This is a fresh, complete English translation of Wu Cheng’en’s public-domain one-hundred-chapter novel, produced with GPT-5.3-Codex-Spark assistance. It is an AI-assisted first edition, not a reproduction of an existing translation.

Let us leave aside the matter of Guangrui’s perfect duty and Tripitaka’s cultivation.

Outside Chang’an, on the bank of the Jing River, there were two worthy men: one a fisherman named Zhang Shao, the other a woodcutter named Li Ding. These two were literate recluses who had failed the jinshi exams. One day in Chang’an, after selling firewood from their shoulders and a basket of carp, they went into a tavern, drank until half-drunk, and each took a bottle. Strolling back along the riverbank, they returned slowly.

Zhang Shao said, ‘Brother Li, seeking fame loses one’s body for a name. Chasing profit makes one die for gain. Accepting rank means sleeping with a tiger’s back. Being favored means slipping away with a snake in one’s sleeve. In sum, we are far better off in our clear waters and green mountains, wandering free, eating little, and letting life pass by with fate.’ Li Ding said, ‘What you say is reasonable, but your clear waters are not as good as my green mountains.’ Zhang Shao said, ‘Your mountains are not as fine as my waters. There is a verse in Butterfly Loves the Flower to prove it:’

Across ten thousand li of misty waves, the skiff is small; it rests in stillness under a lone canopy, while a voice like Xi Shi’s circles the air. Wash away anxiety and purify the heart; let fame and profit be few. Idly I pluck smartweed spikes and cattail reeds. A few sand-gulls enough to make the heart rejoice; on willow banks and reed bays, wife and children laugh together. A single good sleep makes wind and waves vanish; there is no honor, no shame, and no worry. Li Ding said, ‘Your waters do not surpass my mountains. I too have a verse in Butterfly Loves the Flower:’ In clouded woodlands the pines bloom; I sit still, listening to orioles sing, while my clever tongue sounds like a tuned reed pipe. Through spring the red thins and the green fattens in this warm season; suddenly time has shifted to midsummer. Again autumn comes and changes everything so easily; golden blossoms give off fragrance, good for carefree play. Severe winter comes as quickly as a finger twist; through all four seasons I live in perfect ease, with no one to command me. The fisherman said, ‘Your mountain-green is not like my water-green. Hear one in Zhegu Tian:’ In this life of clouds and water, to set the oar and lay the boat across is to be at home. I split and cook fresh fish, steam green turtles, then quickly steam purple crabs and boil red shrimp. Green asparagus shoots, water-sage sprouts, lotus-root and water chestnut tops—each is good to boast of. Tender lotus roots, old lotus leaves, and supple water-charges, taro-like vines, and the flowers of bird’s-wing grass. Li Ding said, ‘Your waters are not the best; there is my Zhegu Tian too:’ A rugged peak range runs up to the horizon, and my hut and thatched hermitage are my home. Salt-cured winter chickens and geese, fierce crabs and turtles are mine; antelope, wild boar, hare, and deer outdo fish and shrimp. Toful shoots, yellow-leaf sprouts, bamboo shoots, and wild mountain tea—I praise these above all. Purple plums, red peaches, ripe apricots, pears, sour jujubes, and sweet osmanthus bloom. Zhang Shao said, ‘Brother Li, your mountains do not surpass my waters. Here is a Tianxianzi:’ A little leaf-boat goes wherever it is put, in ten thousand sheets of misty water, without fear. Lower the hook, cast the net, and catch fresh fish; no cloying sauce, yet somehow full of taste. Old wife and little children gather in reunion. Plenty of fish and many market runs to Chang’an, traded for fragrant liquor and then drunk to inebriation. In a rain cape used as blanket, I sleep on the autumn river, snoring at peace, with no anxieties, loving neither worldly honor nor rank. Li Ding said, ‘Your water-life is still not as refined as my mountain-life. I have my own Tianxianzi:’ A thatched hut of few rafters is built beneath the mountain; pines, bamboo, plum, and orchid are truly lovely. Through woods and over ridges I seek dry wood; nobody blames me. I sell as I can, little or much, as this world allows. With coin in hand, I buy wine as my heart wishes; clay bowls and small porcelain cups are full freedom. In grape-broth I grow drunk and lie under the pines: no entanglements, no harms; I care nothing for worldly rise or fall. The fisherman said, ‘You say mountains are happier, but here is Xijiangyue for me:’ Red smartweed blossoms in profusion, reflecting the moon; yellow reed leaves whip and wave in the wind. The green sky is clear and far, the river in the farlands is open; one pull brings an entire pool of stars to stir. Great fish come into the net by the pair and form shoals; small fish swallow hooks and gather as clusters. What is brought in is cooked rich with flavor, and I laugh and boast while making merry by river and stream. Li Ding said, ‘Your waters are not the better life. Here is my Xijiangyue:’ Fallen leaves and dead vines block the path, broken-topped old bamboo fills the hills. Wild vines and dried kudzu bind and entangle; break them off, gather them, make rope, and mend shoulder harnesses. Elm and willow, hollowed through by insects, and wind topples old pine heads. The gathered wood is stacked for winter cold, then traded for wine and coin, as I can. The fisherman said, ‘Not one mountain-day of mine can be surpassed by you. Here is one Linjiangxian:’ When the tide falls, the lone boat moves on; in deep night I stop rowing and singing and come home. My rain cape and the remnant moon are quiet beyond fear; a roosting gull startles and rises, and colored clouds open at the horizon. Sleep at will on the reed bank with no duties; when the sun has climbed three poles, I still lie there. My way is arranged by my own heart; let the court officials of the morning wait through the hours—I have no such concern. Li Ding said, ‘Your water-world is not so refined as my mountain-world. Here is my Linjiangxian:’ Beneath a dark blue path in high autumn, I go with axe and rope; at evening coolness I return with my shoulder load. Wild flowers tucked in my hair are ever more remarkable; parting the clouds to find my road, I wait for moonlight to call the door open. My small child and mountain wife joyfully welcome me, and I sleep on a straw bed with a slanting wooden pillow. I steam pears and cook millet, then quickly lay them out; in the jars the newly brewed liquor has ripened, and in truth it gives a noble quiet joy. The fisherman said, ‘All this is just our daily trade to sustain life; your life has not these quiet-season blessings. I have a poem to prove it:’ In leisure I watch white cranes fly across the blue sky and moor the boat by a stream bank, closing the dark green door. I lean against the canopy, teaching my child to twist line for hooks; having stopped rowing, my wife and I spread out our nets. A nature steady and calm is like a wave gone still; when the body is at peace, one can feel even a slight wind. Green rain-cape and blue conical hat are worn at all hours; this is better than robes with purple ribbons from the capital office. Li Ding replied, ‘No less beautiful is my quiet time; I have one too:’ In stillness I watch pale drifting clouds, and alone in a thatched hut I shut the bamboo door. With nothing to do, I teach the child, opening the books; sometimes, with guests, I spread a board and play chess. When joy comes, I tap my cane and sing along the perfumed path; when inspired, I carry a zither up to the emerald heights. Straw sandals, hemp cord, and coarse cloth blankets—my heart is so broad that it feels freer than wearing silk robes. Zhang Shao then said, ‘Brother Li, between us this is nothing but good verses that match each other; no need for sandalwood clappers or golden cups. Yet to fling out our words is not something rare. Now let us each link a few lines and see how these debates of fisherman and woodcutter compare.’ Li Ding answered, ‘Brother Zhang, your words are best. Please recite first.’ The boat moors in green water and misty waves; my home is in deep wild mountains. I especially love the spring-swollen creek bridge, and I most cherish the dawn-clouded caves and peaks. Fresh carp from Dragon Gate are cooked now and then; firewood chewed by worms and dried by sun is ready for kindling. Catching with lines and nets in many ways can feed an old man; carrying a load and stringing rope can sustain a whole life. In the skiff I recline and watch wild geese fly; on slanting grass paths I hear them crying. In the arena of noisy tongues there is no place for me; in the world’s right-and-wrong, few traces of me remain. By the creek I hang and dry cloth, bright as brocade; on stones I repeatedly grind my axe to keep its edge sharp. Beneath autumn moonlight I often fish alone; in spring hills, silent and still, no one comes upon me. When fish are plenty I trade them for wine and drink with my wife; with remaining wood we buy a jar and gather the children. I sing and pour for myself as mood allows, singing long, sighing long, letting the wild wind do as it pleases. I call brothers and younger men, inviting boatmates; with mates and friends I gather wild fellows. We play verbal commands, pass drinking cups while guessing knucklebones; split the cards and call out characters, as if ringing a far-off bell. To cook shrimp and boil crabs is joy every morning; fried duck and rich chicken are plentiful each day. My blunt wife boils tea with a calm heart; my mountain wife cooks rice with slow, composed intention. At dawn, staff in hand, I stir the light ripples away; when the sun rises, I carry wood across the great current. After rain I sling on my rain cloak and catch live carp; before the wind I handle the axe, sawing dead pines. I hide my tracks and avoid the world in foolish-appearing eccentricity; I bury my name, living as though deaf and dumb. Zhang Shao said, ‘Brother Li, I spoke too eagerly in my first line, so now I’ll begin a verse and my younger brother should continue it.’ My wind and moon are like drunken madmen, men of mountain and river, cast here and proud in old-age ease. Peaceful and carefree I have my due share; I drift with elegant freedom and hear no clamor from the market of words. On moonlit nights my body sleeps secure in a thatch hut; at dusk even a reed cape lies light upon me. Forgetful of self, I befriend pine and plum; I make accord with herons and egrets in cheerful fellowship. In my heart there is no calculation for fame or profit; I hear no sound of spears and armies near my ears. Whenever it pleases, one cup of fragrant wine; for my daily life, three meals of wild-veg broth. Two armfuls of wood are enough for my living; one fishing line is my profession. At idle hours I call the young child to hone the steel axe; in stillness I call the simple fool to patch the old cloth. When spring comes I delight in watching willow turn green; when thaw comes I like to see the reeds and rushes turn blue-green. In summer I mend my bamboo shelter against heat; in June I cool myself and pick fresh water chestnuts. At the frost descent chickens grow fat and are often slaughtered; at Double Ninth, fat crabs arrive and are cooked in season. In winter, when the sun is up, I still doze; in the cold months of the Great Nine the sky is high and I am not chilled. Through the eight seasonal nodes, in the hills I follow my nature; in the lake all four seasons I let my feelings be poured out. Gathering wood brings me the joy of one who might be a celestial; with line in water I am stripped of any worldly form. Outside the gate, wild flowers are sweet and blazing; at the bow of the boat, green water lies calm and even. A body at ease need not speak of ministerial rank; a settled nature is stronger than a city of ten li. A ten-li city cannot raise high walls of command; even the loud pronouncements of three dukes are no more than sound. Truly rare are these pleasant mountains and waters; I thank Heaven, thank Earth, and thank the spirits.

The two had now exchanged ritual verses and then joined their poetry together. When they reached the point where their paths parted, they bent their bodies in courtesy and took leave. Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, take care on the road. Watch carefully for tigers when you go uphill. If any danger comes, then tomorrow there will be few old friends in the streets." Li Ding, hearing this, became very angry and said, "You idler! Even old friends should share life and death—how can you curse me? If I am caught by a tiger and perish, you will surely watch the river overturn in a great surge." Zhang Shao said, "In all my life I shall never turn a river over." Li Ding said, "‘Heaven has unpredictable winds and clouds; men have fortune and misfortune only for a time.’ How can you claim you can keep from trouble?" Zhang Shao said, "Brother Li, though you speak like this you still do not understand; if you knew how my trade works, such a thing would never befall you." Li Ding said, "Your livelihood on the water is utterly dangerous—very perilous and full of hidden hazards. What certainty can there be in that?" Zhang Shao said, "You do not understand. In Chang'an, on Ximen Street, there is a man who divines. Every day I give him one golden carp, and he slips me one lesson each day; by directions, every cast lands true. Today I went again for divination. He told me to set my net on the east side at the Jinghe bend and to cast hooks from the west bank, and I would surely return loaded with fish and shrimp. Tomorrow I shall go into the city again, sell for silver, buy some wine, and then talk this through with you again, old brother." From then on, the two spoke briefly and parted.

This is exactly the saying: "Words said on the road may be overheard from the grass." In truth, a yaksha who patrolled the waters of Jinghe heard the talk of never-missing casts, and in haste turned back to the Crystal Water Palace and reported to the Dragon King: "There is disaster! Disaster!" The Dragon King asked, "What disaster?" The yaksha replied, "I was patrolling the waters and came to the riverbank. I only heard two men, a fisher and a woodcutter, saying farewell, but their words were severe. That fisherman said: In Chang'an City, on Ximen Street, there is a diviner who reads with perfect accuracy. Each day he sends him one carp of gold, and in return he gives him one lesson in the sleeve; every cast is sure. If his divinations are so exact, why does he not simply rake in all our aquatic folk? How does he make the Water Court seem grand, how does he make the waves leap and thrum to strengthen the King’s power?" The Dragon King was greatly angered, drew his sword, and was about to go to Chang'an to execute this diviner. Then Dragon Son, Dragon Grandson, Officer of Shrimp, Officer of Crab, Counselor Shi, Guè Shaoqing, and Li Taizai all spoke in turn: "Your Majesty, hold your anger. It is said: 'A word that just enters the ear is not to be trusted.' If Your Majesty goes there, clouds and rain will surely follow, and this may frighten the people of Chang'an and draw punishment from Heaven. Your Majesty’s appearing and hiding are beyond reckoning, Your forms and transformations immeasurable, but if You only turn into a handsome scholar and make a short inquiry within the city, then if such a man exists, it would not be hard to punish him at once. If none exists, is that not harming others for no cause?"

Following their counsel, the Dragon King put away his precious sword, raised no clouds and no rain, and came ashore. He changed himself in an instant and became a white-robed scholar, truly:

Heroic in posture, glorious in beauty, shoulders lifting valleys and looking to the heavens. His stride was dignified and auspicious, moving in proper order. His words followed Kongzi and Mencius, and his manners reflected the whole Zhou ritual style. He wore a robe of jade-colored silk and silk-trimmed fringes, with a carefree one-character headscarf.

He came along the road with a pulled-cloud step and went directly to the grand street outside Chang'an’s west gate. He saw a dense crowd, crowded and noisy. In their midst people were speaking broadly: "One born under dragon, one facing tiger. Though Yin, Chen, Si, Hai are called a fitting conjunction, the day still fears collision with the lord of the year." The Dragon King, hearing this, knew it was the diviner’s place. He stepped forward, parted the crowd, and peered inside. He saw:

Pearled walls all around, a hall full of silk weaving. Fragrant cakes and incense of jade never cease; the crystal water in the bottles is limpid.\n > On both sides were lined paintings of Wang Wei, and above the seat hung the figure of Guigu.\n > A Duanxi inkstone, golden-scented ink, with a brush of hairs white as frost beside it.\n > The fire-bead array and the numerals of Guo Pu; he had mastered the freshly issued texts from the court.\n > He was deeply versed in the six lines and adept in the eight trigrams.\n > He knew the principles of Heaven and Earth and understood clearly the nature of spirits and gods.\n > One basin set the Zi–Wu arrangement and fixed it; his whole breast held the constellations in clear order.\n > Truly of future and past matters he could behold all as in a full moon mirror; whose household rises and whose falls, he judged as though a god with insight.\n > He knew calamity and fixed auspiciousness, could pronounce death and life.\n > At first line of speech, wind and rain came quickly; once he laid down his brush, spirits and ghosts were startled.\n > Above the signboard were written name and surname: Master Yuan Shoucheng, diviner of the celestial reckoning. Who was this person? It was Yuan Shoucheng, uncle of the court astronomer Yuan Tiangang, also called the chief prefect at the Bureau of Celestial Observation. This man was indeed singular in appearance and handsome in demeanor; his name was famous in the empire, his arts foremost in Chang'an. The Dragon King entered and met the master. After rites, he invited the Dragon to sit, and an attendant boy presented tea. The master asked, "Sir, what matter brings you here?" The Dragon King said, "I ask about heaven’s state—how the rain and clearing will be." The master immediately gave a sleeve lesson and judged: "Clouds veil the mountain tops and mist drapes the ends of the trees. If one divines rain and blessing, tomorrow is the time." The Dragon King said, "When tomorrow will it rain, and how large a quantity?" The master said, "Tomorrow: in the Ch'en hour, spread clouds; in the Si hour, thunder starts; at the Wu hour, rain begins; by Wei hour the rain is complete, totaling three chi, three cun and forty-eight drops." The Dragon King laughed and said, "This cannot be a jest. If there is rain tomorrow according to your hours and numbers, I shall give you five-zero taels for the consultation. If there is no rain, or if either hour or number is not as you have said, hear me clearly: I will break your shop-front, tear your signboard, and drive you out of Chang'an at once, not allowing you to mislead the crowd here." The master, delighted, replied, "Very well—accepted, accepted. After the rain tomorrow, come again."

The Dragon King took his leave and left Chang'an, returning to the water office. The lesser and greater water spirits stepped up and asked, "How was it with that diviner you consulted, Your Majesty?" The Dragon King said, "Yes, yes, yes. He is indeed such a smooth-tongued, money-asking fellow. I asked him when it would rain; he said tomorrow. I asked the exact hour and amount: Ch'en hour for clouds, Si hour for thunder, Wu hour for rain, Wei hour rain in full, total three chi, three cun and forty-eight drops. I wagered with him: if it matches his words, I will send him fifty taels as thanks. If it differs even slightly, I will break his frontage, tear his signboard, and force him out so he cannot mislead the people here in Chang'an."\nThe assembled water spirits laughed and said, "You are the great general of the Eight Rivers, the chief dragon of rain. Of rain and no rain, only Your Majesty knows. How can that diviner dare such nonsense? The diviner is certain to lose, certainly to lose."

At that moment, Dragon Son, Dragon Grandson, and the Fish Minister and Crab Officer were still laughing and talking this matter over when a cry came from midair: "Jinghe Dragon King, receive the edict." Looking up, they saw a mighty guardian in golden robes, carrying in his hand an edict of the Jade Emperor, descending straight into the water hall. Flustered, the Dragon King straightened his robes and stood with dignity, burned incense, and took the edict. The gold-robed guardian turned back into the sky and departed. The Dragon King offered thanks, broke the seal, and read:

Command, O lord of all Eight Rivers, to drive thunder and snap forth lightning in motion: Tomorrow bestow the rain-grace and abundantly bless the whole city of Chang'an. The time and measure in the order were not a hair’s breadth off from that master’s judgment. Terrified, the Dragon King was nearly in a state of complete panic. After a while he recovered and said to the gathered water spirits, "In the mortal world there is truly such a spirit person, truly one who can understand the principles of Heaven and Earth; he is no one we should be defeated by." General Shi advised, "Do not be afraid, Your Majesty. Why is it difficult to make him lose? I have a small plan; I will see to it that this fellow’s mouth is shut." The Dragon King asked for the plan. The general said, "If the rain is shifted by one hour and reduced by three cun and eight drops, then his divination is false; would he not lose? Then to break his signboard and send him running—what is difficult there?" The Dragon King, following this, did not worry.

The next day he summoned Wind Lord, Lord Thunder, Cloud Boy, and Mother Lightning, sending them all the way to the ninth heavens over Chang'an. He spread clouds at Si hour, raised thunder at Wu hour, let rain fall at Wei hour, and ended it at Shen hour. It came to only three chi and forty drops. In other words, one hour late and three cun eight drops short of the diviner’s reckoning. After the rain he dismissed the troops and had them return to camp.\nThen he again changed form into the white-clad scholar and pushed into Yuan Shoucheng’s divination shop on West Gate Street. Without giving the man time to speak, he shattered the signboard, brush, inkstone, and everything else together. The master sat in his chair, openly unmoving. The Dragon King then raised a door-panel and struck him, shouting, "You rogue who peddles false prophecy of fortune and calamity, you vulgar scoundrel who deceives the crowd! Your divination has no force, your words are wild and absurd. The hour and count for today’s rain do not match at all. You still sit there with no fear—go at once, and I will spare you the death penalty!" Yuan Shoucheng, however, did not flinch one degree and, looking up to the sky, laughed coldly: "I am not afraid, I am not afraid. I have committed no death crime; you instead have one. Others can be deceived; only they can be deceived by me. I know who you are: you are not a scholar, but the Jing River Dragon King. You have violated the Jade Emperor’s decree by changing the hour and cutting the count; you have broken the law of Heaven. On the Dragon-Slashing Platform you will hardly avoid a blade, and still you stand here to curse me?" The Dragon King felt dread in his heart and every hair rising. He quickly dropped the door-panel, straightened his clothes, knelt, and bowed deeply, saying, "Master, hold no resentment. What I said before was in jest; never thought that a trick would become true. It is indeed a violation of Heaven’s law—what can I do? Please save me, or I will die before I let you go." Shoucheng said, "I cannot save you; I can only point out a way for you to be reborn." The Dragon said, "I wish for instruction." Shoucheng said, "Tomorrow at Wu hour, three ke, you must go to Censorate Officer Wei Zhi and stand to receive the beheading order. If you truly want to preserve your life, you must quickly go to inform the present Tang Taizong Emperor. Wei Zhi is prime minister under the Tang Son of Heaven; if he is won over with personal favor, then you may go free."

The Dragon King, hearing this, bowed in farewell with tears in his eyes and left. Before he even knew it, the red sun had already set in the west and the dark moon rose. Yet all one could see was:

Smoke gathers, the mountains are dusk-purple, and the returning crows grow weary. Travelers on the long road turn into inns for the night. At the fordhead, new geese alight on the tidal bank; the Milky Way appears, the watchman urges the hour, and the lone village lights shine without visible flame. Wind-twirled chimney smoke drifts over the clear monastery road; the man in the butterfly dream is nowhere to be seen. The moon shifts, flower shadows climb the railing; the starlight is in disarray, the water-clock chimes shift, and one hardly notices that half of the deep night has already passed.

The Dragon King of the Jing River did not return to the Water Court either; he remained in the sky. When the time of Zi-hour drew near, he drew together his head of clouds and folded back his misty horns, then came straight to the gate of the imperial palace. At that moment Emperor Taizong was truly dreaming, outside the gate, walking in the moonlight beneath flower shade. Suddenly the Dragon King assumed human form, stepped forward, knelt, and cried out, "Your Majesty, save me, save me!" Taizong said, "Who are you? I will save you." The Dragon King said, "Your Majesty is a true dragon; I am a fallen dragon. I have broken Heaven’s law and ought to be beheaded by your worthy minister Wei Zheng, and so I have come to kneel and beg, hoping Your Majesty will save me once." Taizong said, "Since it is by Wei Zheng’s order of beheading, I can rescue you; do not worry and go now." The Dragon King rejoiced, kowtowed in thanks, and left.

After Taizong awoke from that dream, he kept it on his mind. It was already past five drums and three points, and Taizong held court, gathering the two ranks of civil and military ministers. What he saw was:

Smoky veils wrapped the Phoenix Apex, and fragrant incense made the Dragon Tower serene. Light shimmered on the vermilion screen, trembling; clouds brushed past and the sovereign carriage streamed by. Lord and ministers stood in mutual accord, like Yao and Shun; rites and music were stern and majestic, in the manner of Han and Zhou. Court attendants held lamps, palace women held fans, each pair reflecting color; peacock screens and Qilin halls, light floated everywhere. Cries of "Long live!" and acclamations of "a thousand autumns!" rose. Three quiet cracks of the whip sounded; robes and headgear bowed to the jeweled tassels. Palace flowers bloomed brilliantly, heaven-fragrance wafted, and willow by the embankment moved to the imperial music. Curtains of pearl and curtains of jade hung high on golden hooks; dragon-fan and mountain-river fan, the jewel carriage stood still. The civil officials were elegant and brilliant; military commanders were proud and disciplined. The processional way rose and fell by rank; the vermilion steps were ordered by rank and station. Golden seals and purple ribbons rode with triple emblems, as if to say the earth and the heavens endure for myriad autumns and ages.

When the ministers had finished the morning salutes and each returned to his station, Taizong’s dragon-like eyes and glance scanned them all one by one from the head. Among the civil officials were Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Xu Shiji, Xu Jingzong, Wang Gui, and so on; among the military were Ma Sanbao, Duan Zhixuan, Yin Kaishan, Cheng Yaojin, Liu Hongji, Hu Jingde, Qin Shubao, and so forth. Each one was upright and proper in posture and bearing, but not a trace of Chancellor Wei Zheng was in sight. Taizong summoned Xu Shiji to the hall and said, "Last night I had a strange dream. I saw a man who came forward and bowed before me, saying he was the Dragon King of the Jing River. He has broken heavenly law and should have been executed at the sword by Wei Zheng of the Censorial office. He prayed me to save him; I gave my word. Why is Wei Zheng absent from court today among this attendance?" Shiji replied, "This dream is trustworthy. Call Minister Wei Zheng at once. Your Majesty must not let him leave the gate; if this passes one more day, Your Majesty can save the dragon of the dream." Overjoyed, Taizong at once issued an edict and ordered the Chief Escort to announce Wei Zheng’s summons to court.

Yet Chancellor Wei Zheng was at home. In the night he was observing heaven’s patterns and was just burning precious incense when he heard a cry like cranes from the ninth heaven. It was a heavenly messenger, who brought the Jade Emperor’s golden edict: at the hour of Wu and three ke, he must in dream behead the old dragon of the Jing River. The chancellor thanked Heaven’s grace, fasted and bathed, tested his spirit-sword in his hall, and gathered his yuan spirit, and therefore he had not entered court. When the chief escort brought the summons, he was distraught with fear beyond measure, yet he dared not ignore the imperial command. He therefore dressed in haste, buckled his sash, and entered with the decree. At court before the throne he knelt and begged forgiveness. Taizong said, "Forgive you—there is no offense." It was still not yet time for the ministers to depart from court; at that point Taizong ordered the curtain drawn so that the audience could be dismissed. He kept only Wei Zheng, summoning him to the Golden Throne Hall, where they first discussed state policy and the securing of the realm. As the time drew near to si ending and wu beginning, Taizong commanded, "Bring out the great board. I will play one game with this worthy minister." The palace ladies brought the chessboard and set it upon the imperial desk. Wei Zheng thanked the grace, and then faced Taizong and the two played, move upon move, arranging a battlefield array. This exactly matched what the Treatise of Lanké states: "The way of chess is to value strictness. The high piece belongs in the center, the low in the side, the middle in the corner; this is the ordinary method of all true players. The principle says: 'It is better to lose one piece than lose first move.' Strike the left and watch the right; if you attack the rear, first look ahead. What comes first can end up after, what comes after can become first. With two pieces, do not sever both lives; let all remain alive, do not bind them into one. The gaps should not be too wide, nor the lines too tight. Rather than clinging to a piece to save life, throw it away and take victory; rather than wandering alone doing nothing, strengthen yourself and restore yourself. If the enemy is few and we are many, plan first for their life; if we are many and they are few, keep pressing their momentum. One who wins well does not contend; one who arrays well does not fight; one who fights well does not lose; one who loses well does not fall into disorder. A game of chess begins with orthodox contact and ends in unexpected victory. If an enemy acts to fill in ground without occasion, he means to cut out and invade; if he abandons a small point and does not save it, he means to win at a greater point. One who moves by impulse has no strategy; one who responds without thought walks the path to defeat. As the Odes say, 'Be vigilant in heart, as if standing above a deep ravine.' That is this."The verse says:

The chessboard is earth and the ruler is heaven; by black and white it follows all the transformations of nature. At the deepest, hidden turn where change slips through, one may laugh and boast as the Lanké Immortal of that day.

The two, ruler and minister, continued to play. At the hour of Wu and three ke this game had not yet ended when Wei Zheng suddenly lay face-down by the side of the board and dozed with deep snoring. Taizong laughed, "A worthy minister’s mind has truly been spent preserving the state and worn by the strength used to found this realm, so he has grown weary and fallen asleep without noticing." Taizong let him sleep on and did not call him. Before long Wei Zheng woke, still bowing to the ground, and said, "Your servant deserves ten thousand deaths, ten thousand deaths! He only just had this fatigue and drowsiness, and I know not what I did. I beg Your Majesty to forgive me for the offense of idling before my lord." Taizong said, "What offense have you made? Rise and return the pieces; let us begin again afresh between us."

Wei Zheng thanked the grace, and only then when the piece was in his fingers, he heard loud calls and cries outside the court gate. It was Qin Shubao, Xu Maogong and others, who had carried a blood-soaked dragon’s head and thrown it down before the emperor, announcing, "Your Majesty, where have we ever seen such marvels as this? At the ford of the shallow river and dry stream, in the city’s waterside streets, this kind of thing has never occurred." Taizong rose together with Wei Zheng and said, "How did this object come here?" Qin Shubao and Maogong replied, "To the south of the Thousand-Step Corridor, at the Cross Street, a dragon head fell from among the clouds. Your humble officials dare not hide it." Taizong asked in astonishment, "Wei Zheng, what does this mean?" Wei Zheng turned and knelt: "What I just saw in dream was the slaying." Taizong was startled and said, "While your lordly deputy slept, he had neither risen nor moved a hand, nor held any blade. How then could he behead this dragon?" Wei Zheng explained, "My body was here before Your Majesty with the unfinished game before me, my eyes half-closed and dull. But my body left Your Majesty in dream, riding blessed clouds, spirit rousing in sudden alertness. That dragon stood on the sacrificial dragon platform, bound by heaven-soldiers. I said, 'You have broken Heaven’s statutes and deserve the death penalty. By Heaven’s command, I sever your life now.' Hearing my plea, the dragon lowered its claws, drew in scales, and humbly accepted death; I gathered my spirit, drew my robe wide with a step forward, raised my blade. With one sharp pull—the sound of metal through—its head fell away and dropped into the void."

When Taizong heard this, joy and sorrow mixed within him. He rejoiced, praising Wei Zheng as a worthy servant and a formidable man for the court; yet he grieved, saying that in the dream he had once promised rescue, and yet it had ended in execution. He forced back his feelings and ordered the head to be hung at the City Office by Qin Shubao’s hand, and an announcement made to instruct the people of Chang’an. In one wing of the court he rewarded Wei Zheng. The ministers dispersed.

That evening, back in the palace, he was only uneasy at heart. He thought of the dragon from the dream, crying out in tears, begging desperately for life, and how, after all, impermanence allows no escape from this calamity. After thinking long and hard, he gradually felt body and spirit wearied and weak. At the second watch of night, just as the hour passed, he heard lamenting cries outside the palace gate, and Taizong grew even more alarmed. While in half-dreaming slumber he saw once more the Jing River Dragon King, bearing a blood-drenched head in his hands, shouting at the top of his voice: "Tang Taizong, return me my life! Return me my life! Last night you swore to save me; how then at dawn did you proclaim that the Censor Wei Zheng should behead me? Come out, come out! You and I will go before Lord Yan and argue it out, argue it out!" He seized at Taizong and would not stop, crying out and wrangling again and again. Taizong had no words, held only by tongue and mind in fear, and by struggling could only break out in sweat.

At that tangle of unresolved contention, there appeared rising to the south a swirl of incense-burning cloud and drifting colored mist, and a woman, a heavenly figure, stepped forward, waving a willow branch in her hand. The headless dragon wept again and again and went off toward the northwest. This was Guanyin, who, holding Buddha’s command, had come from the eastern land seeking the pilgrims who seek the scriptures, and had been staying in the local earth-god temple of Chang’an. At night she heard ghostly cries and divine wails and came to drive away the evil dragon, rescuing the emperor. The dragon then went to report in the underworld court; that part need not be set down.

Taizong came back to senses and called out, "There is a ghost! There is a ghost!" The three palace queens, six inner concubines, and close eunuch attendants were thrown into fright, trembling, and passed a sleepless night.

Not noticing the time had passed to the fifth morning watch and three points, all the assembled civil and military officials stood awaiting audience outside the court gate. When dawn came, the emperor still did not appear for court, and each one was struck with fear and hesitation. When the sun rose three stalks high, an edict finally came out: "My heart is not at ease; let all officials be excused from audience." It was only after five or seven days that the ministers, in anxious alarm, were about to push open the doors to see him and offer greetings, when an imperial order from the Empress Dowager came: summon physicians to the palace for medication. The whole court waited outside the gate for news. Soon the doctors emerged, and all asked what illness it was. The physicians said, "His Majesty’s pulse is unsteady, at once weak and rapid, and he raves as though seeing ghosts. His pulse signs also indicate this and that; the five viscera have no qi. I fear he may last no more than seven days." Upon hearing this, all ministers turned pale in alarm.

In this hour of anxiety and alarm, another message arrived from the Empress Dowager ordering Xu Maogong, Duke Huguo, and Yuchi Gong to come before the throne. The three ministers obeyed and hurried down to the lower hall of the palace tower. After bowing, Emperor Taizong spoke in a firm manner: "Excellent ministers, at nineteen I took command of the army, marched south in campaign and north in campaign, blocked in the east and cleared the west. Through many hard years I had not seen the slightest evil spirit, and yet tonight I have seen ghosts." Yuchi Gong said, "To found a realm and slay countless men, why should one fear ghosts?" Taizong said, "You do not believe it. Outside the gate of my bedchamber, as soon as night falls bricks and tiles are tossed about, demons and specters howl, and it becomes truly hard to bear. By day it is still possible to cope, but at dusk and night it cannot be restrained." Shubao said, "Your Majesty, calm your heart. Tonight this servant and Jingde will stand watch at the palace gate and see what, if any, evil spirit appears." Taizong approved the report. Xu Maogong offered his thanks and withdrew.

That evening, at dusk, each took up his armor. The two, in neat regimental dress, held a gilded mace and a battle axe and stood guard outside the gate of the palace. Fine generals! See how they are arrayed:

Gold helm on the head, flashing with light; scaled mail of dragon hide draped across the body. A heart-protecting talismanic mirror, blessing-shrouded clouds, lion-like clasps tightened firm, embroidered sash new with rose-like clouds. This one, with phoenix-like eyes, looks up to the stars and terrifies the constellations; that one, with round eyes like a ring, reflects lightning in floating moonlight. He was once an old meritorious hero and mighty champion, now fallen to the title of a thousand-year gate commander, and through ten thousand ages made a door god. The two generals stood by the gate until dawn and did not see even a trace of evil spirits. That night, Taizong slept in the palace without disturbance. At dawn he summoned the two generals, praised their efforts repeatedly, and said: "My illness has made me unable to sleep for days, but tonight by the authority of these two generals all was secure. You may now leave and rest. Return again in the evening for another watch." The two thanked the throne and withdrew.

So for two or three nights the watch passed in peace. But the court rations were reduced, and the illness became still heavier. Taizong, no longer willing to burden the two generals with all-night toil, again summoned Shubao, Jingde, and the lords of Du and Fang into the palace, and commanded: "These last two days Your Majesty has had peace, yet I still find it hard to make the Qin and Hu generals endure the whole night in guard-duty. I wish to summon a deft painter with a fine brush, copy the true likenesses of the two generals, and paste them on the gate so as not to weary them. What say you?" The ministers followed the order, chose two who could paint true portraits, and had Hu and Qin in full regalia as before, copied their forms exactly, then pasted the paintings on the gate. The night likewise passed with no trouble.

In this way two or three more nights passed in security. But once again, one could hear at the rear gate "ping-pang, ping-pang," with tiles and bricks clattering in disorder. At dawn, Taizong summoned the ministers and said: "The front gate has fortunately been quiet for several nights, yet tonight the rear gate sounds again, and once again Your Majesty has been nearly frightened to death." Xu Maogong stepped forward and reported: "The front gate was unsafe with Jingde and Shubao on guard; for the rear gate, it should be Wei Zheng." Taizong approved and also summoned Wei Zheng to hold the rear gate that night. Receiving orders, he took up the dragon-slaying treasure sword and stood before the rear gate; truly he was a great heroic figure. This is how he was dressed:

A fine silk blue kerchief bound his brow, a brocade robe with jade belt hanging at the waist. A wind-wrapping cape, its sleeves drifting with frost-bright color; a demon-like visage pressed low, wild and sharp. Black boots on his feet, knees bent and set; a sharp blade gripped in hand, fierce and dangerous. With wide eyes he looked all around to the four sides: what evil god would dare come near? One whole night passed in full clarity, and there were no ghosts or demons. Though the front and back gates were both quiet, his body, however, kept growing heavier.

One day, the Empress Dowager again issued an order summoning all ministers to discuss funerary and enshrouding matters. Taizong also summoned Xu Maogong, entrusted him with the affairs of state, and gave instructions in the manner of Liu of Shu’s intention of entrusting the realm. After speaking, he bathed, changed robes, and waited for the appointed time. Then, just as Wei Zheng moved near, he pulled at Taizong’s dragon robe and reported: "Your Majesty, be at ease. I have one matter that will ensure Your Majesty's long life." Taizong said, "My condition has entered the deep illness and my life is indeed in peril. How can it be preserved?" Wei Zheng said: "I have a letter which I can hand to Your Majesty, then send it to the netherworld, to Cui Jue, the Fengdu Judge of Life-and-Death records." Taizong said, "Who is Cui Jue?" Wei Zheng said: "Cui Jue was an attendant minister before the former August Emperor’s chariot, first serving as the magistrate of Zizhou, later promoted to Assistant Minister in the Ministry of Rites. In earlier days we became sworn friends through eightfold ritual and have been intimately acquainted. He has now died and now serves in the underworld as the Fengdu judge who keeps the rolls of life and death. In dreams we often meet. If this letter is given to him, he will remember this lowly official’s little kindness and surely send Your Majesty back. He will make the soul and spirit return to this world of life and restore the dragon-face to the imperial seat." When Taizong heard this, he took the letter in his hands and tucked it into his sleeve, then closed his eyes and died. The three palaces and six inner residences, the empress, concubines, attendants, crown prince, and the civil and military officials of both classes all raised mourning and wore mourning. In the Hall of the White Tiger, a cypress coffin was set in place; no further details need be given.

It is still unknown how Taizong will recover his life and return. Read on for the next episode for the resolution.