outnumbered and overwhelmed, their entire company was annihilated to the last man. The savage and brutal enemy forces, in an act of spite toward the fallen Tang soldiers, set fire to their remains. That blaze, by all accounts, burned for three full days and three nights — a scene of tremendous and heartrending carnage. Yet this act only stoked the fighting spirit of the Tang army all the more fiercely; everyone transmuted their grief and fury into supernatural valor, and in the shortest time, crushed the Tujue rebel forces.

By the first year of the Zaichi era, the Empress Dowager Wu formally ascended the throne, proclaiming herself the Holy Divine Emperor, and changed the dynastic name to Zhou.

The Tang empire had at last become entirely the possession of the house of Wu.

【017】

The first year of the Shenlong era. The Eastern Capital, Luoyang. Within the Shangyang Palace.

She felt she had truly grown old. In the bronze mirror, her white hair was so abundant it seemed about to spill out. The warming stove burned fiercely, yet could not drive away the stubborn chill.

She dismissed all the palace maids and eunuchs, leaving only herself in the vast palace hall, and before her, the azure-robed man who had appeared from nowhere.

“So you are that wine goblet.” She showed no surprise at this visitor’s identity. Instead, a great deal of what had nearly been forgotten came drifting back. People grow old and love to dwell on memory.

“Your hair is so beautiful. Heaven gave the loveliest color to it.” She smiled slightly, the lines of age carved deep as etchings into her brows and the corners of her eyes.

“I have come to express my gratitude.” The man said slowly. “Whatever you did in those years — in the end, you were a person who kept your word. You gave me several peaceful decades, resting beneath the lotus pond and drawing in the spiritual energy of heaven and earth to rebuild my form.” He paused, then asked: “And the monk San Jie?”

She thought for a long while before saying: “Him — I recall he went mad not long after. I found this monk to be a nuisance and had his head removed.”

This made sense. Though the Decaying Spirit Grass had harmed him greatly, this toxic plant also had another characteristic — it would turn on the one who had used it as well. Though it would not strip the other party of their powers completely, falling into a state of madness was a certainty. Harm others, harm yourself — this trite and commonplace truth is effective in every era.

“If you had not come, I would have forgotten many things.” She stood slightly stooped, leaning on her dragon-headed walking stick, and stepped out onto the veranda outside the hall, looking down at the sprawling city below, swathed in deep night, her gaze dim and vacant.

He stood behind her and asked: “Today, as always, you stand in the highest place. But I wish to know — looking down from here, what do you see?”

She was motionless for a long while, then said: “Emptiness.”

He smiled faintly and said: “I shall take my leave. We will not meet again.”

The following day, the Emperor of the Great Zhou, Wu Zetian, passed away in the Shangyang Palace at the age of eighty-two.

It was said that before the Empress passed away, she issued one sealed decree. What it contained was never disclosed. Only — the stone stele that was to have been erected outside the Qianling Mausoleum, engraved with the full record of Wu’s life and reign, was replaced with a blank stele bearing not a single character…

Some say that when the Empress was laid to rest, the object pillowed beneath her head was a copy of the Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection — the original manuscript.

【018】

He went to the Su household. Though by now, it was already an abandoned ruin.

In the rear courtyard of the estate lay a small cenotaph. Long years had passed; even the characters carved on the stone tablet before the mound had grown grimy and blurred beyond reading.

From his sleeve he produced three pots of wine, which he set before the mound one by one. The first pot of wine was offered to a book. It was a demon, but it had a name: Lan Ting. The second pot of wine was offered to a woman called Li Zhun. She was of noble birth, and she did not yield to any man. The third pot of wine was offered to a man called Su Qiuchi. The Little Overlord of Chang’an — a title he had earned in full.

In no history book do their names appear. Yet they deserve to be remembered more than anyone. For they were people who followed the true wishes of their own hearts, and sincerely poured their lives into living.

He lightly swept his sleeve across the tablet before the mound. In place of what had been muddied and disfigured, two rows of clean and graceful characters appeared: A thousand li, following the fragrance — laughing at the reflection in the cup.

“This pot of wine — I was always going to drink it with you in the end.”

The man raised the pot of wine in his hand and drained it in one draught.

【Epilogue】

“I still wonder sometimes whether I made the right choice back then.” Jiu Jue sat across from me, a chicken leg in his hand, which he had not brought to his mouth for quite some time. “If I had let them drink the poisoned wine, they would now be living and well in the Celestial Realm, as the great armored deity they were meant to be.”

“Is being an immortal necessarily happiness? I don’t think so.” I ate my noodles in large mouthfuls. I like the noodles at this small restaurant. Jiu Jue smiled and said nothing.

“Most importantly, everyone should be clear about what they ought to be doing right now. Clinging to the past and daydreaming about the future — neither appeals to me.” I swallowed a mouthful of noodles, words slightly indistinct. “In any case, I’m willing to bet: even if time rolled back, you would still stop those two from drinking the poisoned wine, and they would still choose to kill the enemy and serve the nation. The reason it would go the same way is that all of you, without realizing it, came to understand the importance of ‘the present.'”

“Heh — which is why you’ve never had any interest in glimpsing your own future.” He stuffed the chicken leg into his mouth, eyes drifting toward the window, making a great show of eating with enjoyment.

“Hey — don’t be like that. Although you can’t find them for now — the way I see it, the last time you encountered them, you had waited a thousand years. By my reckoning, from the Tang dynasty to the present is also about a thousand years. I’d say it’s time for them to turn up again.” I gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

He suddenly changed expression, his gaze dropping to his right shoulder — then his features contorted, and he shouted at me: “Is it possible for you to wash your hands before touching me?!” On that newly purchased, not inexpensively priced name-brand shirt of his, there were now five glistening, oily fingerprints.

I made my escape without even finishing the soup, with Jiu Jue in relentless pursuit behind me, shouting as he ran: “Pay me back for it!”

Outside the restaurant, a tour guide led a group of tourists walking toward us. Among the tourists, a young man and woman were in the middle of a heated argument. “You stepped on my foot — does that really warrant such a big fuss? Acting like some kind of woman!”

“You horrible shrew — step on my foot and try it!”

“You dared call me a shrew!”

“So what if I did — hit me then!”

“You think I won’t?!”

In an instant, the whole street was thrown into commotion, loud and alive with chaos.

I noticed Jiu Jue had stopped chasing me. He stood at the side of the street, staring blankly at that pair of young people. Well. I’m known as an extraordinarily accurate predictor of outcomes — say something, and it comes to pass. I think this time I’ll be heading home alone.

Before leaving Xi’an, I bought a replica silver pot engraved with a dancing horse holding a cup. Next month is Jiu Jue’s birthday — this makes just the right gift. The key point being that it’s cheap…

Sitting in the cabin of the aircraft, I idly flipped through a magazine. Gradually, I felt something wasn’t right. A sensation of being watched crept over me and seized hold. I suddenly raised my head and looked around — the passengers beside me were reading or sleeping, nothing out of the ordinary. Could it be that I’d eaten too many noodles, and the resulting indigestion was affecting my mind?

I shook my head and hurried to close my eyes and rest. My heart only hoped the plane would land as quickly as possible. Speaking of which — while I’ve been away these past few days, with no tiger in the mountain, the monkeys run rampant. Leaving Bu Ting entirely in the hands of Fatty, Skinny, and Da Li is truly not something I can feel at ease about. I can only hope that when I get back, my establishment hasn’t been burned down, flooded, or shut down by the relevant authorities… Amen.