While Bao Zhu returned to her room to rest, Wei Xun took the thin rope found at Wu Daozi’s former residence to the storage building behind the Hall of Inevitable Impermanence. Unpredictable wisps of smoke rose from the incense burner, and the stench of corpses mixed with sandalwood into an extremely thick, strange odor that filled every corner of the room.
Wei Xun soaked the thin rope and compared it with the grass rope on Wu Guancheng’s corpse, confirming they were the same material. It seemed he had not only been there, but had indeed discovered the mysterious eye-dotting substance from the pigments left by the painting sage, elevating the realism of his artwork to an even higher level.
Standing up from beside the corpse, Wei Xun suddenly felt a wave of fatigue wash over him.
The water clock on the wall was approaching midnight. He rolled up his sleeves to look at his elbow crease—without soaking in hot springs today, the blue-purple color of his meridians had deepened. The person in the soul-calming mirror looked pale, like a ghost in the deep night. He felt somewhat dazed, seeing his chronic illness gradually worsening, his physical strength and energy slowly draining away. Perhaps in the final moments, he would fall from the pedestal of being the world’s greatest like Chen Shigu had, unable to keep up with his disciples’ pace.
Having touched the decaying corpse, Wei Xun worried about residual corpse stench remaining on his body. He would need to hold Bao Zhu’s hand later, so he wanted to find something to cleanse away the odor. Passing by the Hall of Inevitable Impermanence, he went in for a look and saw Tan Lin drinking tea to stay alert, so he brazenly went in and appropriated the salt, orange peel, mint, and other items used for brewing tea.
Guan Chuan wasn’t there. Tan Lin was contemplating while gazing at the white bones in the lime pool, with an incense burner beside him. He said slowly: “You master and disciple are very similar—born in dark places, you’re easily deeply attracted to this kind of clear moonlight and gentle wind, pure truth and benevolence.”
Wei Xun sat cross-legged on the ground, carefully wiping his hands with mint leaves, and casually replied: “Yes, creatures like us from the darkness particularly like bright, shiny good things. Otherwise what? Who would like gloomy, eccentric old men?”
Tan Lin continued: “Living in this world is like being in a thorn forest. If the heart doesn’t move, then the person doesn’t move recklessly and isn’t injured. If the heart moves, then the person moves recklessly, injuring their body and causing bone pain, thus experiencing all the various sufferings of the world. The three poisons, six desires, seven emotions, eight sufferings, nine difficulties, and ten calamities—since you don’t belong to this world of endurance, why crave illusory warmth and come here to suffer all these pains?”
Wei Xun replied concisely: “I chose this myself.”
Tan Lin shifted his gaze to look deeply at him and asked: “Don’t you want to know about Chen Shigu’s past affairs?”
Wei Xun firmly refused: “No, I have no interest in finding out what he did.”
“Past examples serve as lessons for future events. There are many in the world who are poisoned by infatuation. When they reach the stage of being controlled by inner demons, they become very difficult to save.”
Tan Lin couldn’t help but glance at the wooden statue of the donor in the corner and continued persuading Wei Xun: “Actually, you’re most suitable for Nine Phase Contemplation practice—clarifying the mind and seeing one’s nature, breaking through attachment to physical appearance. No matter what peerless beauty or graceful youth, they will all eventually turn to bones. Red-faced beauty becomes withered bones—not worth lingering over.”
Wei Xun said coldly: “I’ve observed a thousand times more corpses than you have. Don’t try to deceive me with this routine.”
Tan Lin sighed and tried a different approach: “Then you should at least care about that young lady’s safety. Once trapped by inner demons, harming others and oneself, difficult to control—you surely don’t want to become like Chen Shigu’s mad state due to regret. If your infatuation poison enters your brain and you go mad, could she withstand even one blow from you?”
Wei Xun’s hand-wiping motion immediately slowed down.
Seeing he didn’t refute this time, Tan Lin pressed his advantage: “Of those who knew Chen Shigu back then, only this old monk remains alive. When I die, no one will know that past, and someone should guard against the remaining poison he left in the human world. Just consider it listening to a story—as for how you react after hearing it, that’s your freedom.
The first time I saw Chen Shigu was at the Qujiang Banquet that spring. It was a grand feast for that year’s new jinshi graduates, arguably the Tang Dynasty’s most glorious event. The sage attended in high spirits with the dignity of ten thousand chariots, ordering the banquet moved to an imperial boat to cruise and enjoy scenery on Qujiang.
Before boarding, I saw a young man being stopped by the Imperial Guards, not permitted to board. He had slightly dark skin, a sturdy and upright build, wore a short sword at his waist, and though dressed in plain silk robes, couldn’t hide his rebellious temperament—didn’t look like a scholar at all.
How dare the Imperial Guards let such a person share a boat with the emperor? They moved to expel him. The young man initially wanted to leave, but was persuaded by friends beside him to produce his golden invitation, proving he was indeed a newly graduated jinshi. They also drew his sword to inspect it—just a rusty iron rod.
This strange person was Chen Shigu. I didn’t know him then, but his friend Yuan Xu was very familiar to me. We were both from Luoyang, our families old acquaintances. The Yuan family were descendants of the Northern Wei Tuoba royal house, ancestors of noble birth, and though they had declined by his father and brother’s generation, they still maintained scholarly traditions.
Yuan Xu’s parents died early; he was raised by his elder brother Yuan Yi and sister-in-law Li Xian. Yuan Yi served as magistrate of Yichuan County, a lowly position, and the couple having no children, raised this younger brother as their son. Yuan Xu was called a Luoyang prodigy from childhood, his talent and reputation spreading far. At fourteen he passed the prefectural examination, earning qualification for the metropolitan examination in Chang’an, likely to become the youngest jinshi since the Tang founding…”
Wei Xun interrupted Tan Lin’s flow: “This person is connected to Old Chen, not to me. I don’t want to hear your rambling.”
Tan Lin sighed: “If we skip Yuan Xu, then there’s no way to explain Chen Shigu—this person was the source of his madness. After Yuan Xu qualified for the metropolitan examination, he refused his teacher’s recommendation, saying he had a friend who was just beginning to read, and he wanted to wait for his friend to catch up so they could go to Chang’an together.
The academic gap between beginning literacy and taking imperial examinations is like heaven and earth—this reason was utterly ridiculous. Yuan Yi flew into a rage, but Yuan Xu had a gentle exterior and firm interior. Though a naive youth, his will was resolute, and no one could sway his decision. This friend who had just learned to read was Chen Shigu.
According to later testimony from Yuan Yi and Li Xian in Dali Temple prison, they weren’t quite sure when Yuan Xu and Chen Shigu’s friendship began. They only remembered one Qingming Festival when the whole family went to Beimang Mountain to sweep ancestral graves, they encountered this raggedly dressed, dark and thin youth. He looked younger than Yuan Xu, possibly due to insufficient food stunting his growth.
Chen Shigu claimed to live near Beimang Mountain, of common birth, parents dead, raised by his grandfather. But according to Yuan Yi and his wife’s recollections, though the Yuan family knew Chen Shigu for over ten years, they never saw any of his family members. Yuan Xu took great care of this friend from humble circumstances. Seeing his desire to learn, he purchased paper and writing materials for him and personally taught him to read and write, praising Chen Shigu as much cleverer than himself—a true prodigy.”
After hearing “personally taught him to read and write,” Wei Xun’s arrogant air unconsciously diminished, and he stopped frequently interrupting Tan Lin’s narrative.
“Yuan Yi strongly opposed this friendship, believing this poor boy of unknown origins was ruining his brother’s bright future. But then the Tianbao Rebellion suddenly erupted. The two Hu barbarians An and Shi invaded the Central Plains with overwhelming disaster. Tang forces couldn’t resist and had to borrow troops from the Uyghurs. As payment, the Uyghurs twice plundered Luoyang, leaving only one in ten survivors, with the remaining wrapping themselves in paper clothing during the cold winter.
In such chaotic times when everyone lived day to day, Chen Shigu stepped forward, leading the Yuan family into deep mountains to avoid military disasters, going through fire and water to preserve their lives. Only then did Yuan Yi and his wife realize this poor youth might not be an ordinary commoner, but a martial artist with extraordinary skills. Yuan Xu treated him with sincere honesty, while Chen Shigu repaid with martial world loyalty—only turbulent times reveal true hearts.
From then they became close friends, studying together. Yuan Yi no longer interfered, supporting Chen Shigu’s education as if raising two brothers. Due to the Tianbao Rebellion and later Tibet occupying Chang’an, imperial examinations couldn’t be held normally for six or seven years, until internal chaos completely subsided and the court reopened scholarly recruitment. Yuan Xu and Chen Shigu, both now adults, went to Chang’an together. Yuan Yi used all his connections, striving to introduce them to literary leaders and court dignitaries for senior recommendations.
After Yuan Xu’s coming-of-age ceremony, he took the courtesy name ‘Yanzhi.’ Yuan Yanzhi lived up to his name—warm as spring breeze, peaceful and harmonious, loved by all who met him. Yet this seemingly gentlest youth had the grandest aspirations. Having lost parents young and witnessed countless people’s suffering, he participated in examinations not for fame but to realize ideals of benefiting the world and securing the people.
With such noble family background, outstanding appearance and talent, plus his brother Yuan Yi’s strong support, passing the jinshi examination was virtually certain.
Chen Shigu was different. Born of common stock with no court relatives or backing, when submitting portfolios for review, many nobles wouldn’t even meet him. Actually, with his martial skills, the military examination route would have been more suitable, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about official careers, much less having any ambition to benefit the world—he came to Chang’an to accompany Yuan Xu’s examination.
When powerful people disdained him, he didn’t care either. While others submitted poetry and prose, Chen Shigu submitted legendary and supernatural stories, giving only the first volume. Readers stuck midway would be scratching their heads desperately wanting to continue, having to summon him for interviews. At that time I was also in Chang’an preparing for examinations. Before seeing the person, I read his writings—his supernatural tales were brilliantly written, strange and eerie, thrilling to read, not like stories from the human world.
Chen Shigu first became famous for his works, second for his poor deportment. Standing, he was vigorous as pine and cypress, but couldn’t maintain proper sitting posture for long. When meeting respected elders, he appeared arrogant and lazy. Chang’an candidates jokingly called him ‘Chen Won’t Kneel.’ This was naturally related to his background. Later, the Loyal and Martial General appreciated his talent and made an exception to recommend him to the chief examiner.”
Wei Xun reached out to touch his own knees without speaking.
Tan Lin continued: “After the barbarian disasters, the nation needed rebuilding and urgently required talent. That year’s spring examination, Yuan Xu took first place with his magnificent essay ‘Receiving Imperial Edict to Revive Great Tang, Supporting and Correcting the World,’ personally selected by the sage as number one. Chen Shigu and I were both outside the top ten, but at least we passed. Then came that first meeting at the Qujiang Banquet.
Having hometown connections with Yuan Yanzhi, and knowing he often copied sutras for deceased family members since losing parents young while I was also Buddhist-inclined, I was closest to him among all successful candidates and sat beside him.
Successfully boarding to meet the sage, without enough space for full prostration ceremonies, the three kowtows were unavoidable. Everyone was seeing the sage up close for the first time, hearts surging with excitement, eager to display poetry and prose talent. Only Chen Shigu sat there with a gloomy face, whether from annoyance or anxiety unclear. After enduring over half an hour, I saw his hands gripping his knees, the back of his robe completely soaked with sweat.
Yuan Xu naturally noticed too and proactively spoke of his friend’s physical discomfort, begging the sage to let him temporarily withdraw. The sage was in good spirits and didn’t take it seriously, casually granting permission. Chen Shigu thus took his leave.
I inwardly mocked this person for truly being of humble birth—crude and rude, not understanding how to seize opportunities. Only much later did I suddenly notice something strange. The imperial boat was floating on Qujiang dozens of zhang from shore—how did Chen Shigu get back after withdrawing? Unfortunately, at the time I was racking my brains to stand out and had drunk much imperial wine, forgetting this matter immediately. Little did I know this small puzzle had opened the prelude to the great case that would shock the imperial countenance and wash Lingnan in blood…”