The 9th year of the Wude reign of the Great Tang. The dungeon of the county yamen of Dunhuang County, Western Shazhou.

The dungeon sank two zhang below the ground. It was not quite three zhang in length and no more than seven chi in width. Thick, hard elm planks divided it down the middle — one side a corridor, the other prison cells — both spaces cramped and narrow, with no room to maneuver at all. It was like the boundary between life and death, between success and failure.

The jailer of the county yamen walked through the narrow corridor with a young unpaid minor official. It was dusk, and several air vents had been cut into the top of the corridor, running straight up to the surface, letting in the thin, fading light of evening in mottled, murky patches. There were only five cells in the dungeon. The four outer cells were all empty. The pounded-earth floor showed dark brown stains that seemed to be the long-dried color of old blood.

The jailer opened the lock and chain on the innermost cell and pushed open the wooden grate. The minor official set a food box down on the ground.

The jailer said quietly, “Young master, it is time to go.”

There was a rattling of chains in the darkness. The prisoner slowly rose and stepped out from the shadows. He was disheveled, his hair hanging loose, with only a pair of brilliantly bright eyes that gleamed like flames. His hands, feet, waist, and even his neck were all locked in shackles. Seven or eight sets of fetters, each link as thick as a thumb, lay heavy upon him; their other ends were secured to iron rings embedded in the wall, and his every movement made them clank and clatter.

The minor official’s heart lurched with fear. He scrambled to his feet and stepped back, gripping the straight sword tucked under his arm. The jailer, however, paid no mind. He walked forward, opened the food box, and arranged its contents on the ground: a sesame flatbread, a braised chicken, and a jug of wine.

The prisoner’s tone was flat. “How am I to die? Beheading or strangulation?”

The jailer said, “Death by illness in custody.”

The prisoner let out a low, contemptuous laugh. “A pack of gutless cowards. The poison is in the wine, is it? Bring it here!”

The jailer shook his head. “Young master, those above wished to poison you — to buy some hookwort or wolfsbane and put it in the wine. But the Tang Code is strict: those who buy and sell poisons are all subject to death by strangulation, and I am unwilling to implicate others. This food and drink is simply my gesture of goodwill. You are my fellow from Dunhuang, and by the bond of home and kin — even though my hands are about to be stained with your life — I wanted this wine and food to be clean and untainted. So I have instead taken a length of silk.”

The jailer drew three chi of white silk from his sleeve, letting it hang from one hand, while his other hand lifted the wine jug.

The prisoner took the jug and drained it in one long draft. He flung it against the wall, and it shattered. Then he let out a furious, wild roar: “I go now to report before the Lord of Mount Tai — and when I return through reincarnation, I will fight for Dunhuang once more!”

The jailer and the minor official silently pulled the white silk taut and looped it around the prisoner’s neck, drawing it slowly tighter. The prisoner’s roar cut off abruptly. His hands clutched at his throat, and his mouth still murmured continuously: “The steadfast bird carries tiny twigs in her beak, determined to fill the vast sea. The headless titan dances with axe and shield — fierce ambition endures. Since all things share the same fate, passing away holds no regret…”

The prisoner’s throat began to gurgle; the color of his face slowly deepened to purple; his body went ever more limp. His expression was neither quite a smile nor not a smile, and tears ran down his face. The jailer let out a breath of relief and was about to tighten his grip once more — when suddenly the prison cell blazed with light. The entire dungeon became bright as broad daylight. A piercing white radiance illuminated every inch of every corner, laying bare the smallest detail.

The two men were terrified. Their hands went slack. The prisoner slumped to the ground.

Squinting against the light, the two men strained to look. Within that radiance that seemed to pierce all things, a cluster of five-colored light and shadow descended slowly from the ceiling. The prisoner was also startled by this strange sight; he broke into violent coughing and stared blankly at the five-colored apparition.

A voice came from within the five-colored light: “You there, condemned prisoner — at the threshold of life and death, can you perceive the divine?”

The prisoner murmured, “You… what are you?”

The five-colored light laughed. “I am a true deity of the Heavenly Court. Due to a minor matter, I was banished to the mortal world. Just now, as I was wandering between heaven and earth, I noticed your soul was on the verge of departing, and came to have a look.”

The jailer and the minor official had already been scared out of their wits. The prisoner, however, gave a cold laugh. “The affairs of this mortal world are endlessly fascinating — you will have plenty to watch yet, great deity. If you have seen enough, do not delay my appointment at Mount Tai.”

The five-colored light laughed heartily. “What an amusing prisoner you are. Very well — I have been banished to the mortal world with no vessel to inhabit. How about I borrow your body to dwell in for three years? After three years, when I return to the Heavenly Court, I will restore your freedom!”

The prisoner was silent for a moment. “Might I ask, great deity — what manner of divine being are you?”

The five-colored light chanted: Slender at the waist, sharp at the crown, like a broken shoe; sixteen stars encircle it; beyond the Outer Screen, seven ravens cross below the Stride; beneath the Screen, seven more stars — Heaven’s Murky Brightness.

The prisoner cried out in astonishment, “So it is you!”

The five-colored light fell silent, as though waiting for an answer.

The prisoner let out a desolate sigh. “My family is destroyed, my great dream shattered. In this city of Dunhuang, in this realm of the Great Tang, there is no longer any place left for me. Since I may yet live — take this broken body and borrow it. Go with it and see the world beyond, the living beings of this age.”

The five-colored light flashed, and sank into the top of the prisoner’s skull. The luminescence within the dungeon contracted and vanished, and darkness and dimness closed in once more.

The prisoner suddenly writhed and roared in agony, his voice like the howl of a wolf. Overcome with terror, the jailer and the minor official instinctively drew their straight swords — and watched as dense, thick fur erupted across the prisoner’s body, his arms, and his neck. His ten fingers grew into sharp claws; his face began to contort, his lips and snout thrusting forward, fangs protruding from his mouth. He transformed entirely into a wolf-man.

The prisoner suddenly began to chant a spell, his voice sonorous and thunderous: “Should there be someone, whether guilty or innocent, who is bound and restrained by wooden pillows and cangue, locked and fettered — let him call upon the name of the Bodhisattva Guanyin, and every binding shall break and crumble, and he shall be immediately freed.“

The moment the words fell, the shackles and chains upon his body all fell loose, clattering to the ground in a heap.

The jailer and the minor official let out a shout and turned to run. The prisoner curled his lips into a chilling snarl. Like lightning he burst from the cell, and a wolf claw shot forward and plunged into the back of the minor official. With a crack, the spine snapped. The minor official pitched forward and collapsed.

“Monster — I’ll fight you to the death!”

The jailer gave a great shout and brought his sword slashing down. But in the blink of an eye, the prisoner had vanished. The jailer stood bewildered for a moment — then suddenly, from behind him, two wolf claws reached forward, seized his neck, and wrenched it clean around.

The wolf-man lowered its head and tore savagely into the jailer’s neck — blood vessels and muscle were ripped apart in an instant, blood spraying in a great arc.

The prisoner, a piece of torn flesh in his jaws, abruptly snapped his head around and fixed his gaze on the far end of the corridor. He launched himself forward in a single burst, and in an instant was at the dungeon door; one arm swept across it, and with a clang the lock shattered.

The dungeon was located in a secluded corner of the county yamen’s northwest. Above it stood a small shrine to the God of Prisons, its purpose to suppress and contain the dungeon’s entrance. The jailer had intended to kill the prisoner in secret, and so there was no one else nearby. The prisoner leaped upward and crouched atop the shrine’s roof, gazing out over the city with sorrowful eyes.

It was now the hour of Xu, the fall of evening. A lone column of smoke rose from the vast desert; the great river swallowed the setting sun. The city of Dunhuang, with its varying heights and layers, was bathed in gold and cinnabar — radiant and vast beyond measure. The residential wards had entered their evening curfew, and in the distance the drum tower was sounding the dusk drums.

Dunhuang city had twenty-eight wards, traversed from north to south by a single main thoroughfare known as Sweet Spring Avenue.

On that avenue, a wedding procession was making its way. The procession was enormous — a great company of drummers, musicians, and banner-bearers, carrying red lanterns painted with the character for double happiness and hoisting red banners bearing the same. The lanterns and banners bore, respectively, the characters “Linghu” and “Zhai.” The bridegroom sat astride a tall, proud horse. Friends and family of both sides escorted an eight-man palanquin, with household servants and retainers following behind carrying the trousseau.

The prisoner crouched upon a rooftop and let out a howl that shook the heavens. Then, in a single bound, he launched himself down upon the front of the procession.

The wedding party erupted into chaos at once. Several stout men surged forward to block the way. The prisoner swept a wolf claw across, and one man’s belly was torn open. The man let out a piercing shriek. Several nearby banner-bearers swung their banners down to beat at him. The prisoner’s figure flickered and darted, impossible to pin down. In the murky dusk all that could be seen were a pair of gleaming wolf claws flashing in and out of sight — wherever they passed, flesh flew and bodies fell, and cries of anguish rose one after another. The long procession was like a length of brocade being shredded, and the destruction swept toward the palanquin.

The bridegroom went pale with shock. He spurred his horse forward — and was sent flying through the air by a single collision with the prisoner. The prisoner slammed through the palanquin with a thunderous crash, and then all went silent.

The bride’s elder brother shoved through the fleeing crowd and ran to the palanquin with a sword in hand. He used the tip of the blade to slowly lift the curtain — and was struck as if by lightning, standing utterly rigid.

A shriek came from within the palanquin. A flash of light blazed out from inside it — then the palanquin exploded into splinters. The prisoner, with the bride in his arms, shot straight up into the sky and soared ten zhang high. There in the air above Dunhuang, he ran across the void — neither quite demon nor immortal, neither ghost nor specter — and disappeared into the depths of the sky above.

The people on the avenue had long since scattered in all directions. Among the dead and wounded strewn across the street, the survivors stared up into the sky, dumbfounded.

“Young Master Zhai — what in the world was that thing?”

One retainer’s voice trembled.

The bride’s elder brother stared at him. “Are you certain it was a person?”

The retainer nodded. “Without any doubt — a man of very great stature!”

In the dim light, a blade flashed. The bridegroom had approached unnoticed. He snatched the sword and in one swift motion brought it down. The retainer’s eyes widened in bewilderment; blood welled from his throat, and he pitched forward.

“Linghu—”

The bride’s elder brother startled.

“What about you? Was this thing a person or a wolf?”

The bridegroom did not answer, but turned to question a maidservant.

The maidservant trembled with fear. “It was… a person… no, no — a wolf! A great wolf covered all over in silver fur!”

The bride’s elder brother let out a quiet sigh, and his expression hardened with resolve. The two of them moved through the wounded with their swords, questioning each in turn. Those who answered “wolf” were let pass; those who said “person” were cut down with a single stroke.

Above the vast desert, the darkness grew ever denser, settling over the open wilderness, soaking into every corner of Dunhuang.

Boom—

The eight hundred strokes of the dusk drum fell with their final blow. The last echo wound around the city.