When the constables dragged Tang Niuer into the county office, the magistrate heard there had been a killing and hurried out to hold court. The officers shoved Tang Niuer forward, and when the magistrate looked, he saw an old woman kneeling on the left and a man on the right.

"What is this murder case?" the magistrate demanded.

The old woman spoke: "My name is Yan. I had a daughter called Poxi, who was kept as a concubine by Clerk Song. Last night my daughter and Song Jiang were drinking together when this Tang Niuer came looking for trouble, shouting abuse as he left—all the neighbors know it. This morning Song Jiang went out for a while, then came back and killed my daughter. I dragged him to the county gate, but this Tang fellow snatched him away from me. I beg you, sir, see justice done."

"How dare you snatch away a murderer?" the magistrate asked Tang Niuer.

"I know nothing of the matter," Tang said. "Last night I went looking for Song Jiang to cadge a bowl of wine, and Old Madam Yan chased me off with a fork. This morning I was out selling pickled ginger when I met her dragging Clerk Song before the county office. Seeing this, I made the mistake of going to mediate—and he slipped away. I know nothing about any killing."

"Nonsense!" the magistrate roared. "Song Jiang is an honest gentleman. How could he rashly kill anyone? This death must be on your head. Where are my clerks?"

At that moment Clerk Zhang Wenyuan came forward. He had heard that Old Madam Yan was accusing Song Jiang of killing her daughter—the very woman who had been his own mistress. He took statements from all parties, wrote up the indictment for the old woman, and filed the case. Then he summoned the coroner, the wardens, the village heads, and the neighbors to Old Madam Yan's house. They opened the door, examined the corpse on the scene, and found a murder knife lying beside it. After repeated inspection they determined she had been strangled with a blade across the throat before death. The body was placed in a coffin and stored at a temple, and all those involved were brought back to the county.

The magistrate was close friends with Song Jiang and meant to get him off, so he kept pressing Tang Niuer instead. "I know nothing of it," Tang insisted again and again.

"How dare you go to his house and raise a ruckus the night before? You must be involved!"

"I just happened by to cadge a bowl of wine—"

"Nonsense! Beat him!" The constables, fierce as wolves, trussed Tang Niuer up and gave him thirty or fifty strokes, but he stuck to the same story throughout. The magistrate knew perfectly well the man was innocent, yet determined to save Song Jiang, he kept pressing the case against him. Finally he ordered a cangue put on Tang's neck and threw him in prison.

Zhang Wenyuan came before the bench again. "Even so, the knife found at the scene is Song Jiang's own dress-knife. We must bring him in for questioning to get to the bottom of this."

The magistrate tried to brush him off, but Zhang pressed him three or four times until he could no longer refuse. He sent men to Song Jiang's lodgings—but Song Jiang had already fled. They could only bring back some neighbors who said: "The murderer Song Jiang has run off; we don't know where."

Zhang Wenyuan spoke again: "Since the criminal Song Jiang has fled, his father Squire Song and brother Song Qing live at Song Family Village. We can summon them to court and order them to produce him for questioning."

The magistrate had no wish to do this—he meant to bury the case against Tang Niuer and quietly let things go. But Zhang Wenyuan was in charge of the files, and he urged Old Madam Yan to keep coming before the bench with her complaints. Seeing he could not hold them off, the magistrate finally stamped a warrant and sent two or three constables to Squire Song's estate.

The officers arrived at the village and were received by the old squire himself. He led them into the thatched hall, where they sat down and showed him the document.

"Officers, please be seated and hear me out," said Old Madam's father, Squire Song. "My family has farmed these fields for generations. But this unfilial son of mine, Song Jiang, was rebellious from youth. He refused to follow an honest trade and insisted on becoming a clerk—no amount of persuasion could change him. So years ago I reported him to the county magistrate for filial impiety, had his name struck from my household register, and he is no longer counted among my family members. He lives in town on his own; I stay here with my son Song Qing, working these fields. He has nothing whatsoever to do with me. I feared he might get into trouble and drag us down, so I obtained this official document at the time—here it is for you to examine."

All the constables were friendly with Song Jiang and knew perfectly well this was a prearranged loophole. They had no wish to make an enemy of him. "If the squire has such a document," they said, "let us copy it down and take it back to report."

The squire slaughtered chickens and geese, served them wine, pressed ten or fifteen ounces of silver on them, and let them copy the certificate. The officers took their leave and returned to report: "Squire Song had Song Jiang struck from his register three years ago and holds an official document to that effect—here is a copy. We cannot arrest him."

The magistrate was just as eager to protect Song Jiang. "Since he has such a document and no other kin," he said, "we'll post a thousand strings of reward money and issue a nationwide warrant for his capture."

But Zhang Wenyuan again stirred up Old Madam Yan, who came before the bench with her hair streaming loose, wailing: "Song Jiang is surely hidden in Song Qing's house! Why won't you do me justice and go arrest him?"

The magistrate snapped: "His father reported him for impiety three years ago and had him struck from the register. We have the official document—how can we drag his father and brother in to answer for him?"

"Everyone knows he's called 'Filial and Righteous Black Third Son'!" she cried. "That document is a forgery! You must see justice done!"

"Nonsense! It bears the seal of the previous magistrate—how could it be false?"

Old Madam Yan wailed and wept, sobbing out: "A man's life is as heavy as heaven! If you won't help me, I'll have to take my suit to the prefecture. My daughter died a bitter death!"

Zhang Wenyuan came forward again: "If you refuse to issue warrants, sir, and this woman appeals to higher authorities, that could be serious. If they send down an inquiry, I'll hardly know how to answer."

The magistrate saw the sense in this and reluctantly stamped another warrant. He summoned Constables Zhu Tong and Lei Heng before him. "Take a good number of men," he ordered, "and go to Squire Song's estate at Song Family Village. Search for the criminal Song Jiang and bring him in."

Zhu Tong and Lei Heng took the warrant, mustered forty-odd soldiers, and rode straight to the Song estate. Learning of their approach, the old squire came out to greet them.

"Don't hold it against us, Squire," said Zhu Tong and Lei Heng. "We're under orders from above—we have no choice. Where is your son the clerk?"

"Constables," said the squire, "this wayward son of mine has nothing to do with me. I had him struck from my register under the previous magistrate, and here is the official document. It's been more than three years since we were separate households. He doesn't live with us and hasn't come back to this village."

"Even so," Zhu Tong replied, "we're sent with a warrant to fetch people, not to take your word for it. Let us search the place so we can make our report." He ordered thirty or forty soldiers to surround the compound. "I'll hold the front gate myself. Lei Heng, you go in first and search."

Lei Heng went in and searched front and back, then came out and said: "He's truly not here."

"I'm still not satisfied," Zhu Tong said. "Brother Lei, you and the men hold the gates. I'll search through carefully myself."

"I know the law," the squire protested. "How would I dare hide him?"

"This is a murder case," Zhu Tong said. "You can't blame us."

"Search as you please, Constable."

Zhu Tong turned to Lei Heng: "Keep the squire here with you—don't let him move."

Zhu Tong went into the compound alone, leaned his halberd against the wall, and barred the door behind him. He walked into the family shrine, dragged aside the altar table, and lifted up a plank of the floor. Beneath it was a rope; he pulled it, and with a clang of a copper bell, Song Jiang climbed out of a hidden cellar.

Seeing Zhu Tong, Song Jiang started in alarm.

"Brother Gongming," said Zhu Tong, "don't blame me for coming to arrest you. In the old days we were close friends—I never kept anything from you. Once over wine you told me: 'Beneath my family's Buddha shrine there's a hidden cellar, covered by that plank in the floor, with the altar table on top. If you're ever in desperate trouble, you can hide here.' I remembered it. Today the county magistrate sent Lei Heng and me to search your estate. There was no way around it—we had to keep up appearances. The magistrate himself has some regard for you, but that Zhang Wenyuan and the old woman kept raising a clamor before the bench, threatening to appeal to the prefecture if he wouldn't act. That's why he sent us to search your place. I was afraid Lei Heng would be too rigid, not one to show mercy—if he found you, there'd be no way to smooth things over. So I tricked him into guarding the front and came straight in to talk with you. But this spot is no safe haven either. If someone learns of it and searches here, what then?"

"I've been thinking the same thing," Song Jiang said. "If not for your kindness, brother, I'd surely be in chains."

"Say no more of that. Where will you go?"

"I can think of three places: first, to Chai Jin's estate at Heng-hai Commandery in Cangzhou—he's called the 'Little Whirlwind'; second, to Hua Rong's post at Qingfeng Stockade in Qingzhou—they call him 'Li Guang the Archer'; third, to Squire Kong's estate at White Tiger Mountain. He has two sons: Kong Ming, the 'Comet', and Kong Liang, the 'Lone Fire'—both have come to the county often. I haven't decided which to choose."

"Make up your mind quickly," Zhu Tong urged. "You should leave tonight. Don't delay and ruin yourself."

"I'll rely on you for all legal matters, brother. If money is needed, just take what you need."

"Don't worry about that—I'll handle it. You see to your escape."

Song Jiang thanked him and went back down into the cellar. Zhu Tong replaced the plank, set the altar table over it again, unbarred the door, took up his halberd, and came out.

"He's truly not here," he announced. Then: "Brother Lei, shall we take Squire Song back with us?"

Lei Heng thought to himself: Zhu Tong was always closest to Song Jiang—why would he suddenly want to arrest the old man? This must be a trick. If he brings it up again, I'll play along and do him the favor.

Zhu Tong and Lei Heng called in the soldiers and gathered them in the hall. The squire hurriedly set out wine and food for everyone.

"No need for that," Zhu Tong said. "Please come with us to the county, Squire, you and your fourth son."

"Where is Fourth Son?" Lei Heng asked.

"I sent him to a neighboring village to buy farm tools," the squire said. "He's not here. And as for that wretch Song Jiang—I had him struck from my register more than three years ago. I have the official document right here."

"That won't do," Zhu Tong insisted. "We two are under orders from the magistrate to take you and your son back to answer."

"Brother Zhu, hear me out," Lei Heng cut in. "Clerk Song has committed some offense—there must be reasons behind it, and he may not deserve death. Since Squire Song holds an official document bearing a seal, not a forgery, let's do Clerk Song the courtesy of our former acquaintance and simply copy down the certificate to report back."

Zhu Tong thought: I spoke in reverse to put him off guard—good. Aloud he said: "If that's what you say, brother, I have no reason to play the villain."

The squire thanked them both warmly, then set out wine and food for all the men. He offered twenty ounces of silver to the two constables; when they refused it, he distributed it among the forty soldiers instead. They copied the certificate, took leave of the squire, and led their men back to the county.

The magistrate was holding court when they returned. "Well?"

"We searched front and back, all through the village," they reported. "Twice over—he's simply not there. Squire Song is bedridden with illness and near death; Song Qing went out last month and hasn't returned. All we could bring back is this copy of the certificate."

"Very well then," said the magistrate. "We'll report to the prefecture and issue a nationwide warrant." And so it was done.

Meanwhile, Song Jiang's friends in the county went around urging Zhang Wenyuan to drop his pursuit. Zhang couldn't withstand such pressure from all sides—besides, the woman was dead, and he had often benefited from Song Jiang's generosity. So he let the matter rest. Zhu Tong scraped together some money and gave it to Old Madam Yan, advising her not to appeal to the prefecture. With silver in hand, she grudgingly agreed. Zhu Tong also sent money up to the prefecture to keep the case from being reopened. The magistrate threw his weight behind a reward of a thousand strings and issued the warrant, while Tang Niuer was convicted of "deliberately allowing a murderer to escape"—he got twenty strokes with the rod and was branded and exiled five hundred li away. All others involved were released and sent home.

---

Now how did Song Jiang, a man from a farming family, come by such a hidden cellar? In those days of the old Song court, being an official was easy but being a clerk was hard. Why easy for officials? Because treacherous ministers held power at court—favorites and flatterers ruled; no kin, no office; no bribes, no business. And why hard for clerks? A clerk who committed any offense, however slight, might be branded and exiled to some distant garrison—or worse, have his property confiscated and his life ended. So Song Jiang had prepared this hiding place in advance. He had also arranged for his parents to report him for impiety, strike his name from the register, and set up a separate household with an official certificate—so that they would not be implicated. Many clever men in the Song dynasty made such arrangements.

---

That evening Song Jiang came up from the cellar and conferred with his father and brother. "If not for Zhu Tong's mercy this time, I'd have been taken by the law. I can never forget this debt. Now my brother and I must flee. If heaven shows pity and a general amnesty comes, we'll return to see you again, Father. Send someone secretly with silver for Zhu Tong—to cover his expenses in smoothing things over—and give some to Old Madam Yan as well, so she won't keep appealing."

"Don't trouble yourself about that," said the old squire. "Just take care on the road, you and Song Qing. When you reach your destination, send word back by a trustworthy man."

That night the two brothers packed their bundles. At the fourth watch they rose, washed, ate breakfast, and dressed for the journey. Song Jiang wore a white felt hat of Fanyang style, a white satin gown, a crimson silk sash, leggings bound beneath, and hempen sandals with many eyelets. Song Qing dressed as his servant and carried the pack on his back. They came to the thatched hall, bowed farewell to their father—all three weeping without restraint.

"May your road stretch ten thousand li," said the old squire. "Don't grieve."

Song Jiang and Song Qing instructed the household servants to mind the estate carefully, attend to the squire day and night, and never let his meals go lacking. Then each brother buckled on a waist-sword, took up a halberd, and left Song Family Village.

They traveled through late autumn turning to winter:

Lotus leaves wither one by one,
Elm leaves fall leaf after leaf.
Crickets chirp in rotting grass,
Wild geese settle on the sandy shore.
Fine rain soaks the maple wood,
Heavy frost chills the air.
Only a traveler knows the taste of autumn.

After several days on the road, Song Jiang said: "Which way shall we turn?"

Song Qing replied: "I've heard travelers speak of Lord Chai of Heng-hai Commandery in Cangzhou—they say he's a true descendant of the Zhou royal house. I've never met him, but why not go to him? Everyone says he gives away wealth and befriends all the heroes of the rivers and lakes, aiding even exiled convicts—a living Lord Mengchang. Let us go to him."

"I was thinking the same," Song Jiang said. "We've exchanged letters often, but never had the chance to meet face to face."

So they set out toward Cangzhou. The road took them over mountains and across rivers, through prefectures and towns. Travelers on the road must endure two things: eating in filthy inns and sleeping on beds where other men have died.

---

After many days they crossed into Cangzhou territory and asked directions to Lord Chai's estate. Coming to the gate, Song Jiang hailed a servant: "Is the lord at home?"

"He's at the eastern manor collecting rent," the servant said. "Not here."

"How far is it?"

"Some forty li."

"Which way do we go?"

"Might I ask your names?" said the servant.

"I am Song Jiang of Yuncheng County."

"Not the 'Timely Rain' Clerk Song?" The servant's face lit up. "The lord speaks of you often and laments that he's never met you! Since it's you, let me show you the way." He led them at once toward the eastern manor.

Within three hours they arrived. Song Jiang looked about: a fine estate indeed, most neatly kept:

Broad channels before, high peaks behind;
Thousands of locusts and willows in groves,
Many halls to welcome guests.
Cattle and sheep fill the pastures by the walls,
Geese and ducks crowd the threshing ground.
The table outshines Lord Mengchang's feasts,
The stewards rival any great household's staff.

"Please wait here in the pavilion," said the servant, "while I announce you."

Song Jiang and Song Qing leaned their halberds against the rail, unbuckled their swords, set down the pack, and sat. The servant was gone only a short while when the great central gate swung open and Lord Chai himself came running out with three or four attendants, straight to the pavilion.

Seeing Song Jiang, Chai Jin knelt in the dust: "I've longed for you, truly! What lucky wind blows you here today? This fulfills my lifelong wish—what fortune!"

Song Jiang knelt as well. "I am a humble clerk of no account," he said. "Today I have come to throw myself on your mercy."

Chai Jin raised him up, beaming: "Last night the lampwick flowered, this morning the magpie chattered—and now here you are!" He called for attendants to take Clerk Song's baggage to a chamber in the west wing of the rear hall. Taking Song Jiang by the hand, he led him into the great hall and seated him as guest of honor.

"May I ask," Chai Jin said, "how is it that you, busy with your duties in Yuncheng County, have found leisure to visit my poor estate?"

"I've long known your name like thunder rolling in the ears," Song Jiang replied. "You've written to me often, but my humble duties never allowed me to meet you. Today I—no other way to put it—have gotten myself into a bad business. My brother and I could find no refuge anywhere, and thinking of your generosity, we came to you."

Chai Jin laughed. "Set your mind at ease, brother. Even if you'd committed the ten unpardonable crimes, once you're in my manor you need fear nothing. I won't boast—but any constable or soldier who comes looking will not dare look sideways at this estate."

Song Jiang told him the whole story of killing Yan Poxi. Chai Jin laughed again: "Don't worry. Even if you'd killed a court-appointed official or robbed a government treasury, I'd still dare hide you here."

He had baths drawn for the brothers and brought out two sets of clothing—caps, silk shoes, clean socks—for them to change into after washing. Then he led them into the depths of the rear hall, where a feast was already laid. He seated Song Jiang at the head and took the opposite seat himself; Song Qing, deferring to his elder brother, sat at the side.

A dozen senior retainers and stewards took turns pouring wine and urging them to drink. Chai Jin pressed cup after cup on both brothers, and Song Jiang gave thanks without end. Half drunk, they spoke of their long-held mutual admiration. As evening fell, lamps were lit.

"I've had enough," Song Jiang said at last.

But Chai Jin wouldn't hear of it, and they drank on until the first watch. Then Song Jiang rose to relieve himself.

Chai Jin called a servant with a lantern to guide him down the eastern corridor to the latrine. "Let me just step out of this wine," Song Jiang said, and took a wide turn through the front gallery, wandering back along the eastern walkway. He was eight-tenths drunk now, his steps unsteady, and he kept walking without looking where he put his feet.

In the corridor sat a huge man, shaking with malaria, warming himself over a brazier of coals set on an iron shovel. Song Jiang, face upturned, trod squarely on the handle of that shovel—and sent the whole bed of charcoal flying up into the big man's face.

The man started violently and broke into a sweat from the shock. Then he flew into a rage, seized Song Jiang by the chest, and bellowed: "What kind of bird are you, daring to mock me like this?"

Song Jiang was stunned in turn.

Before either could say more, the lantern-bearing servant shouted: "Show some respect! This is the lord's most honored guest!"

"Guest? Guest!" the big man roared. "When I first came here I was a 'guest' too, and treated well enough. But then the servants whispered against me, and now I'm slighted—just as they say: 'No man stays favored for a thousand days; no flower blooms for a hundred.'" He raised his fist to strike Song Jiang.

The servant dropped his lantern and sprang forward to intervene, but could not stop him. Then more lanterns came flying along the corridor—Lord Chai himself rushed up: "I couldn't find you, Clerk Song! What's all this commotion?"

The servant explained about the brazier.

Chai Jin laughed. "Big fellow, don't you know who this distinguished clerk is?"

"Distinguished!" the man spat. "Him? He can't hold a candle to Clerk Song of Yuncheng!"

Chai Jin laughed harder. "Do you know Clerk Song, then?"

"I've never met him," said the big man, "but all over the rivers and lakes they call him 'Timely Rain' Song Gongming—a man who gives away wealth and rescues those in need, a hero known through all the realm."

"How do you know he's such a hero?" Chai Jin asked.

"I was just about to say: he's a true great man, with head and tail, beginning and end! The moment my sickness is cured, I mean to go and offer myself to him."

"Would you like to see him?"

"Of course I would!"

"Big fellow," said Chai Jin, pointing at Song Jiang, "far away—a hundred thousand li; near—right before your eyes. This is the 'Timely Rain' Song Gongming himself."

"Is it true?" The man stared hard at Song Jiang.

"I am Song Jiang," said Song Jiang modestly.

The big man looked him over, then dropped his head to the ground in a kowtow: "Am I dreaming? To meet my elder brother!"

"Why do you show me such honor?" Song Jiang asked, startled.

"Just now I was most rude—please forgive me! I had eyes but couldn't recognize Mount Tai!" He knelt there and refused to rise. Song Jiang hurriedly supported him: "May I ask your name?"

Chai Jin pointed at the big man and spoke his name aloud. And that naming would send tigers scattering in the hills and bold robbers trembling in the woods—as they say:

The stars themselves dim when the words are spoken;
Rivers and mountains turn backward at the tale.

If you want to know who that big man was, hear the next chapter.