As the poem says:
The great capital city was truly a sight to behold, with eight rivers flowing around it and mountains encircling it on all sides. How many emperors had risen to power in this place? Since ancient times, all the world has spoken of Chang’an .
Let us speak only of this great city of Chang’an in the land of Shaanxi , which was the capital where successive dynasties had established their thrones. From the Zhou, Qin, and Han dynasties onward, the land of the Three Rivers was as splendid as brocade, with eight great rivers flowing around the city walls. Within the city were thirty-six lanes of flowers and willows, and seventy-two towers of strings and pipes. If one opened the map of China and the barbarian lands, nowhere in the world was more prosperous than this place. At this time, the Great Tang was under the reign of Emperor Taizong , known as Emperor Wen , who had changed the era name to Zhenguan . By now, Taizong had been on the throne for thirteen years; this year was the Jisi year . Let us set aside the heroes and champions who stabilized the state and pacified the realm, and speak only of a singular strange affair.
On the banks of the Jing River outside Chang’an, there were two learned men: one was a fisherman named Zhang Shao , the other a woodcutter named Li Ding . Though they were scholars who had never passed the imperial examinations , their minds were filled with poetry and books, and they could be called “ scholars who never gained office, but mountain-dwellers who could read .” One day, after selling their firewood and fish in Chang’an, they went together into a tavern to drink. Half-drunk, each carrying a bottle of wine, they strolled slowly back along the banks of the Jing River.
Zhang Shao said, “Brother Li, I think of those who vie for fame—they often lose their lives because of it. Those who fight for profit throw away their families for money. Officials live as dangerously as if they were sleeping with a tiger; those who receive the emperor’s favor are like men carrying a venomous snake hidden in their sleeves. When you calculate it all, nothing compares to us, who dwell by clear waters and green hills, carefree and at ease, content with a simple life, living as fate allows.”
Li Ding replied, “Brother Zhang speaks truly, but when you speak of the beauty of water, it cannot compare to the green of my mountains.”
Zhang Shao said, “How can your mountain green surpass my water beauty? I have a poem to the tune of ‘ Butterflies in Love with Flowers ’ to prove it. The lyrics go: Upon the misty waves for ten thousand miles, a tiny boat drifts; I lean quietly against the lonely awning, the sound of Xi Shi ’s songs lingers around me. I wash away all cares and cleanse my heart of worldly desires; idly I pluck the smartweed spikes and reeds. A few sand gulls are enough to delight in the Way; on the willow-shaded banks and reed-lined coves, I share laughter with my wife and children. After a sound sleep, the wind and waves are gentle; I have no honor, no disgrace, no worries.”
Li Ding said, “Your water beauty is not as good as my mountain green. I also have a poem to the tune of ‘Butterflies in Love with Flowers’ to prove it. The lyrics go: Amid clouds and forests, a stretch of pine flowers covers the ground; I listen silently to the orioles singing, their skillful tongues like tuned pipes. The red fades and the green grows fat, spring is warm; suddenly summer arrives, and time turns. Then autumn comes, easily changing things; golden chrysanthemums bloom, perfect for admiring. Swiftly, harsh winter passes like a snap of the fingers; I roam freely through all four seasons, with no one to control me.”
The fisherman continued, “Your mountain green is not as good as my water beauty, and the fine things I can enjoy are many. I have a poem to the tune of ‘ Partridge in the Sky ’ to prove it: In the immortal realm of clouds and waters, I have all I need for a living; rowing my oar and setting my boat crosswise is my home. I split live fresh scales and boil green turtles; I steam purple crabs and boil red shrimp. Green reed shoots, water-nymph buds , water caltrops and chicken-head seeds are even more praiseworthy. Tender lotus roots, old lotus leaves, and celery shoots, arrowhead, wild rice stems, and bird’s-nest flowers .”
The woodcutter refused to be outdone: “Your water beauty is not as good as my mountain green, and my fine things are also many. I too have a poem to the tune of ‘Partridge in the Sky’ to prove it: Lofty, rugged peaks stretch to the horizon; a thatched hut of reeds is my home. Salted and dried chicken and goose are better than crabs and turtles; roe deer , rabbits, and deer surpass fish and shrimp. Fragrant toon leaves, yellow chinaberry buds, bamboo shoots, and mountain tea are even more praiseworthy. Purple plums, red peaches, plums, and apricots ripen; sweet pears, sour jujubes, and osmanthus flowers .”
The fisherman then said, “Your mountain green is ultimately not as carefree as my water beauty. I have another poem to the tune of ‘ Celestial Immortal ’: A single leaf of a boat goes wherever it pleases; among ten thousand layers of misty waves, I have no fear. I cast my hook and spread my net to catch fresh fish; there is no greasy sauce, but it is especially flavorful. My old wife and young children gather together in a happy reunion. When I catch many fish, I sell them in the market of Chang’an; I exchange them for fragrant wine and drink until I am drunk. I use my straw rain cape as a blanket and sleep on the autumn river; I snore and sleep soundly, without a care, not longing for the honor and wealth of the mortal world.”
The woodcutter said, “How can your water beauty match the freedom of my mountain green? I also have a poem to the tune of ‘Celestial Immortal’: A few thatched huts built at the foot of the mountain; pines, bamboos, plums, and orchids are truly lovely. I pass through forests and cross ridges in search of dry firewood; no one blames me, I sell it as I please, whether the amount is more or less. With the money I buy wine, following my heart’s desire; a clay bowl and a porcelain cup are truly carefree. When I am thoroughly drunk, I lie down in the shade of a pine tree; I have no attachments, no gains or losses, and I care nothing for the rise and fall of the human world.”
The fisherman said again, “How can your mountain livelihood compare to the joy of my life on the water? I have a poem to the tune of ‘ Moon over West River ’ to prove it: Red smartweed flowers in profusion reflect the moonlight; yellow reeds rustle in the wind. The azure sky is clear and distant over the empty Chu River , stirring the reflection of stars in the pool. Great fish enter the net in schools; small mandarin fish cluster around the hook. When I catch them and cook them, the flavor is especially rich; I laugh triumphantly and boast on the rivers and lakes.”
The woodcutter said, “The joy of your life on the water is not as good as the freedom of my life in the mountains. I also have a poem to the tune of ‘Moon over West River’ to prove it: Withered leaves and dead vines cover the road; broken tips and old bamboos fill the mountain. Creeping vines and kudzu vines tangle and climb; I break them off and gather them to make ropes for my load. Hollow elms and willows eaten by insects, broken pines and cedars snapped by the wind—I gather them and pile them up to prepare for the winter cold, exchanging them for wine or money as I please.”
The fisherman said, “Although your mountain green is good, it cannot match the secluded elegance of my water beauty. I have a poem to the tune of ‘ Immortal by the River ’ to prove it: When the tide recedes, I shift my solitary boat and go; when the night is deep, I stop rowing and sing a song. My straw rain cape and the waning moon are truly serene; the sleeping gulls are not startled, and colorful clouds open up on the horizon. I lie down wearily among the reeds with nothing to do; even when the sun is three poles high, I still linger. I arrange everything as my heart desires; the court officials shiver in the cold waiting for the dawn—have they ever had a heart as broad as mine?”
The woodcutter said, “The secluded elegance of your water beauty is not as good as the leisurely mood of my mountain green. I also have a poem to the tune of ‘Immortal by the River’ to prove it: On the green paths in the high autumn, I take my axe and go; when the evening cool arrives, I carry my load back. Wild flowers tucked in my hair make me look even more extraordinary; I part the clouds to find my way out, and wait for the moon before calling for the door to be opened. My young son and mountain wife welcome me with joy; I lean on the grass bed with a wooden pillow. Steamed pears and millet are quickly set out; the newly brewed wine in the jar is truly strong, filling my secluded heart with delight!”
The fisherman said, “These are all our livelihoods. You haven’t yet mentioned the pleasures of my leisure time. I have a poem to prove it: Idly I watch the white cranes flying in the sky; I stop my boat by the stream and close the wicker gate. Leaning against the awning, I teach my son to twist fishing lines; when I stop rowing, I help my wife spread the nets to dry. When the mind is calm, one truly knows the waves are still; when the body is at ease, one naturally feels the wind is gentle. I wear a green straw cape and a black bamboo hat whenever I please, which is better than wearing the purple silk robe of the court.”
The woodcutter said, “How can your leisure compare to the leisure of my time? I also have a poem to prove it: Idly I watch the ethereal white clouds flying; I sit alone in my thatched hut and close the bamboo door. When I have nothing to do, I teach my son to open his books and read; sometimes I play chess with guests. When I am happy, I lean on my staff and sing on fragrant paths; when the mood strikes me, I carry my zither and climb the green hills. With straw sandals, hempen cords, and a coarse cloth quilt, a broad heart is stronger than wearing silk robes.”
Zhang Shao said, “Brother Li, we two are truly ‘close friends who hum verses together, needing no sandalwood clappers or golden goblets.’ Just reciting these lyrics is nothing special. Why don’t we each compose a few linked verses and see the pleasure of our fisherman-woodcutter conversation?”
Li Ding said, “Brother Zhang speaks well. Please begin the first line.” Zhang Shao then recited:
My boat rests within the green waters and misty waves; I live deep in the mountains and wild plains. I especially love the spring floods rising in the mountain streams; I most pity the morning clouds shrouding the rocky peaks. I often cook fresh carp from the Dragon Gate; I dry firewood eaten by insects in the sun every day. My many fishing nets are enough to support me in old age; my carrying poles and ropes can serve me until the end. Lying on my back in my little boat, I watch the wild geese fly; on the grassy paths, I tilt my head and listen to the cranes calling. I have no part in the arena of gossip; my tracks are absent from the sea of right and wrong. By the stream, I hang my nets to dry, as beautiful as brocade; on the rocks, I sharpen my axe until it is as keen as a blade. In the bright autumn moonlight, I often fish alone; on the lonely spring mountains, I meet no one. When I catch many fish, I exchange them for wine and drink with my wife; when I have spare firewood, I buy a jug and share it with my children. I sing to myself and drink freely, letting myself go; I sing long songs and sigh long sighs, letting the wind blow as it will. I call my brothers and friends to join my boat crew; I bring my companions and gather with the old villagers. We play drinking games and guess fingers, passing the cups frequently; we play word games and slowly pass the wine jug. Boiling shrimp and cooking crabs is a daily joy; stir-frying duck and roasting chicken is a daily feast. My simple wife brews tea with a carefree air; my mountain wife cooks rice with a leisurely manner. At dawn, I take my pole and stir the gentle waves; when the sun rises, I carry my firewood across the great ridge. After the rain, I put on my straw cape and catch live carp; before the wind, I take my axe and cut dead pines. I hide my tracks and avoid the world, pretending to be foolish and dull; I conceal my name and play the mute and the deaf.
When Zhang Shao finished reciting, he said, “Brother Li, I have taken the liberty of starting. Now it is your turn to begin a couplet, and I will continue.”
Li Ding then began:
A wild mountain man, feigning madness with wind and moon; an old leftover, proudly lodging on the rivers and lakes. I have a share of leisure, following my carefree nature; I hear no gossip, rejoicing in peace and tranquility. On moonlit nights, I sleep soundly in my sturdy thatched hut; when the sky darkens, I cover myself with a light rush rain cape. Forgetting worldly ties, I befriend the pines and plum blossoms; with joyful heart, I make allies with the gulls and egrets. I have no calculations for fame and profit in my heart; the sound of battle and weapons never reaches my ears. Whenever I please, I drink a cup of fragrant wine; for my daily meals, I have wild vegetable broth. Two bundles of firewood are my livelihood; one fishing rod is my occupation. In my leisure, I call my young son to sharpen my steel axe; in quiet moments, I tell my simple boy to mend my old nets. When spring comes, I love to watch the green willows; when the season warms, I delight in seeing the green reeds. In summer, I avoid the heat by trimming new bamboos; in the sixth month, I enjoy the cool by picking tender water caltrops. When frost falls, the chickens are fat, and I slaughter them daily; when the Double Ninth Festival arrives, the crabs are plump, and I cook them promptly. When winter comes, I sleep soundly even after the sun is up; in the coldest days of the year, I naturally do not sweat. Throughout the eight seasonal festivals in the mountains, I follow my nature freely; through the four seasons on the lake, I let my emotions roam. Gathering firewood naturally brings the spirit of an immortal; casting a fishing line is completely free of worldly form. Outside my door, wild flowers are fragrant and beautiful; at the bow of my boat, green waters ripple calmly. With my body at ease, I do not speak of the rank of the Three Dukes; with my nature settled, it is stronger than a city of ten miles. A city of ten miles is high, but one must guard against the general’s orders; the rank of the Three Dukes is prominent, but one must listen to the emperor’s summons. To delight in water and mountains is truly rare; I thank Heaven, thank Earth, and thank the gods and spirits.
After the two had finished reciting their lyrics and linked their verses, they came to the place where their paths diverged and bowed to each other in farewell. Zhang Shao said, “Brother Li, take care on the road! When you go up the mountain, watch out for tigers. If you truly encounter danger, then tomorrow there will be one less old friend on the streets!”
When Li Ding heard this, he flew into a rage and said, “You lazy, worthless creature! Good friends should live and die together—how dare you curse me? If I am killed by a tiger, you will surely capsize and drown in the river!”
Zhang Shao said, “I will never capsize in my lifetime.”
Li Ding said, “‘The heavens have unpredictable winds and clouds; humans have sudden fortune and misfortune.’ How can you be so sure nothing will happen to you?”
Zhang Shao said, “Brother Li, you speak this way, but you have no certainty. Unlike my trade, which has absolute certainty—I will never encounter such a disaster.”
Li Ding said, “You make your living on the water, which is both dangerous and hidden—where do you get this certainty?”
Zhang Shao said, “You don’t know. On West Gate Street in Chang’an, there is a fortune-teller. Every day I give him a golden carp, and he secretly performs a divination for me, telling me the direction to cast my net, and I always return with a full load. Today I went for a divination again, and he told me to cast my net to the east of the Jing River bend and throw my hook from the west bank, guaranteeing I would catch a boatful of fish and shrimp. Tomorrow I will go to the city, sell them, buy wine, and reminisce with you, old brother.” After saying this, the two parted ways.
Truly, “When words are spoken on the road, there is always someone in the grass.” In the water palace of the Jing River, there was a night patrol yaksha who happened to hear the words “a hundred casts, a hundred catches.” He hurried back to the Crystal Palace and reported to the Dragon King in great panic: “Disaster! Disaster!”
The Dragon King asked, “What disaster?”
The yaksha said, “Your servant was patrolling the river and heard a fisherman and a woodcutter talking. The words they spoke when parting were terrifying. The fisherman said that on West Gate Street in Chang’an, there is a fortune-teller who is extremely accurate. Every day the fisherman gives him a carp, and the fortune-teller teaches him the method for catching fish, and it has never failed. If this is true, won’t all our water creatures be caught by him? Then how can the water palace be maintained, and how can we stir up wind and waves to assist Your Majesty?”
When the Dragon King heard this, his anger blazed up. He lifted his sword and was about to go to Chang’an to kill the fortune-teller. But the dragon sons and grandsons, shrimp ministers and crab scholars, the military advisor the shad, the junior minister the mandarin fish, and the grand councilor the carp all stepped forward to dissuade him: “Your Majesty, calm your anger! As the saying goes, ‘Words heard in passing cannot be trusted.’ If Your Majesty goes, you will surely raise clouds and send rain, and if you alarm the people of Chang’an, Heaven will blame you. Your Majesty can become invisible or visible, and can transform in countless ways. Why not transform into a scholar and go to Chang’an to investigate? If such a person truly exists, you can kill him then. If not, wouldn’t you have harmed a good man for nothing?”
The Dragon King heeded their advice, put down his sword, and without raising clouds or rain, left the water palace. With a shake of his body, he transformed into a scholar in white robes. Truly:
His bearing was heroic and imposing, towering like a mountain peak. His steps were measured and dignified, following all rules and customs. His speech followed Confucius and Mencius; his manners embodied the rites of King Wen of Zhou. He wore a robe of jade-colored silk gauze and a headband of the Carefree One-Character style.
The Dragon King strode directly to West Gate Street in Chang’an. There he saw a crowd of people jostling and bustling, making a great noise. Among them, someone was speaking loudly: “Those born in the year of the Dragon are in their fate year this year; those born in the year of the Tiger are in conflict. The signs Yin, Chen, Si, and Hai are said to be harmonious, but what I fear is the day offending the Year God.”
When the Dragon King heard this, he knew this was the fortune-teller’s place. He stepped forward, pushed through the crowd, and looked inside. The fortune-teller’s stall was arranged with great care—
The four walls were hung with pearls and gems; the entire hall was filled with embroidered silks. The incense burner shaped like a precious duck sent up continuous smoke; the water in the porcelain vase was always clear. On both sides hung paintings by Wang Wei; above the seat hung a portrait of Master Guiguzi. The Duanxi inkstone was paired with golden ink, reflecting the snow-white writing brush. Books of divination like the *Fire Pearl Forest* and *Guo Pu’s Art of Numbers* were placed opposite the latest current affairs classics. The master was skilled in the six lines and eight trigrams, knew astronomy and geography, and understood the ways of ghosts and spirits. On his table, the positions of the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches were neatly arranged; in his mind, the constellations were clearly mapped. He could see future events and past events as clearly as looking at the moon; he could determine whose family would prosper and whose would decline with the clarity of a god. He knew how to distinguish disaster from good fortune, and could judge death or life. When he opened his mouth, his words came as swiftly as wind and rain; when he put brush to paper, even ghosts and spirits were astonished. The signboard bore his name: it was the divine diviner, Yuan Shoucheng.
Who was this man? He was the uncle of Yuan Tiangang, the Director of the Imperial Observatory of the current dynasty. This gentleman was truly extraordinary in appearance and elegant in bearing. His fame spread far and wide throughout the Great Tang, and his art of divination was second to none in Chang’an.
The Dragon King entered the fortune-teller’s shop and met with Yuan Shoucheng. After exchanging greetings, Yuan Shoucheng invited the Dragon King to take the seat of honor, and a young attendant served tea. The master asked, “What matter have you come to divine?”
The Dragon King said, “I wish to divine the future changes of weather—whether it will be cloudy or clear—in the heavens above.”
The master immediately reached into his sleeve, made some calculations, and then declared with certainty: “Clouds will cover the mountain peaks; mist will shroud the treetops. If you wish to know about rain, it will surely come tomorrow.”
The Dragon King asked, “At what time tomorrow will it rain? How much rain will fall?”
The master said, “Tomorrow, clouds will begin to gather at the hour of Chen (7–9 AM), thunder will sound at the hour of Si (9–11 AM), rain will fall at the hour of Wu (11 AM–1 PM), and it will stop at the hour of Wei (1–3 PM). The total rainfall will be three feet, three inches, and forty-eight drops.”
The Dragon King laughed and said, “These words cannot be a joke. If it truly rains tomorrow, and the time and amount match your words exactly, I will give you fifty taels of silver as your divination fee. But if it does not rain, or if the time or amount is wrong, I will tell you plainly: I will smash your stall, tear down your signboard, and drive you out of Chang’an, never to return, so you cannot deceive the people here!”
The master readily agreed: “I will certainly abide by this. Farewell, farewell. We will meet again after the rain tomorrow.”
The Dragon King took leave of Yuan Shoucheng, left Chang’an, and returned to the Jing River Water Palace. All the water spirits of high and low rank hurried forward to greet him and asked, “Your Majesty went to investigate the fortune-teller. What was the result?”
The Dragon King said, “He exists! There is such a man! He is just a glib-tongued fortune-teller. I asked him when it would rain, and he said tomorrow. I asked him the time and amount, and he said clouds would gather at Chen, thunder at Si, rain at Wu, and it would stop at Wei, with a total of three feet, three inches, and forty-eight drops. I made a bet with him: if it is exactly as he said, I will give him fifty taels of silver as a reward; if it is off by even a little, I will smash his stall, drive him away, and forbid him from deceiving people in Chang’an.”
The water creatures laughed and said, “Your Majesty is the Grand Overseer of the Eight Rivers and the Great Dragon God in charge of rain. Only you know whether it will rain or not, and when! How dare he speak such nonsense? That fortune-teller has surely lost! Surely lost!”
At that moment, the dragon sons and grandsons and the fish ministers and crab generals were still laughing and discussing the matter when suddenly they heard a voice calling from midair: “The Jing River Dragon King is to receive the decree!” Everyone looked up and saw a golden-robed celestial messenger holding the Jade Emperor’s sacred decree, flying straight toward the water palace. The Dragon King hastily straightened his robes and cap, reverently lit incense, and received the decree. After the golden-robed messenger flew back to Heaven, the Dragon King thanked the imperial favor, opened the decree, and read:
By imperial command to the Overseer of the Eight Rivers: Drive thunder and flash lightning; tomorrow, bestow the grace of rain, to benefit the entire city of Chang’an.
The time and amount of rain written on the imperial decree matched Yuan Shoucheng’s divination exactly, without the slightest difference! The Dragon King was so frightened that his soul flew away and his spirit scattered. It was a long while before he recovered and said to the water creatures, “That such a divinely powerful man exists in the human world! He truly understands the principles of Heaven and Earth. I am surely going to lose to him!”
The military advisor, the shad, stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, set your mind at ease! What difficulty is there in defeating him? Your servant has a small plan that will surely leave him speechless.”
The Dragon King hastily asked what the plan was. The advisor said, “When you send the rain, slightly alter the time and reduce the amount. Then the fortune-teller’s divination will be inaccurate. What fear is there of not defeating him? Then you can smash his signboard, drive him away—what difficulty is there in that?”
When the Dragon King heard this plan, he was indeed no longer worried.
The next day, the Dragon King summoned the Wind God, the Thunder God, the Cloud Boy, and the Lightning Mother, and together they flew to the skies over Chang’an. He deliberately delayed until the hour of Si (9–11 AM) to gather clouds, the hour of Wu (11 AM–1 PM) to sound thunder, the hour of Wei (1–3 PM) to send rain, and stopped the rain at the hour of Shen (3–5 PM). The rainfall was only three feet and forty drops—one hour later than the imperial decree’s time, and three inches and eight drops less in amount. After the rain, the Dragon King sent the various gods back, then transformed again into the white-robed scholar and came to Yuan Shoucheng’s fortune-telling stall on West Gate Street.
Without a word, he smashed the signboard, writing brush, inkstone, and everything on the stall into pieces. Yuan Shoucheng sat motionless on his chair. The Dragon King then picked up a door plank to strike him and cursed, “You demon who speaks falsely of fortune and disaster! You villain who deceives the people! Your divination is inaccurate; your words are arrogant! You said it would rain today, but the time and amount do not match at all, and you still have the nerve to sit here calmly? Get out of here now, and I will spare your miserable life!”
But Yuan Shoucheng showed no fear at all. Lifting his head, he sneered coldly and said, “I am not afraid! I am not afraid! I have no crime worthy of death. The one who has a death sentence is you! You may deceive others, but you cannot deceive me. I recognize you: you are no scholar, but the Jing River Dragon King! You have violated the Jade Emperor’s sacred decree, altered the time of the rain, and reduced the amount—you have broken Heaven’s law! On the ‘Dragon-Slaying Platform,’ I fear you will hardly escape the executioner’s blade, and you still dare to curse me here?”
When the Dragon King heard these words, his heart trembled with fear and his hair stood on end. He hastily dropped the door plank, straightened his clothes, knelt down, and bowed to Yuan Shoucheng, saying, “Master, do not take offense. The words I spoke before were all in jest. I never thought the joke would become reality, and I have truly broken Heaven’s law. What can I do? I beg you, Master, save my life! Otherwise, I will die and never let you go.”
Yuan Shoucheng said, “I cannot save you. I can only point you to a path of life, a place to seek refuge.”
The Dragon King said, “I earnestly beg you, Master, for your guidance.”
The master said, “Tomorrow, at the hour of Wu, the third quarter (around 11:45 AM to 12:00 noon), you are to be executed by the human official Wei Zheng. If you wish to live, you must quickly go and beg the current Emperor Taizong of the Tang Dynasty for help. That Wei Zheng is the prime minister under the Tang emperor. If you can beg him to show you leniency, you may preserve your life.”
When the Dragon King heard this, he bowed and took his leave of Yuan Shoucheng, departing with tears in his eyes. By now, the sun had already sunk in the west, and the moon had risen. Then one could see:
The mist gathered, the mountains turned purple, and the crows returned wearily; travelers on distant roads sought lodging at inns. At the ferry, newly arrived wild geese roosted on the sandy banks. The Silver River appeared, and the night watches were announced. In the lonely village, the lamplight had no flame. The wind blew gently over the incense burner in the clear temple courtyard; in the dream of the butterfly, no one could be seen. The moonlight shifted, casting the shadows of flowers onto the railing. The starlight scattered in disorder, the water clock changed its note, and before one knew it, the deep night had reached its midpoint.
The Jing River Dragon King did not return to his water palace. Instead, he waited in midair until around the hour of Zi (11 PM–1 AM), then withdrew his clouds and mist and went straight to the gate of the imperial palace. At that time, Emperor Taizong of Tang was walking in his dream, having left the palace gate, strolling among the flower shadows in the moonlight. Suddenly, the Dragon King took human form, stepped forward, knelt, and cried out, “Your Majesty, save me! Save me!”
Emperor Taizong asked, “Who are you? I will save you.”
The Dragon King said, “Your Majesty is the true Son of Heaven. Your subject is the guilty dragon of the Jing River. Because I have violated Heaven’s law, I am to be executed by Your Majesty’s worthy minister, the human official Wei Zheng. Therefore, I have come to beg Your Majesty to save my life!”
Emperor Taizong said, “Since it is Wei Zheng who is in charge of the execution, I can save you. Set your mind at ease and go.”
The Dragon King was overjoyed. He kowtowed in gratitude and departed.
When Emperor Taizong awoke from his dream, the matter weighed on his mind. Soon, at the fifth watch and the third drum (around 4:00 AM), Taizong held court and summoned the assembled civil and military officials. Then, within the court:
Mist enveloped the Phoenix Gate; fragrant incense veiled the Dragon Tower. The light shimmered, stirring the vermilion screen; clouds brushed against the emerald banners. The lord and his ministers were as united as Yao and Shun; the rites and music were as majestic as those of the Han and Zhou. The attendants carried lamps, the palace ladies held fans, all paired in splendid colors. Peacock screens and unicorn halls shimmered with light everywhere. The courtiers shouted, “Ten thousand years!” and wished for a thousand autumns. The silent whip cracked three times; officials in their robes bowed before the imperial crown. Palace flowers bloomed brilliantly, their fragrance reaching Heaven; the willows by the embankment swayed gently as imperial music played. Pearl curtains, jade curtains, all hung high on golden hooks; dragon-phoenix fans, mountain-river fans, the imperial carriage stood still. The civil officials were refined and talented; the military officers were spirited and vigorous. The imperial path was divided into high and low; the marble steps were arrayed in ranks of rank. Golden seals and purple ribbons adorned the Three Dukes; the empire endured for ten thousand autumns.
After the officials had paid their courtly respects, they each stood in their designated ranks. The Emperor opened his dragon eyes and inspected them one by one. Among the civil officials, he saw Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Xu Shiji, Xu Jingzong, Wang Gui, and others. Among the military officials, he saw Ma Sanbao, Duan Zhixuan, Yin Kaishan, Cheng Yaojin, Liu Hongji, Hu Jingde, Qin Shubao, and others. Each had a dignified bearing, but Prime Minister Wei Zheng was nowhere to be seen.
Emperor Taizong summoned Xu Shiji to the dais and asked, “Last night I had a strange dream: I saw a man kneeling before me, saying he was the Jing River Dragon King, who had broken Heaven’s law and was to be executed by the human official Wei Zheng. He begged me to save him, and I agreed. Today at court, Wei Zheng is the only one absent. What does this mean?”
Xu Shiji replied, “This dream is true. Your Majesty should summon Wei Zheng to court and not allow him to leave the palace. If only today can pass, you can save the dragon in your dream.”
Emperor Taizong was overjoyed. He immediately issued an edict, ordering the duty officer to summon Wei Zheng to court.
Now, as for Prime Minister Wei Zheng, at his residence the night before, he had been observing the celestial signs and burning precious incense. Suddenly, he heard a crane cry from the nine heavens above—it was a celestial messenger sent by Heaven, bearing the