The proclamation stripping Zhao Yuankai of his post sent shockwaves through the prefectures and counties along the route. Li Shimin’s repeated insistence on simplicity and non-disturbance of the populace gave some officials who had harbored plans to curry imperial favor a cold fright. Some were elated, others stricken with dread — and the County Magistrate of Huoyi, Guo Zai, happened to fall into the elated camp. On this particular day he returned to the rear quarters rubbing his hands with glee and exclaiming, “My lady, my lady — you really do have the best ideas!”

Li Youniang was embroidering. She raised her head. “What has my husband so happy?”

“How could I not be happy?” Guo Zai laughed. “If I’d followed my county colleagues and the local gentry’s suggestions, I would have been finished as an official. His Majesty admires frugality — if I’d widened streets and cleared residences on a grand scale, wouldn’t that have been striking the edge of his irritation at precisely the right moment? Your idea was the best: have His Majesty stay at Xingtang Temple. The feng shui is wonderful, the surroundings are beautiful, the grounds are spacious!”

Li Youniang smiled back at him, though inwardly a stab of pain pierced her. She and Cui Jue were bound together by a fate-line of suffering — he had shattered her original family, and now he was about to shatter this one. She had as good as pushed this honest, simple-hearted man into a pit from which there was no return…

“Isn’t that good, then? My husband can stop worrying.” She managed a smile.

“Mm, my lady, I have something to tell you.” Guo Zai settled onto the bed platform and lowered his voice. “Word has it that His Majesty encountered a ghost at Taiping Pass.”

“A ghost?” Li Youniang was startled.

“Yes — I don’t know the details exactly; it’s just what I heard from colleagues in Zhao City and Hongtong. They have already received the imperial procession, and His Majesty has been looking grim all day. Hongtong County — with whom I’m on good terms — specifically warned me to be very careful. This time, by arranging for the Emperor to stay at Xingtang Temple, I’m sure to put His Majesty in a delightful mood.” Guo Zai was full of self-satisfaction, oblivious to his wife’s face going paler and paler. He said excitedly, “The imperial procession has already arrived thirty li away. I’m off to go receive them. It’ll be a busy day today — probably won’t be home for several days. You and Lu Luo be sure to eat and drink well — don’t give me cause to worry.”

Li Youniang nodded vacantly, and Guo Zai went off in high spirits.

With Guo Zai gone, the county residence felt suddenly emptied. It was not yet noon, and the rear quarters lay in perfect stillness, the air congealed like a sheet of thin ice, carrying a cold, eerie atmosphere. Li Youniang’s heart was like a wild horse galloping, or like two ropes wound tightly together, pulling and tearing viciously in opposite directions — Must I destroy this family?

Guo Zai, though unread and plain-featured, was honest and sincere, and treasured her and their daughter more than his own life. For a woman who had married a second time, to have the happiness she now possessed was no small fortune. And yet now she was about to destroy it — to destroy Guo Zai’s prospects and perhaps his very life. But then she thought of Cui Jue — brilliance wasted for a hundred lifetimes, a wretched destiny. He had abandoned them with his faked death, hid at Xingtang Temple for six years without once coming to see them, and she had hated him bitterly enough to tear him apart — yet the moment she laid eyes on the man again, why was her heart again like that of the reckless girl she had been, throwing everything away without a care?

Li Youniang’s heart turned in endless circles. She buried her face in the pillow and wept. As she wept, she suddenly caught a faint sweet fragrance. Her mind lurched with a sudden chill, and she murmured, “Are you coming again?” The light left her eyes and she sank immediately into sleep.

In the side room next door, Lu Luo was playing with a horn bow in her hands. This compound bow was intricate in the extreme: the body was made from the finest mulberry wood; the inner face of the limbs were backed with green ox-horn plates; the outer face was backed with ox sinew; the body and horn layers were bonded with deer-hoof glue, then bound layer upon layer in silk thread wound so tightly that not even a knife blade could pierce it, and finally lacquered. A single bow took three years to make. This particular bow had been made during the height of the Daye reign-era of the Sui, when the craftsmanship of the nation was at its most prosperous — its quality surpassed even those produced in the Wude years — and was Guo Zai’s most cherished possession.

The bow’s draw weight reached a hundred and twenty catties. Lu Luo fitted her thumb ring, nocked an arrow, drew to half-draw, and her arm was already failing — the cold arrowhead trembled between her outstretched arms, yet with no target in mind, no idea where to aim.

Just then, the door creaked open. Lu Luo spun around, arrow trained on the doorway — and froze. Standing outside the door was an old monk in a grey robe!

This old monk was gaunt and spare, his face covered in wrinkles, yet smiling from every one of them, as he looked at the bow and arrow in her hands. “You don’t know where to aim?”

“Who are you?” Lu Luo demanded sharply.

“Amitabha.” The old monk smiled. “Someone who will show you the way out of your confusion.”

“What confusion do I have?” Lu Luo said coldly. The long draw had left her arm somewhat numb. At any moment the thumb ring could slip, and the arrow would go straight through this old monk’s throat.

The old monk paid this no mind and walked toward her, into the arrow’s path. “Your confusion is simply twofold. First: how to face Lady Youniang. Second: how to face Master Xuanzang. Am I right?”

“You —” Lu Luo’s body gave a tremor and she said in a shaking voice, “How do you know this?”

“This old monk does not merely know — this old monk knows everything. You were born on the ninth day of the sixth month of the guiyou year, in the xu hour. On the sole of your left foot is a red mole. You weighed six jin and six liang at birth, and so your childhood nickname was Six-Girl.”

Lu Luo was more and more astonished as she listened. In this era, a woman’s birth date was an absolute secret — only revealed when two families were matching horoscopes for a marriage — to say nothing of a mole on the sole of the foot, a fact that only Li Youniang could possibly know.

“This old monk also knows: you have fallen, entirely beyond your control, in love with a certain man. He is of outstanding talent and wide renown; his character is gentle and kind, full of care and compassion for all people. Countless people hold great hopes for him, expecting him to become a great and extraordinary figure. You love him with a consuming, desperate passion and often walk hand in hand with him in your dreams. Only — regrettably — he is a monk.” The old monk’s eyes were filled with a deep tenderness, his voice saturated with an almost hypnotic, lulling power.

Lu Luo was completely stunned. Her hand trembled; the arrow slipped from the string and flew. The old monk did not move to dodge, just watched with a smile. Fortunately, in her shock Lu Luo’s hand had shifted; the arrow grazed his shoulder and shot past, embedding itself in the door frame with a thud.

“You… who are you, truly?” The depths of Lu Luo’s heart welled up with thick, spreading dread.

“A person who knows all and can do all.” The old monk said slowly. “I can resolve every difficulty you face, and fulfill your every wish.”

Lu Luo murmured, “My wish… what is it…”

“You wish to be with that monk. You wish to erase the stain of your mother’s secret affair.” The old monk said, one word at a time.

“Be quiet —” Lu Luo’s face blazed scarlet. She shouted, reaching trembling hands for another arrow and nocking it to the string.

“You cannot kill me.” The old monk paid no attention. “The impasse in your heart has no solution, yet I can fulfill your every wish. Would you not care to try?”

Lu Luo’s chest heaved, her killing gaze gradually filling with bewilderment. Yes — the knot in my heart is an inescapable deadlock. She thought for a moment and asked, “Can you truly find a way? Tell me.”

“It cannot be said.” The old monk shook his head with a rueful smile. “Come with me to Xingtang Temple. I will take you to meet someone who can untangle the first difficulty in your heart.”

“Xingtang Temple?” Lu Luo pondered a moment. “Are you going to take me to meet Xuanzang?”

“No indeed.” The old monk shook his head. “If you agree, then close your eyes; when you open them again, you will already be at Xingtang Temple.”

Lu Luo stared at him with bright, searching eyes, not believing a word. The old monk smiled. “Believe it or not — it is your choice. But a moment more and the Emperor’s procession will be arriving outside Xingtang Temple, and you will no longer be able to enter.”

“All right.” Lu Luo accepted her fate. “I’ll believe you.”

She closed her eyes. Suddenly a sweet fragrance filled her nostrils, a wave of dizziness rose, and she lost consciousness entirely.

This dream lasted she did not know how long. Lu Luo returned to her childhood — the beautiful scenery of Dragon Mountain in Jinyang, the familiar thatched cottage of her parents, the old pine at the door still wearing its coat of mottled, wrinkled bark, her father and mother smiling and sitting on the grass, watching her play in the shade of the pine. But strangely, she was holding the hand of a childhood companion as she played — a boy the same age as her, utterly adorable, wearing a small deer-skin barbarian cap on his head.

Lu Luo reached out playfully and plucked off his cap — and froze in horror. He had no hair at all. On top of his head were nine ordination scars burned in a circle.

“Ah—” Lu Luo cried out in shock, and snapped awake. She found herself lying on a bed platform. The smell of thick Buddhist incense hung in the air. Beside her hand lay the horn bow and several arrows. She sat bolt upright. She was still wearing the same clothes as before — but this was not her own bed. Yellow curtains. Latticed windows in an antique style. Several Buddhist scriptures stacked on a shelf by the wall. An inner room with a small door, from behind which came the sound of rushing water and a faint smell of sulfur… How strangely familiar all this was.

She leapt off the bed. She looked left and right — and stopped short in astonishment. In the outer room was a familiar Buddhist hall, with a statue of Amitabha enshrined within. This was unmistakably the Bodhi Courtyard of Xingtang Temple — the very room she had once lived in!

In that instant it was as though time had flowed backward — as though she had returned to the day she first moved into the Bodhi Courtyard with Xuanzang, chasing Boluoye into the side room.

“Master Xuanzang!” she exclaimed, and rushed toward Xuanzang’s meditation hall on the western side. A cushion on the ground nearly tripped her up, but she felt nothing; she shoved the door open with a bang. The meditation hall was clean and bare — even the large book chest that had always stood in the corner was gone.

“That old monk truly has such miraculous powers,” Lu Luo thought with sudden realization. “Even after the Emperor has arrived at Huoyi and the Sixteen Guards have taken control of the city defenses, he could still bring me into Xingtang Temple? He said he could untangle the knot in my heart — perhaps he really can. I must find that old monk!”

She rushed out the door at a run. In the courtyard, the hot spring still bubbled and burbled, a stream of sulfurous mist drifting along the little brook as it wound its way out. But outside the courtyard, a clatter of heavy footsteps was approaching — a thunderous sound, as though hundreds of people were running simultaneously. Lu Luo could even hear the clashing of metal plates.

“Those are sounds of armor!” Lu Luo was suddenly alarmed. Anyone who had lived through the age of chaos would know the sound of armor-plate leaves colliding — this was unmistakably the sound of a fully equipped armored force running at speed.

“Quickly — by the General’s order, all to reach the mountaintop and take up defensive positions within half an incense’s time! Seven encampments at the summit, rotating guard!”

Far away came a booming shout. The clash of armor grew louder, the heavy footsteps thundering and rolling past the Bodhi Courtyard like muffled drumbeats.

The Emperor has finally arrived at Xingtang Temple, Lu Luo thought in a daze. But where has Brother Xuanzang gone?

At this same moment, elsewhere in Xingtang Temple, another group of people was also searching for Xuanzang.

The Mojie Meditation Courtyard occupied the most scenic position in all of Xingtang Temple, directly adjacent to the Ten-Directions Platform where Li Shimin would be staying — and this was the courtyard where Secretary-Monitor Wei Zheng had been quartered. The Emperor was at this moment enthusiastically touring Xingtang Temple in the company of Kong Cheng and Guo Zai, but his most trusted minister Wei Zheng was shut in the meditation hall, looking glum, studying several scraps of rubbish arranged on the floor before him: two charred bamboo strips, three palm-sized yellowed and scorched scraps of paper, a coil of fine steel wire, and two tattered pieces of sheepskin.

“Lord Wei,” said Jinzhou Prefect Du Chuke, who had just been urgently transferred from his Puzhou post, walking in. He took one look at Wei Zheng’s expression and shook his head. “Still nothing?”

“Nothing at all!” Wei Zheng rubbed his temples in frustration. “After those two spirit soldiers burned, they left only these few things. I truly cannot work out: if this was the work of human hands, how could they have walked through the air, and then descended to a specified location?”

Du Chuke smiled. “Have you considered that they really might have been underworld spirit soldiers?”

Wei Zheng glanced at him. “This old Daoist spent over a decade as a Daoist priest and naturally knows a great deal about the underworld. The very fact that I’m investigating means I’m approaching it as a human-made phenomenon.”

“Ha ha.” Du Chuke was Du Ruhui’s own younger brother and was on close enough terms with Wei Zheng that they spoke freely. He grinned. “Could it be that after so many years as a Daoist, you know the whole ‘underworld’ business is a sham?”

Wei Zheng humphed. “This old Daoist won’t saw off the branch he’s sitting on. It’s possible I might retire in a few years and return to telling people’s fortunes and reading their fates. What I’m thinking is: whether the underworld exists or not, it is something beyond human interference, and yet here I am interfering with it — which means I must think about it from a human-made angle. Exclude human agency and everything else slips beyond our control.”

“That’s fair enough. Whatever the case, we must keep His Majesty safe.” Du Chuke also turned serious. “Have you spotted anything?”

“Look at these two scraps of paper — there’s writing on them.” Wei Zheng picked up a piece and handed it over.

“…For example, all the grass, trees, groves, rice-hemp stalks, bamboo thickets, mountains, stones, and dust-motes of the three-thousand great-thousand worlds — count each thing as one river; take each grain of sand from each river as one world; within each world, one dust-mote as one kalpa; within each kalpa, count all accumulated dust as kalpas…” Du Chuke read it out word by word and frowned. “It rather resembles a Buddhist scripture of some kind.”

“Precisely. You studied Confucianism and haven’t much acquaintance with Buddhism — this is a passage from the Sutra of the Fundamental Vows of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. The sutra recounts that long ago, Ksitigarbha was a Brahmin woman whose mother ‘believed in heterodox teachings and habitually disparaged the Three Jewels,’ and who therefore fell after death into the torments of Ni Li Purgatory. The Brahmin woman made a vow before the Tathagata’s image: ‘May I, throughout all future kalpas, devise expedient means for all beings suffering the pains of sin, so that they may be liberated.’ After being reborn as a bodhisattva, he made a great vow: ‘Until all beings are liberated, I will not realize bodhi; as long as hell is not emptied, I will not become a Buddha.’ He has been transforming beings in Ni Li Purgatory ever since.”

“You, a Daoist priest, know quite a lot about Buddhism,” Du Chuke murmured. “But what is the mystery in these scraps of paper?”

Wei Zheng said with annoyance, “This old Daoist is also at a loss. Taking everything together, these two spirit soldiers somewhat resemble the kind of paper effigies used in funeral rites — but several problems remain: First, how could such paper figures fly? Second, how could they descend to a designated spot? Third, if their bodies concealed a lantern-flame inside, they would somewhat resemble sky lanterns — but why, when arrows pierced their bodies, did they not burn up or fall apart?”

“There’s one more point — they were able to speak!” Du Chuke added.

Wei Zheng looked at him. “That point this old Daoist has already resolved.”

Du Chuke blinked. “How so?”

“Ventriloquism.” Wei Zheng said coldly. “A paper effigy speaking is absolutely impossible. In the conditions of that night, the only possibility was that the speaker was concealed among us, using ventriloquism to speak. Skilled ventriloquism can make it completely impossible to determine the speaker’s location — giving the impression that the two spirit soldiers themselves were talking.”

Du Chuke was shaken. “You believe it was…”

“Fa Ya!” Wei Zheng said without hesitation. “This old monk is a figure not seen in a millennium — of vast learning, conversant in all things; understanding ventriloquism would be unremarkable. And that golden radiance he emitted at the end resembles a form of illusory art, used to burn the effigies.” He looked at Du Chuke with an expression of wry amusement. “If we are to explain this in purely human terms, there is simply no other interpretation.”

Du Chuke was silent for a moment. “If it truly was all a human contrivance,” he murmured, “then the resourcefulness of whoever planned this is enough to make heaven weep and ghosts tremble. Such a meticulous scheme — clearly we are being drawn step by step into the trap.”

Wei Zheng smiled wryly. “We have long since fallen into it. If this old Daoist is not mistaken, Xingtang Temple is the ultimate dragon’s lair and tiger’s den — and that county magistrate Guo Zai is also highly suspicious. He memorialized that with the farming season at its height and the people’s strength at low ebb, and the county town being narrow and cramped, His Majesty should stay at Xingtang Temple. Clearly that memorial had a mastermind behind it. Add to that Pei Ji fanning the flames alongside, arguing that the Buddhist aura of Xingtang Temple could suppress the ghostly energy — and His Majesty walked cheerfully right into their snare.”

“I see it now.” Du Chuke nodded gravely. “So that’s why you and my elder brother arranged for His Majesty to transfer me to Jinzhou.”

“Exactly.” Wei Zheng nodded. “The other side has been building toward this for years. I fear Huoyi and Jinzhou are already iron walls and bronze bastions. With the Jinzhou Prefect’s post in the hands of Pei Ji’s son-in-law, I was deeply uneasy — so I took advantage of His Majesty’s anger to move you here. Your assignment is to hold the position at Huoyi. The city defenses of Huoyi I’ve had Yuchi Jingde arrange two military lieutenants to take over, but civic matters are not in their purview — you will stay in the county for these several days, with all movements personally under your control.”

“Understood.” Du Chuke nodded.

“Has Xuanzang been found?” Wei Zheng asked.

Du Chuke’s expression became somewhat uncomfortable. “I had people search the temple for a good while and found no trace. Even your secretly planted Ill-Omened Man, Boluoye, has disappeared. I personally questioned Kong Cheng, and Kong Cheng said that Master Xuanzang left the temple several days ago. The courtyard where Xuanzang had been staying — the Bodhi Courtyard — is now occupied by Pei Ji; before Pei Ji moved in I went through it myself and found nothing.”

“Pei Ji…” Wei Zheng’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting.” He sprang to his feet. “There’s no time to lose. Since we cannot see through the other side’s arrangements, we cannot allow them to execute their plan at such leisure. This old Daoist will go have a chat with Master Fa Ya — rattle his cage a bit.”

The two discussed matters further and walked out of the Mojie Courtyard side by side. Fa Ya at this hour should have been accompanying the Emperor to the mountaintop; they headed up the stone steps, past the Great Hall, and hadn’t gone far when they saw Fa Ya walking out of the Great Hall toward them.

“Amitabha — why, it is Lord Wei.” The old monk Fa Ya smiled from a distance and gave both men a greeting salute.

“Hmm? Master, have you not accompanied His Majesty to the mountaintop?” Wei Zheng was slightly surprised.

Fa Ya smiled wryly. “This old monk is getting on in years, with troublesome hips and legs. By the time I’d walked this far, my back and hips were already aching, so I had to take my leave of the imperial party and come pay my respects to the Buddha — catch a few breaths.”

Wei Zheng looked at this old monk — wrinkled all over, yet with a radiant, vigorous complexion — and cursed him inwardly: you call that bad hips and legs? Who would believe it? But his face wore an expression of nothing but solicitude. “Ah, well then, Master must certainly take care. There are uneven places all about Xingtang Temple — do be careful not to stumble and take a fall. Your constitution, at your age, truly cannot afford it.”

Fa Ya smiled serenely. “This old monk is sixty or seventy years old, and has spent this entire lifetime respectfully venerating the Buddha — never once done a wicked thing. This temple is bathed in a hundred fathoms of Buddha-light; what stray little demon would be there to block my path and make me stumble? Besides, there is not a ditch or a drain, not a brick or a tile in any temple in the world that is not mapped in this old monk’s mind. Even walking with my eyes closed would pose no difficulty.”

Du Chuke watched with considerable interest as these two traded veiled jabs. Wei Zheng’s stratagems ran deep; Fa Ya bore the title of “Strategist-Monk” and had once participated in Li Yuan’s military and political decisions. Between these two, where would there be room for him to interject?

“Alas, Master — it is not enough to venerate the Buddha alone. One must also venerate the Emperor.” Wei Zheng smiled mildly. “In every dynasty of the human world, all things are held in the Emperor’s grasp; the rise and fall of any faith or school is equally subject to the Emperor’s displeasure and pleasure. Though one who has left home has no father, one must above all not be without a sovereign.”

Fa Ya’s aged eyes narrowed slightly. Pressing his palms together, he said, “Amitabha — Lord Wei, as this old monk sees it, you and I are actually of the same kind.”

“How so?” Wei Zheng asked.

“For this old monk, being without sovereign or father is simply a constraint of the physical shell I inhabit. But for you, Lord Wei, it is inscribed in the very bone.” Fa Ya smiled.

There was a certain sharpness to that smile. Wei Zheng’s expression darkened. “Master, what do you mean by that? How am I ‘without sovereign or father’?”

“My lord left home for the Daoist path in his early years — just as this old monk did — which may fairly be called an abandonment of worldly ties, hence ‘without father,’ would you not say?” Fa Ya replied.

Wei Zheng was quiet. He had been orphaned young, raised in poverty, and had eventually become a Daoist priest by necessity. Though it had been forced on him by circumstance, from the perspective of human ethics, he had undeniably abandoned the duties owed to parents and family.

“In the great Daye era of the former Sui, my lord served as a minor Sui official — Emperor Yang was naturally your sovereign, yet you surrendered to Li Mi: one abandonment of your lord. Later you surrendered to the Tang, abandoning your lord again. You received the thick patronage of the late Crown Prince Jiancheng; after the Crown Prince died, you at once surrendered to the Prince of Qin, abandoning your lord a third time. If this old monk calls you a man who is ‘without a lord’ — does my lord find this accurate or not?”

These were cutting words in the extreme. Wei Zheng said coldly, “Is this how the Master sees Wei Zheng?”

“By no means.” Fa Ya said with gravity. “My lord entered Confucianism by way of Daoism and adheres to the principle: the people are of highest importance; the state comes second; the ruler is of least importance. The Son of Heaven is the lord of all the realm; the minister is the servant of all under heaven — but not the servant of any single ruler. In serving as an official, my lord acts for the sake of all the common people. The ruler has the right to choose his ministers, but ministers equally have the right to choose their rulers. In my lord’s eyes, there is no ruler — only all under heaven, is that not so?”

Wei Zheng froze. He stared at the old monk before him with a complex expression, his heart rising and falling like tumultuous waves — this old monk had actually understood him, truly understood him!

Perhaps even now no one else had grasped why Wei Zheng, who had once counseled Li Jiancheng to kill Li Shimin, had been let off so easily by Li Shimin after Jiancheng’s fall and thereafter vigorously promoted. Because only Li Shimin, Wei Zheng, Pei Ji, and Fang Xuanling truly understood what the struggle between those brothers had meant for the Tang dynasty just then establishing itself.

It was a disaster.

The Tang had just been founded; the people’s livelihood was in ruins; the three years before the Xuanwu Gate coup had brought consecutive droughts; the court was already struggling at every step. The great national task of encouraging agriculture and restoring production could not be effectively carried out — for a simple reason: all the court’s energy and attention was monopolized by the struggle between the two princes for the throne.

When Wei Zheng was burning with anxiety and proposing that Jiancheng resolve the Li Shimin question quickly so that the court could turn its attention to stabilizing the people’s welfare, had Fang Xuanling and the others not been equally anxious? At that time, the far-sighted ministers at court had almost universally inclined toward resolving the fraternal conflict as swiftly as possible, even at the cost of extreme measures — and Li Shimin understood this perfectly.

He understood Wei Zheng. In Wei Zheng’s heart there was no ruler, only all under heaven. He could abandon his lords multiple times because his only lord, in his heart, was all under heaven. He could counsel his lord to kill his own brother, because doing so was beneficial to all under heaven. He could immediately pledge himself to his lord’s brother after his lord died, because though his lord was gone, all under heaven endured.

And so Li Shimin had promoted Wei Zheng without hesitation, because he understood: here was a man of direct remonstrance, a man of integrity — a sage who saw clearly through the affairs of the world, its norms and ethics. As long as Li Shimin himself acted rightly, Wei Zheng would be loyal to him; even if Li Shimin faltered, Wei Zheng would be loyal to the Tang dynasty and to his own descendants!

Wei Zheng regarded the old monk before him in silence. The gazes of two intelligent men met calmly, producing sparks full of unspoken meaning.

“This old monk and my lord are alike — without sovereign, without father, yet carrying all under heaven within us.” Fa Ya said with a quiet sigh. “Only: my lord follows Confucianism, seeking to cultivate the self, set the household in order, govern the state, and bring peace to all under heaven. This old monk follows Buddhism, aiming to transform the hearts of men — making men’s hearts inclined toward good, so that people dare not kill, dare not steal, dare not commit licentious acts, dare not speak evil, dare not slander, dare not give way to rage, dare not eat and drink without restraint, dare not be disobedient to parents — so that the affairs of the world may be harmonious.”

“And the ruler?” Wei Zheng asked, his voice steady.

“The ruler — whatever he is in your eyes, he is the same in this old monk’s.” Fa Ya replied.

While these two men of uncommon intelligence were speaking, thirty fathoms beneath their very feet in a dark underground cavern, with hidden currents stirring and an eerie wind blowing, Xuanzang and Boluoye had been crawling for who-knew-how-long through the crisscrossing network of tunnels. They had originally been caught in a vast rope net, but that was no match for Boluoye. He had his curved knife with him, cut the net, and the two of them had climbed out and scaled a rope up into an enclosed stone chamber.

The stone chamber was small, with a skylight in the ceiling, and there they had been confined. Fortunately, Cui Jue had no intention of starving them; food was delivered every day. After who-knew-how-many days, Boluoye had finally taken advantage of a moment’s inattention in the person delivering food, quietly tied a slip knot into the rope that hoisted the food basket, flung it up, and looped it around that person — then climbed the rope and scrambled out through the skylight.

After knocking out the delivery person, Boluoye hauled Xuanzang up as well, and the two began crawling through the honeycomb of caverns. This particular day, they suddenly felt the wind screaming through the mouth of a cavern ahead and quickly scrambled out — and were instantly dumbstruck.

Before them stretched a gigantic cavern forty or fifty fathoms high and one or two li across. Along all four walls of this cavern, more than a dozen surging underground streams burst forth, rushing into the pool at the center. The channels of those underground streams were fitted throughout with mechanical installations: beneath some streams were enormous paddle-wheels, and the torrents drove the wheels, whose axles turned great cog-wheels the size of doorboards, and those cog-wheels were connected to chains as thick as a man’s arm, moving back and forth. These chains numbered in the hundreds, stretching for hundreds of fathoms, crossing and recrossing, extending into the darkness deep underground.

They also saw a massive watermill set at the convergence of several rushing channels. This watermill had six tiers from bottom to top; each tier bore more than a dozen paddle-wheels, turning at various speeds under the force of the water. Through the center of the watermill ran a gigantic steel pillar, over ten fathoms tall, making a person standing below feel the size of an ant. The steel pillar pierced through the rock above, extending upward to wherever it led — it seemed to reach from earth to sky.

Estimating by the distance they had traveled, they could gauge that the underground portion of Xingtang Temple had been entirely excavated. And especially this central cavern where more than a dozen underground streams converged — it was effectively a large-scale mechanical power hub. A structure of this scale was unheard of in all of history.

The hearts of Xuanzang and Boluoye grew heavier still. No wonder Cui Jue had said that he and Kong Cheng each managed their own sphere. This underground complex alone was more than a hundred times more difficult to build than Xingtang Temple itself. What an undertaking of this magnitude implied about the scope of their ambitions left both of them shaken.

Evidently the construction of this cavern was long complete and could operate automatically without any human labor, for in all the time the two of them had spent underground, they had not seen a single soul. The cave walls were riddled with holes, with horizontal poles inserted into the holes to form steps that wound several circuits around the cave wall. Fortunately the walls were also lined with more than a hundred stone niches, each containing a clay jar — presumably filled with oil — with wicks as thick as a child’s forearm. More than a hundred lamps blazed, lighting the entire underground cavern as bright as day.

The two jumped from a side passage onto a plank walkway and walked upward along it, going a full circuit and a half. When they were less than ten fathoms from the top, they suddenly heard indistinct sounds of a crowd. Boluoye searched around and found, just above the walkway, a passage — from which the sounds were unmistakably coming.

“Master — what do we do?” Boluoye asked.

“As long as there are people, we can learn the secrets of this underground world. Let’s look.” Xuanzang assessed the situation. The passage was eight feet high — neither of them could reach it. Finally Boluoye crouched down and let Xuanzang stand on his shoulders and climb in first. Xuanzang lay at the passage entrance, twisted his monk’s robe into a rope and threw it down; Boluoye gripped the robe and climbed up.

The interior of the passage was almost completely dark, and the voices sounded sometimes very far, sometimes very close — a buzzing, indistinct murmur, impossible to make out. Neither dared light the fire-starter. They crept forward inch by inch through the passage, with Boluoye holding his curved blade in front. Exhausted and gasping, they crawled for the better part of an hour before a gleam of light appeared ahead and the voices became clearer — it seemed as though a multitude of people were droning simultaneously.

“Master, we may have reached the enemy’s lair.” Boluoye was electric with excitement.

“Quiet.” Xuanzang hissed. The passage walls were so narrow that even the smallest sound would be amplified — if the people inside heard them, the consequences would be disastrous.

Carefully they crept another five or six fathoms forward to a “skylight” — three or four feet across. Below seemed to be an enormous room, and bright lamplight poured up through it, casting a large patch of illumination across the top of the passage walls. The two silently crept to the edge of the “skylight” and peered down.

Their jaws dropped.

Below was a gigantic cage.

Half an acre in size, it was divided by thick wooden palisades into more than a dozen small compartments with a walkway running between them. Each compartment held seven or eight people — over a hundred in all. And they were sorted by category: some compartments held men, some women, some elderly, and even a few that held children!

In the compartment directly below this “skylight” were more than a dozen men, some lying, some standing, with blank, lifeless eyes. Several of them were crouching together in conversation, and from their dialect it sounded like they were from the northern Hedong Circuit — from Shuozhou or Daizhou.

The “skylight” was nearly two fathoms above the floor, well over two adult heights, and so the top of the cage had no palisade — it would be possible to drop straight in from the skylight.

Both men peered in for a moment, baffled but afraid to speak. After some hesitation, Xuanzang gently knocked on the stone wall. The sound rang out and the people in the cage looked up in surprise; when they saw two faces at the top, they immediately erupted in noise.

“Heroes, heroes — save us!” A middle-aged man was beside himself with joy, waving up at them.

“Shh —” Xuanzang said in a low voice. “Don’t talk — keep your voices down! What is this place? How did you end up here?”

“We don’t know where this is either. I’m from Tang Lin County in Daizhou — went to the capital circuit for trade, was hit on the head on the road and knocked out, and when I woke up, I was here.” The middle-aged man said in a hushed voice.

“Same with me.” Another man in his thirties or so said. “I’m from Jingle in Lanzhou. I was sleeping on the threshing floor at home, and somehow I woke up here.”

Xuanzang and Boluoye looked at each other in bewilderment. This was deeply sinister. Had Cui Jue abducted all these people? What possible use could he have for so many ordinary commoners?

“Does anyone know what this place is?” Boluoye asked.

One man in tattered clothing said lazily, “Neither of you need bother asking. This is underground — some sort of rock cave, I reckon. I’ve been imprisoned here the longest — a full year — and I still haven’t figured it out. The others know even less.”

“Who are you?” Xuanzang asked.

The man gave a sly grin. “I’m a military officer under the Dingyuan Heavenly Son.”

“The Dingyuan Heavenly Son?” Xuanzang couldn’t place it for a moment.

“Liu Wuzhou.” The man said in a low voice with a laugh.

Xuanzang then understood. Liu Wuzhou had been given the title of Dingyuan Heavenly Son by the Turks — it was just that apart from Liu Wuzhou himself, none of the other rebel kings of the Sui’s fall had taken that title seriously, since the Turks had handed out the title of Heavenly Son far too liberally. At that time the Xieli Khan had assumed the title “Heavenly Son” was a senior rank among the Han people, and conferred it on any Han warlord who submitted to him. Liang Shidu and Guo Zihe had both been Heavenly Sons under the Turks, and even Li Yuan had nearly received this treatment.

“Ten years ago I followed Liu Wuzhou and Song Jingang into Hedong Circuit, then before long we were smashed by Li Shimin at Baibizi and the army scattered. The two princes fled; we brothers — several hundred of us — had no escape route, so we hid in the mountains and turned to banditry. We had a good enough life for quite a few years. But three years ago, the Taiyuan Prefecture sent troops to round us up; we were taken prisoner, and then a powerful man bought us. We were then bound hand and foot with black blindfolds over our eyes and brought to this underground rock cave to work on construction.” The former officer of the Dingyuan Heavenly Son — once a mountain king, then a forced laborer, now a prisoner — looked completely indifferent. “Scores of brothers died of exhaustion or injuries. Once the construction work was done, we were locked in this cage.”

“What about the others? Are any of your men still here?” Xuanzang asked.

The man looked up and spotted the ordination scars on Xuanzang’s head, and suddenly laughed. “Gone — every few days soldiers come and take a few away. I’ve been confined the longest of anyone here — a full year — and I still haven’t figured this place out. Others know even less.” He gave a lazy smile. “So it was a monk after all. Well, monk — I don’t know how you got here, but if you’re not one of their people, you’re in serious trouble. The overseers here are inhuman — they’ll torment you to death nice and slow. And this place is underground, sealed on all sides, with tunnels everywhere — there’s no escaping.”

Xuanzang’s brow furrowed. He was about to ask more when suddenly a cold laugh sounded behind them, and a voice commanded, “Get down—”

Both men were terrified out of their wits. Before they could turn around, someone grabbed their legs and hurled them bodily toward the “skylight.” Struggling frantically, they grabbed the skylight’s edge, hanging in midair. Behind them in the passage, two black-robed figures wearing masks had appeared.

The two masked black-robed figures were briefly startled — apparently not expecting these two to be so agile. They then kicked down hard on their hands. With muffled cries of pain, both men’s grip gave way and they plunged in. The people below shouted in alarm and scattered; the two hit the ground squarely, feeling as though their internal organs had been relocated, nearly vomiting from the impact.

The two masked black-robed figures peered down from above, then suddenly exclaimed in surprise, “Why is there a monk? And this one is a barbarian! Strange — can outsiders have infiltrated?” They turned and crawled back out through the passage to report.

Xuanzang and Boluoye took a long time to catch their breath. They looked at each other and felt only bitterness in their mouths — why hadn’t they paid attention to what was behind them? Well, that was understandable: this enormous underground complex, this power hub, and they had wandered around for a good while without seeing anyone. But surely there were patrols?

“Congratulations, gentlemen. Welcome to the fellowship of cage-mates.” The former officer said lazily, with a grin.

Both men climbed to their feet with nothing to say.

Xuanzang looked around him. The men and women in the adjacent cages all regarded him with vacant, dull, emotionless eyes. He could not help wondering. “What is the purpose of capturing so many people and keeping them here?”

“Men are used as forced labor, naturally.” The former officer huffed. “You must have seen the Nine Dragon Pit’s mechanical hub — that enormous construction was built on our bones.”

“So that place is called the Nine Dragon Pit.” Xuanzang nodded. “And the women and children?”

The former officer shook his head. “Don’t know. All I know is that people come from time to time and take some of them away, and from then on they’re never seen again. Today’s probably one of those days, too.”

His words had barely finished when, in the distance, the clanking of iron chains rang out, followed by the groan of a gate opening. Xuanzang and Boluoye pressed half their faces to the palisade and looked along the walkway beyond the cage; through the dim distance, they could vaguely make out several hundred paces away an iron door opening, and voices in conversation: “The Grand Administrator orders: bring two strong males.”

A voice that seemed to belong to a guard answered: “All right, checked and verified. Old Huang — when you go back, put in a good word for me with the Grand Administrator. I haven’t been allowed out for seven or eight days now. At least let me get some fresh air.”

“Sure — you lose thirty guan to me at the gambling table and I’ll put in the good word.” The other man laughed.

“Forget it. I’ve already lost four guan of this month’s pay to you. How’s a man supposed to live?” The guard was furious.

A burst of laughter from the door. “Who told you to bet your own shift rotation? Just sit tight and serve out another half month!”

Boluoye murmured, “Their pay is that high? An ordinary guard — more than a fourth-rank high official?”

“How much does a proper fourth-rank official receive per month?” Xuanzang asked.

“Four guan and two hundred cash.” Boluoye rattled it off instantly. He had been assigned by Wei Zheng to look into the expenditures on Xingtang Temple and had specifically researched the salaries of officials at various ranks.

Xuanzang was speechless, and at the same time deeply astonished. What level of wealth was Cui Jue truly controlling? Even an ordinary prison guard earned more than a fourth-rank official — he might truly be wealthier than the court itself.

At this moment, four armored guards wearing tusked demon masks had arrived at their cage. The cage door was opened; two of the guards stood with drawn sabers as a warning, while the other two held long poles, each with a rope loop at one end. The four guards’ cold eyes swept the interior; everyone shrank back against the walls, hunching their shoulders and squatting down.

Xuanzang and Boluoye stood in the middle like cranes among chickens.

The two masked guards exchanged a glance and nodded. Their poles swung out and looped neatly around Xuanzang and Boluoye’s necks; a sharp pull, and both men lost their footing, jerked out through the cage door. The door was locked behind them with a clank. The poles were a full fathom long — even stretching their arms and legs to the maximum, neither could reach the guards holding them. But Boluoye’s hand was already moving toward the curved knife inside his robe when Xuanzang kicked him hard and blinked rapidly.

Boluoye caught on at once: “We’re being taken to see the Grand Administrator!”

And so they stopped struggling. Both allowed themselves to be led by the four men with their pole-loops, pushed along cooperatively. As they passed along the walkway, they could see two or three hundred prisoners in the cages on either side. Xuanzang’s gaze moved slowly across a group of thin, ragged children; he pressed his palms together and began silently reciting the Sutra of the Fundamental Vows of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva.

Within the mountain’s belly, cut off from all knowledge of the changing human world above, from the passage of sun and moon, with all light supplied only by the torches and oil jars blazing on the stone walls — enormous flames flickering and spurting, elongated shadows writhing violently, as though in the depths of the underworld itself.

The two were escorted by four masked guards out of the caged area into a wide passage beyond, the floor and walls carved smooth, winding for two li, until they arrived at the face of a sheer cliff. Set against the cliff wall was a cage of the same size as the sit-cages Xuanzang had seen in Kong Cheng’s courtyard; from above it hung iron chains as thick as a man’s arm.

The four guards used their poles to push the two men into the cage, then released the rope loops and withdrew the poles, closing the iron door. Then one of the guards took hold of a rope hanging on the cliff face and gave it a pull. From some height far above, a distant bell rang faintly; then came the grinding creak of iron chains moving.

The two had had experience with sit-cages before and quickly sat down, seizing the iron railings around them. As expected, the cage swayed, then began slowly ascending. Boluoye muttered, “I swear on my life I’ll never eat chicken again.”

“Why not?” Xuanzang asked, curious.

“Does it not strike you, Master, that we are very much like chickens in a cage?” Boluoye said with a bitter smile. “Having ridden two sit-cages in succession, I find I have a deep psychological aversion.”

Xuanzang gave a helpless smile, looked down below, and immediately felt a wave of vertigo — they must have already ascended more than ten fathoms. He quickly closed his eyes and softly began to chant sutras. Boluoye was quite admiring: this monk, truly unshakeable — in circumstances like this, he could still recite scripture from memory.

After about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, the sit-cage squealed to a stop at a passage opening carved into the mountainside. Two masked guards at the opening said nothing, rotated the cage so the door faced the passage, pulled open the iron door, and gestured for both men to come out. Xuanzang emerged first, and the guard immediately fitted a hood over his head.

Darkness before his eyes — he could see nothing.

A rope loop was fitted over his neck again; a guard led him with a pole. Neither man felt any inclination to speak; both walked in silence, following their escorts. They did not know how far they went or how many corners they turned, only noticing that the light was growing intensely bright — even through the hoods they could feel the strong light.

“Ha ha — Master Xuanzang, I trust you have been well?” A gravelly old voice suddenly rang in his ear. Xuanzang tilted his head, listening — and found the voice strangely, utterly familiar.

“Why treat the Master this way?” The man’s voice sharpened in rebuke. “Remove his hood at once.”

“Yes.” The guard beside him answered respectfully, and with a whoosh the hood came off. Xuanzang’s eyes adjusted — and he found himself standing inside a clean, orderly room. This room had windows; strong light poured in from outside, suggesting they were above ground. Boluoye’s hood was also removed; he blinked and took in his surroundings.

On the floor sat a couch platform, spread with cushions. In the middle stood a black nan-wood tea table with a pot of fresh tea releasing fine wisps of fragrant steam. On the floor beside it stood a small clay stove over which a kettle burbled merrily. Next to the stove was a small low dining table set with various exquisite cakes and pastries.

At the inner side of the couch platform, sitting cross-legged, was an elderly monk with a gaunt, deeply wrinkled face. As Xuanzang’s eyes adjusted to the bright room, he made out the old monk’s features — and was thunderstruck. “Master Fa Ya!”