《吕祖全传》Vol. 3

When they reached the riverbank, the man suddenly vanished. Only then did Zhai realize he was an extraordinary person. About ten days later, the man returned, bringing food and drink himself for Zhai. But all the food was foul-smelling and rotten. Zhai covered his nose and refused to eat. Lü Dongbin sighed and said, “If you cannot bring yourself to eat this foul-smelling food, I will give you two jars of meat paste.” With that, he left and never appeared again. Zhai opened the jars and found they were filled with tiny flakes of gold. Could the “two jars” mentioned here have been large urn-like vessels?

◇ The Sliced Fish Comes Back to Life

Lü Dongbin was visiting a tavern on Mount Lu when he saw someone slicing fish into thin pieces for sashimi. He said, “I can bring this fish back to life.” The person cutting the fish did not believe him. Lü Dongbin placed a pill inside the fish’s belly. After a while, the fish began to twitch as though it were alive. Astonished, the fish cutter tried putting it into the river. The fish swam freely through the water and calmly disappeared downstream. When they went to look for Lü Dongbin, he was already gone.

○ Changing Names and Transforming People

◇ The Recluse Hui

Jia Shixiong, a secretary in the Directorate of State Affairs, kept an ancient iron mirror and had once wanted to polish it. Lü Dongbin introduced himself as “the recluse Hui”—a scholar named Hui who lived in seclusion rather than serving in office—and came to visit, asking to demonstrate his skill. He took a little medicine from a box and placed it on the mirror, then took his leave, saying, “I’ll return with some more medicine.” When Jia Shixiong ran after him, he had already vanished. On the gate of the Taiping Temple where he had been staying, there was a poem he had written:

The green serpent in my hand rushes toward the white sun;

The immortal fruit in the cave shines fresh as spring,

and never withers.

Know that this is an immortal guest, free of the mortal world,

who travels among mist and rosy clouds—not a craftsman

of the human world who polishes mirrors for others.

When they looked again at the mirror, the medicine had disappeared, leaving only a gleaming, jade-bright spot on its surface.

When Lü Dongbin traveled through Changsha, he went by the name “Returning Daoist” and begged for money with a small clay jar in his hand. He collected countless coins, yet the jar never seemed to fill. People thought him extraordinary.

One day, sitting in the street, he said, “Whoever can fill my jar will receive the Dao from me.” People competed to toss coins into it, but it remained unfilled. A monk came driving a cart piled with money and jokingly asked, “Can your jar hold all this?” The Daoist readily said yes. The monk pushed the cart toward the jar. Its wheels creaked, and in an instant it was gone. The monk asked, “Are you an immortal, or are you performing an illusion?” The Daoist casually recited:

“I am neither spirit nor immortal, neither magic nor illusion. All things between Heaven and Earth must one day end. How many times have the seas turned to fields and the fields to seas? This body was never mine to begin with, so what is there to cling to? Why not travel with me, riding a whale into the boundless world?”

The monk grew even more astonished and tried to seize the Daoist. “Are you reluctant to part with the money?” the Daoist said. “I’ll return it to you now.” He dropped a scrap of paper into the jar and recited, “Quickly, push the money cart out.” After a long wait, the cart still did not appear. “It seems I’ll have to go in and fetch it myself,” said the Daoist. Then he jumped into the jar and fell silent.

The monk smashed the jar and found a scrap of paper bearing a poem:

“To seek the true Dao, first recognize what is true. Even if you see the truth, you may not truly understand it. After laughter, we will meet once more; drive your cart toward the road to Dongping.”

The monk returned in dismay. Later, when he reached Dongping, he suddenly saw the Daoist. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time,” the Daoist said. He returned the cart to the monk, with all the money still in it. Then he said, “I am Master Lü—Lü Dongbin. At first I thought you could be taught, but now I see that you are so attached to wealth that you are not suited to study the Dao.” Only then did the monk regret his actions. He wanted to apologize, but it was too late.

In Anfeng County, there was a courtesan named Cao Erxiang. Though seriously ill, she still opened her door to travelers seeking a place to stay. Lü Dongbin, disguised as a poor and down-at-heel scholar, asked to lodge there. Seeing his ragged clothes, the servant turned him away. Cao Erxiang said, “I make my living by opening my door to guests. Why should I care whether they are clean or filthy?” She invited Lü Dongbin inside and treated him with courtesy.

Before long, Cao Erxiang’s illness flared up, and she groaned in unceasing pain. Lü Dongbin used a chopstick like a needle to prick her thigh and said, “Turn back, turn back.” Outside the door stood a Chinese soapberry tree that had been dead for a long time. Lü Dongbin tossed some medicine toward it and then left. The next day, the tree had come back to life, its branches and leaves lush and abundant.

Only then did Cao Erxiang understand that her visitor was an immortal, and that “Turn back” referred to Lü Dongbin. She immediately destroyed her courtesan’s headdress and robes, removed her makeup, and left home to travel far away. People built a shrine to Master Lü and offered sacrifices there.

At the end of the Shaoxing era, Cao Erxiang suddenly returned to her hometown. Her features were clear and striking, but no one recognized her. She told them her story, then departed once more. No one knew where she went from then on.

A wealthy young man from Hengpu’s Dayuling built a hermitage out of admiration for Daoist arts. For many years, he welcomed Daoists traveling through the area. One day, just after the group had completed a large Zhaijiao purification ritual called the “Bone Register” rite, they were approached by a Daoist in shabby clothes asking for food. Instead of taking pity on him, some of them even mistreated him.

The Daoist wrote a poem:

“I have come for a while to Dayuling. A white crane flies in—who can speak with me? The families by the ridge: how many times have they seen the winter plum blossom?

Spring passes and spring returns. I find myself in a place where life is like falling blossoms swept along by water. Flowers cover the stream ahead; an immortal hides among them, yet no one knows.”

At the end of the poem he wrote the five characters “Wuxin Changlao comes.” The characters displayed three distinct styles of brushwork. When he had finished, the Daoist entered the Cloud Terrace and did not emerge for a long time. The others went to look for him and found that he had vanished. On closer inspection, they saw that the characters had pierced through the wall and appeared on its other side. Only then did they understand: remove the “sun” radical from the character Chang, and it becomes Lü. The visitor had been Lord Lü—Lü Dongbin. Everyone sighed with regret.

Huang Ruogu of the Elder’s Temple on Mount Qingcheng was refined in bearing and upright in character. He observed the precepts and cultivated himself with great discipline. He often treated people’s illnesses with talisman water of the Celestial Heart and the Three Lights Orthodox Talisman. After receiving payment, he would give the money to the poor.

Lü Dongbin disguised himself as Master Bin and went to visit Huang Ruogu, staying there for more than a month. The Fulu (talismans and registers) he drew would often turn, at a single breath, into dragons and serpents or clouds and mist that flew away. When he performed rites to drive out ghosts or summon divine generals, spirits and gods would take visible form and even converse with people. A stamp of his foot brought thunder; a blink of his eyes flashed like lightning. His breath became clouds, and his spit became rain. He was also skilled at painting. Without brush or ink, he would hold ink in his mouth and spray it onto paper or silk, where mountains and rivers, flowers and trees, palaces, birds and beasts, and human figures would appear of their own accord. A light brushing was all it took to finish them. Whenever he earned money from a painting, he would buy wine and drink freely with Huang Ruogu. Though Huang Ruogu usually drank heavily, Master Bin often poured enough wine for him to struggle to keep up.

One day, Huang Ruogu asked, “Your conduct is unlike that of ordinary people. Surely you are an immortal. Could you pass your Daoist arts on to me?” Lü Dongbin replied, “Your left foot is missing one of the seven stars of the Northern Dipper. How could you attain the Dao? Wait for another lifetime.” Huang Ruogu said in astonishment, “Master Bin must truly be a sage.” As it happened, the sole of his left foot bore a patch of dark birthmarks shaped like the Northern Dipper, but with one star missing. No one had ever known of this.

Huang Ruogu then asked how long he would live. Lü Dongbin wrote the three characters “ninety-four” upside down on the wall, drew two interlocking circles, and left. At first Huang Ruogu did not understand. Later, he realized that the two linked circles together formed the character “Lü,” while “Bin” was Lü Dongbin’s courtesy name. Huang Ruogu died at the age of forty-nine, just as Lü Dongbin’s inverted numerals had foretold.

Zhong Zhongshan, a native of Changsha whose courtesy name was Jiangzhi, was dismissed from office in Jinling in the year Jisi of the Jiading era of the Southern Song and returned home. His boat stopped at Nanjin in Baling. At dusk, another boat suddenly passed by. An old man in a yellow jacket stood aboard. His features were strikingly handsome and unusual. He stood silently, gazing at Zhong Zhongshan for a long time. Zhong saw that there was nothing else inside the boat’s canopy. Ten black jars sat at the bow, and two young attendants in blue stood before the canopy, one behind the other. He assumed the boat must be ferrying passengers. Unexpectedly, after traveling about two zhang, it turned back, and the old man in the yellow jacket was now seated upright behind the canopy.

The old man gazed at Zhong for a long while again. Then the entire boat suddenly vanished. At first, Zhong had taken him for a great merchant and had not approached to speak with him. Only then did he realize in astonishment that he had encountered an extraordinary being, someone who had transcended the ordinary world.

The next day, Zhong went to Lü Xian Hermitage, a Daoist temple dedicated to Lü Dongbin, to pay his respects before Lü’s statue. He saw that the statue wore yellow and that two young attendants in blue stood beside it. Its appearance was exactly like that of the old man in the yellow jacket he had seen the day before. Zhong bitterly regretted that his worldly eyes had kept him from recognizing a true immortal, and he sighed with deep feeling. Zhou Xing wrote a ci poem to the tune “Shuidiao Getou,” with the line, “More like Nanjin Harbor, where I met Lord Lü’s boat once again.” The following year, Zhong Zhongshan died. His grandson once showed me a portrait of the old man in the yellow jacket, painted by his grandfather. The figure was indeed refined and graceful, transcending the mundane world.

○ Paying a visit to the Confucian school: going to the Confucian school to pay one’s respects.

Visiting Wang, Governor of Yuezhou

When Ren Lun, a Court Sacrificial Official, was serving as governor of Yuezhou, a Daoist surnamed Hui came to visit him. He wore shabby clothes, and his robe was so short that it left his calves exposed. His voice was clear and resonant. Ren Lun asked about his family background. The Daoist replied, “My family background is not worth asking about. I came to ask you for a game of chess.” The two sat down to play. Ren Lun was known for his exceptional skill at chess, but this time he lost game after game.

As evening fell, Ren Lun served wine and asked where the Daoist came from. The Daoist wrote a poem in reply:

“My surname and native place are plain to see:

I am Mr. Lü, a weary traveler from Penglai.

How much can mortal eyes truly see?

Better to ask the spirit of that old tree south of the city.”

Ren Lun was still marveling at this when the Daoist vanished. Thick clouds of mist filled the courtyard and lingered for a long while.

Visiting Attendant Shi

As Attendant Shi Wangxiu was taking shelter from the summer heat, a woodcutter in ragged clothes, carrying an axe, came forward to visit him. His features were refined, and he spoke with easy confidence. Shi Wangxiu asked where he was from and about his family. The woodcutter replied, “I was born in Henan and later moved to Zhongnan Mountain. I am a descendant of Lü Wei. I study the Zhuangzi and the Laozi; I seek nothing beyond them.”

Shi Wangxiu asked, “What is there on Zhongnan Mountain?” The woodcutter answered:

“What is there on Zhongnan Mountain? Only white clouds.

White clouds are for me to enjoy alone;

I cannot give them to you.”

Shi Wangxiu found his conversation extraordinary and sincerely urged him to stay for two days. They discussed ways of transcending life and death. When it was time to part, the woodcutter said, “I am going to Yueyang.” He gave Shi Wangxiu an elixir pill and told him to take it. Shi Wangxiu later lived to be over ninety, yet his appearance remained as youthful as a child’s.

When Lü Dongbin, an immortal in Daoist legend, passed through the market at Baling, the prefect happened to be making a procession. Lü’s actions violated the rules governing the ceremonial escort, so the attendants at the head of the procession seized him. The prefect had him locked up and ordered him to write a confession. By evening, he had still written nothing. When the jailer urged him on, he said, “I’ll speak once I’ve sobered up.” The jailer asked, “Aren’t you afraid of being punished? And you’re using drunkenness as an excuse?” Before he could finish, Lü Dongbin suddenly vanished, leaving behind only this piece of paper:

I have left Penglai for a time, wandering over the sea,

when by chance I met the prefect, who asked where I came from.

I dwell beneath the handle of the Northern Dipper,

my sword hanging beside the moon’s horn in the Southern Palace.

You say I am drunk—and indeed I am;

yet I do not know what sorrow tastes like.

Why did you not recognize me when we met?

I’ll ride the white clouds home now.

The prefect exclaimed in astonishment, “So that was Master Lü!” Early the next morning, he burned incense and begged forgiveness. One day, he saw Lü Dongbin’s reflection in a basin of water and hurriedly called for a painter to capture it. The portrait was very much like one painted by Teng Zijing.

Travels from Daoist Temples

Visiting Taiping Temple

At Taiping Temple in Jiangzhou lived a Daoist priest of lofty aspirations, known as the Revered Master Xue. Lü Dongbin went to visit him and presented him with this poem:

Master Xue is carefree and unrestrained; though advanced in years,

not a single hair in his beard has turned white.

He lies at ease on a stone amid the clouds and mist,

then seeks out inscriptions in the mountain’s secluded, chilly places.

He boasts that I can drink a great deal,

yet finds other people’s little poems wanting.

Who can say what sort of man he is?

He simply lets his peers have their say.

A note in small characters at the end of the poem reads: “Written when the Returning Daoist visited Adept Xue with three companions.” This is how we learn that Lü Dongbin also went by the title “Returning Daoist.”

Visiting Tianqing Temple

Suzhou, …

At Tianqing Temple in Fuli County, Suzhou, there was a Daoist priest surnamed Ning. In his youth, he spoke about Laozi and Zhuangzi with considerable insight. One morning, just after he had risen, a Daoist who sold medicine arrived at the temple. He was striking in appearance and bearing; in truth, he was Lü Dongbin. After they had spent more than a month together, Lü Dongbin explained the essential teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi to Priest Ning. “In my view, Chan Buddhism all derives from Laozi and Zhuangzi. Even after reading thousands of scriptures and volumes and debating them endlessly, people are only trying to set up their own school and establish their own lineage. At root, it still comes down to the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi.”

As he was leaving, Lü Dongbin wrote two quatrains on the door in large seal script, an ancient style of Chinese calligraphy. His brushwork swept across the surface. The first read:

Autumn’s desolate scene: leaves flutter down in a rush;

I sat for a long while beneath the pines in the courtyard.

Cloud and mist obscure the way; I do not know where the crane has borne its rider.

I missed my appointment to pay homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning at the Immortal Grotto.

The second read:

Tales of the immortals’ seal script and a thousand years of cultivation pass through the world;

Two volumes of the Scripture of the Yellow Court are recited aloud.

The old crane temple’s altar platform lies hidden among the pines;

No trace of anyone remains, and the courtyard gate has long been shut.

After Lü Dongbin left, people eagerly scraped the writing from the door to treat illnesses, and the sick duly recovered. It was said that the characters had cut more than an inch into the wood, and that the ink never faded.

When Lü Dongbin visited Tianqing Temple in Qinzhou, the Daoist priests had all gone into the city to attend a jiao feast, a Daoist ceremony for blessings and divine worship. Only a young attendant remained at the temple. Lü Dongbin asked him for a brush, intending to write on the wall. The boy demurred: “The temple hall has just been repaired, and my master warned me not to dirty the walls.” Lü Dongbin replied, “Then please tend the fire in the temple brazier for me. I am going to pay homage to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the three highest deities revered in Daoism.”

He went behind the hall and saw that the pool water was clear and cold. With his fingernail, he wrote on the wall:

The clear water in the stone pool is like my heart,

Yet peach blossoms’ shadows disturb its shimmering reflections.

Once I arrive at the palace halls of Mount Gui,

The seven-stringed zither dispels idle sorrow and clears the mind.

At the end of the poem were the words “Return and cultivate the writing.” The wall was so high that no one could reach it. Everyone was astonished, and only then understood that “Return” referred to Lü Hui, while “cultivate” referred to what the master intended to oppose.

The Woman at the Mountain Temple

Lü Dongbin once visited a mountain temple. Using magic, he transformed his sword into a beautiful woman, who entered the temple. The monks stopped to watch her, their minds thrown into confusion and their resolve slipping away. As she passed the Cloud Hall, where the monks gathered for instruction and rest, one monk sat alone with his legs crossed. He did not look at her at all, and remained unmoved until she had left the temple. Lü Dongbin judged that this man could be guided in his cultivation.

After the woman left the temple, Lü Dongbin waited for her in a secluded spot, intending to stop her and flirt with her. Beauty can beguile people, and deeply rooted desire is hard to dispel. This was the first opportunity Lü Dongbin had to guide and awaken the man.

Visiting Golden Goose Temple

Lü Dongbin came to Golden Goose Temple in Siming and found the abbot’s room empty and desolate. Before long, a young attendant came out. Lü Dongbin asked, “Why is it so quiet here?” The attendant replied, “It isn’t only quiet here—even empty space is nowhere to be found.” Lü Dongbin admired these words and wrote a poem on the wall:

The abbot’s room has a door, yet no lock is needed;

A mountain boy appears, both feet bare.

I ask why the abbot’s room is so still,

And he says there is nowhere for empty space to settle.

How joyful I felt when I heard those words!

The master here is surely no ordinary person.

I came to pay him a visit, but could not meet him;

My longing to see him remains keen, and dust rises with it.

I should return, crossing the vast expanse of water;

The road leads far away to the secluded immortal isle of Penglai.

I think of the time I climbed the Stone Tower:

After the snow, the sky cleared; the sea stretched wide, and a thousand peaks emerged in the morning light.

At Kaiyuan Temple on Mount Lu, there was a monk named Fazhen who had meditated and practiced for twenty years and strictly observed the precepts. One day, as he sat in meditation, he saw a Daoist come to visit. The Daoist asked, “Do you think that practicing the Dao requires only sitting in meditation?” Fazhen replied, “Yes.”

The Daoist said, “Buddhism teaches people to refrain from greed, anger, sexual desire, and killing. These precepts are very important. While meditating, people may think that such thoughts are absent from their minds. But when they encounter sights and other external temptations, if they cannot restrain themselves, all kinds of desires surge up chaotically and become impossible to control. Is the Dao found only in sitting meditation?”

The Daoist led Fazhen to the monks’ hall, where they saw a monk sleeping soundly. “Let us sit here for a while and observe him,” said the Daoist. After a short time, a small snake, just over three inches long, emerged from the top of the monk’s head. It crawled down the bed leg to the floor, ate some phlegm and spittle there, then drank from the chamber pot. It crawled out the window, crossed a small ditch, and wandered around a flower terrace as if admiring the view. It tried to cross another ditch, but the water had risen and overflowed, so it turned back. The Daoist stuck a small knife into the ground along its return path to block it. Frightened, the snake went around the knife, crawled to the right side of the bed, climbed back up the bed leg, and slipped into the monk’s head.

The sleeping monk awoke at once and bowed to the Daoist and Fazhen. “I just had a dream. Let me tell you about it. At first, I dreamed I went out through the door on the left and came upon a sumptuous vegetarian meal, which I ate. Then I found fine wine and drank it. Next, I hitched up my robe and crossed a small stream outside the door. I came upon dozens of beautiful women and gave myself over to pleasure. Later, I tried to cross another stream, but its waters suddenly rose, and I could not get across. Then a bandit appeared and tried to kill me, so I escaped along a shortcut, returned through the door on the right, and woke up.”

The Daoist and Fazhen burst out laughing. The Daoist said to Fazhen, “The bed legs were the doors in the dream; the phlegm and spittle were the food offerings; what was in the chamber pot was the wine; the ditches were the streams; the flowers and trees were the beautiful women; and the small knife was the bandit. How illusory and absurd a person’s dreams can be!”

Fazhen asked, “What was the snake?”

The Daoist replied, “This monk is cruel by nature and often gives way to anger. Long steeped in these habits, he has already taken on the form of a snake. When he closes his eyes in death, he will be reborn as one. How can he fail to be cautious? I am Lord Lü. I saw that you were sincere and devoted, and suited to learning the Dao, so I came to instruct you.”

Fazhen then followed Lord Lü and departed. From that time on, no one knew where he had gone.

Presenting a Box at Kaiyuan Temple

In the bathhouse at Kaiyuan Temple in Yuanzhou stood a large well whose spring water was sweet and cool. Lü Dongbin liked the place very much and stayed at the temple for more than ten days, becoming familiar with the monks there. The bathhouse monk treated him with great respect, though he did not know that he was Lü Dongbin. When Lü Dongbin was about to leave, he gave the monk several sticks of ink. The monk put them away and thought nothing more of them.

One day, Li Dalin was ordered to oversee the transport of grain by water in the Jiangxi region. When he reached Yuanzhou, he went to see the monk and asked, “Did Master Lü ever give you any gold?” Only then did the monk remember. “I don’t know Master Lü,” he said. “But a Daoist once came here and gave me ink. He didn’t give me gold.” He brought out the ink for Li Dalin to see. It had turned into gold.

Li Dalin examined the gold closely, astonished. He wanted to exchange it for other gold, but the monk refused and gave him just one stick. Li Dalin asked, “How did the Transport Commissioner find out about this?” He said that the day before, while passing through Lingling, he had met He Xiangu and asked her about Lü Dongbin’s whereabouts. He Xiangu had said, “Lü Dongbin recently passed through here. He said he had stayed in Yichun for a long time and had befriended the monk at the bathhouse of Kaiyuan Temple. Seeing that the monk had the bearing of an immortal, he gave him gold.” After hearing this, Li Dalin came to verify the story.

More than ten days later, Lü Dongbin returned to the temple and asked the monk, “Where is the ink?” The monk told him everything that had happened. Lü Dongbin laughed and said, “That woman does love to talk.” Then he took the monk by the hand and led him out the door. The two were never seen again.

Attending a Purification Meal at Dayun Temple

Lü Dongbin once disguised himself as a reclusive scholar surnamed Hui, who traveled to Dayun Temple and took part in a purification meal there.

Sharing a Meal at Dayun Temple

Lü Dongbin disguised himself as a reclusive scholar surnamed Hui and went to visit Dayun Temple. He ate vegetarian meals there for more than a month. He said to the monks, “The food here is very fine; it’s just missing noodles.” Then he left.

Ten days later, he returned with a small amount of flour. He lit the fire himself, cooked noodles, and arranged the meal. Hundreds of monks ate their fill. They invited him to drink tea and quoted a poem by Ding Jingong: “Flowers break apart beneath the monk’s chopsticks; clouds circle in the guest’s cup.” The lines suggest that tea leaves lifted by the chopsticks seem like flowers opening, while the tea swirls in the guest’s bowl like drifting clouds.

Lü Dongbin said, “The lines are good, but they do not fully express the nature of tea.” He then wrote this poem:

Two tender leaves and a bud make a rare delicacy;
the monks’ method of making it shows great skill.
Rabbit-hair cups, pale as gulls; the fragrance of the white-cloud tea;
the water sings with shrimp-eye bubbles and fine waves.
It sends drowsiness away from the mat and table,
and fills the body with a clear, refreshing energy.
This secluded plant grows beyond the stream and cliffs;
it will not let its roots be moved to the capital.

The poem praises the rarity of the tea leaves and the care taken in preparing them, as well as the tea’s fine color and fragrance. Drinking it dispels sleepiness and refreshes both body and mind. Such fine tea grows in secluded places among streams and cliffs, and does not wish to be transplanted to the capital.

Afterward, he gave the monks a pill of elixir and said, “Take this, and you can live forever.” With that, he bade them farewell and left. The monk who received the pill later became an immortal as well.

Mingling Among the Shops and Stalls

The Wine Shop Outside Shao City

Outside Shao City, an old woman ran a wine shop. One day, Lü Dongbin disguised himself as a Daoist and came to buy wine. The old woman had run out and could offer him only the one sheng of cloudy wine she had left. The Daoist asked the price. “Twenty coins per sheng,” she replied.

With his finger, the Daoist wrote the characters for “twenty” on a purple stone outside the door, then left. On closer inspection, the writing had penetrated deep into the stone, leaving almost no trace visible on its surface. From then on, visitors came to see the stone in such numbers that they seemed like the sea, and the wine shop prospered. Later, people built the Temple of Gathered Immortals on that site.

In Yongkang Army, a man surnamed Ni had recently opened a tavern. A Daoist came in and asked for wine. He drank from morning until night, consuming more than a stone of fine wine. Everyone found this strange and gathered around to watch. When Ni asked him to pay, the Daoist glared at him without a word, then fell to the ground, dead drunk. Ni sat nearby and kept watch over him.

At dawn, as the morning drums sounded, the Daoist suddenly rose. He picked up a brush and inscribed a poem on the wall:

“Like a whale drawing in water, like a great turtle swallowing its fill,

I drank down hundreds of cups.

The man sprawled drunk as a jade mountain—who will raise him up,

and who was it that made him fall?

When I wake, the sleeves of my robe bear the chill of the winds of Heaven;

A crimson cloud drifts in from the sea.”

At the end of the poem he signed: “Written by the Daoist Yang Chun of the Three Mountains.”

The Daoist tossed a clod of earth to Ni and turned to leave. Outside, he looked toward the northeast and saw a crimson cloud drifting toward him. He clapped his hands and laughed loudly, then vanished. When Ni scraped at the inscription on the wall, he found that the ink had sunk deep into it. The clod of earth, meanwhile, had become fine gold. After that, the tavern prospered, and everyone understood that “Yang Chun” referred to “Chunyang.”

In the final years of the Later Zhou dynasty of the Five Dynasties period, a man surnamed Shi ran a teahouse in Bianjing. He had a young daughter who was responsible for serving tea. Lü Dongbin disguised himself as a beggar and came to the teahouse every day, sitting in the seat of honor and asking for tea. His clothes were ragged, and he was covered in grime; people hardly dared go near him. The girl, however, did not mind at all and served him the finest tea. Her parents grew angry and beat her, but she continued to serve Lü Dongbin without tiring of it for more than a month.

Lü Dongbin asked the girl, “Can you drink the tea I have left?” She thought the tea was too filthy to swallow and poured it onto the ground. Suddenly, she caught a strange fragrance. She quickly licked up the tea and drank it, and at once felt refreshed and clear-headed. Lü Dongbin told her, “I am Master Lü, not a beggar. It is a pity you could not drink all the tea I left. Still, I can grant you a wish. Would you like wealth, status, or a long life?”

The girl replied, “I come from a humble family and do not know what it means to be distinguished. I ask only for wealth and longevity.” Lü Dongbin left and never returned. In time, the girl indeed rose to great status and lived to the age of 135.

In Yanzhou, a courtesan named Lady Hou ran an inn that took in travelers. Lü Dongbin (Lüzu) deliberately arrived in shabby clothes and asked for lodging. He went out early and returned late, drunk each time. More than a month passed, and he had not paid a single coin. Lady Hou invited him to tea. Lü Dongbin said, “I once met Master Zhongli”—his teacher, Zhongli Quan—“who said you might be ready to hear about the Dao.” Lady Hou did not understand what he meant, so she brought him wine instead. Lü Dongbin kept asking for more, and Lady Hou gradually grew displeased.

Lü Dongbin held out his arm for her to see. A golden hairpin could just be made out beneath the skin. He removed one and told Lady Hou to exchange it for wine. Coveting the hairpin, she asked, “Will you sleep here after you finish drinking?” Lü Dongbin said, “Certainly.” Then he lay down and fell asleep, snoring loudly. In the middle of the night, Lady Hou approached the bed, but Lü Dongbin held her back with his hand. She quickly left. As dawn approached, Lü Dongbin had vanished. She examined herself and found that where he had held her, the character “Lü” was clearly marked on her skin. Only then did Lady Hou understand. “This must be Master Lü. Could we have been bound by fate in a former life? A single misguided thought has brought me to this state. Perhaps Master Lü came to guide me toward transformation.” She cut off her hair, took off her leather coat, and went in search of Lü Dongbin. What became of her afterward is unknown.

In Guangling, a courtesan named Huang Ying was so beautiful that wealthy patrons often came to call. One day, a scholar surnamed Lü asked for lodging. Seeing his ragged clothes and filthy appearance, Huang Ying turned him away. The scholar wrote two poems on a screen. The first said:

“Ugly Mo-mu and beautiful Xi Shi were born in the very same form. It is only the passing years that set youth apart from old age. Many years from now, the white-haired, wrinkled old woman will be the very beauty whose face today blooms like a flower.”

The second said:

“Flowers bloom and fall, bringing both joy and sorrow; the changes flowers undergo are just like those people experience. When a flower opens on the branch, it must guard against a visitor plucking it; when it falls to the ground, who would care to look at it?”

As soon as he finished writing the poems, the scholar vanished.

◇ The Brothel in the Eastern Capital

In the Eastern Capital (Dongjing), there was a courtesan named Yangliu whose beauty was renowned. Lü Dongbin often visited her home and repeatedly gave her gold and silk, yet never became intimate with her. One evening, while he was drunk, Yangliu pressed him to be intimate with her. The Daoist said, “The two primordial forces of Kan and Li within me, which in Daoist internal alchemy symbolize Water and Fire, Yin and Yang, have already joined in harmony. The Yin and Yang within my body are like husband and wife united; the sacred embryo, formed from refined Qi in internal cultivation, has already taken shape, and the infant, a sign of the completion of internal alchemy, is about to be born. How could I still yearn for the charms of women outside me? The joy gained through inner cultivation far surpasses the pleasure of sexual union.” Yangliu listened, both perplexed and astonished.

At the time, a retainer named Su, who served the chancellor Zhang Tianjue, had long been acquainted with Yangliu. She told Su what the Daoist had said, and Su in turn told Zhang Tianjue. Zhang hurried at once to visit the Daoist. The Daoist cried out and hurried away, going straight into the Buddhist hall at Qiyun Hermitage. He shut the door and did not come out. After a long while, the others pushed open the door to look for him, but he had vanished. On the wall they saw only a poem:

With one breath, the luan flute rends the highest heavens;

A green-robed boy chants as he treads the void.

In the jade tower, a thousand-year dream is brought to an end;

On the branch of the blue peach, a golden rooster crows.

Through images of immortal music, a boy’s chanting, and a golden rooster heralding dawn, the poem evokes a transcendence of the ordinary and awakening to the Dao.

Later, the hermitage caught fire, and everything inside was burned. Only the wall bearing the poem remained unharmed; this too was said to be a marvel.

○ A Gathering at the Hermitage

◇ The Crane Gathering at Mount Qingcheng

At the end of the Shaoxing era, Lü Dongbin went to Mount Qingcheng to attend a crane gathering. On the way, he stopped to rest at the home of a family who sold cakes and fruit. The host did not recognize him but sensed that his manner was unusual. Lü Dongbin used thick ink to write a poem on the large tree before the door:

Only fear the heart that leaves the needle behind;

True copper, through water, is changed to gold.

No white hairs at the temples;

The fine steed, once gone, is hard to find.

The poem concealed the four characters “Lü Dongbin has come.” Its strokes were bold and vigorous, shining with an extraordinary brilliance. Someone tried to cut the tree with a knife, but the cut ran deep, all the way through to the far side of the trunk. By then, Lü Dongbin had vanished.

A local man named Guan Yunxiang saw the poem and drew a portrait of Lü Dongbin, depicting a lean Daoist. From then on, the family’s business selling cakes and fruit prospered greatly.

A Daoist Seeking Lodging in Jiangzhou

At the Pan Pacification Commissioner’s Daoist temple in Ruichang County, Jiangzhou, a Daoist once came seeking temporary lodging. He had no bundle and no umbrella, only a battered bamboo hat. His clothes were ragged, and he looked like a countryman.

The hall attendant, who was responsible for receiving visitors and managing the temple’s affairs, looked down on him and said, “You have neither an umbrella nor a bundle. How can you ask to stay here?” The Daoist replied, “If you won’t let me stay, give me a cup of tea and I’ll be on my way.”

The attendant went inside and told him to sit down. When he came back out, he found that the Daoist had taken the seat of honor. Angrily, he said, “If you don’t understand the proper courtesies between host and guest, what kind of Daoist are you?” The Daoist left without making a formal bow.

The attendant could not lift the bamboo hat the Daoist had left behind. Everyone then recited scriptures together to confess their offense, and only then could the hat be raised. The character “Lü” appeared on the ground. Later, when someone fell ill, they took soil from that spot, boiled it in water, and drank the liquid; the illness was cured at once. Over the years, a well gradually formed there. Bubbles rising from its water would gather into the character “Lü”; when dispersed, they would gather again. This phenomenon is said to continue to this day.

Elixirs to Help the People

Medicine Wrapped in Red Gauze

One year, an epidemic swept through the Eastern Capital, and most people became seriously ill. An old woman sold tea from her home, where her children and grandchildren had all fallen sick. One day, a Daoist came to her house. The old woman welcomed him warmly and told him about her family’s illnesses. The Daoist said, “Wait for me tomorrow morning.”

The old woman waited early the next morning. The Daoist brought her a red gauze pouch containing medicine and said, “When someone falls ill, have them hold this, and they will recover on their own. One pill can cure one hundred people. It will have no effect on anyone beyond that number.”

The old woman followed his instructions, and everyone in her family recovered. She then used the medicine to treat others. After it had cured one hundred people, it indeed stopped working. When she opened the gauze pouch, she found that the medicine had vanished, leaving only the three characters “Lü Dongbin.” Only then did she realize she had met Master Lü.

◇Filial Devotion Saves a Mother

In Tonglu, there was a local official whose name has been lost. His mother suffered from a severe sore on her back, and every treatment failed. He prayed with deep sincerity, moving Lü Dongbin. One night, Lü appeared to him in a dream and said, “Your filial devotion is utterly sincere and has moved Heaven. I have been sent to heal your mother. If treatment is delayed one more day, no medicine will help her.” Lü then taught him a recipe for Lingbao salve: take the seeds of five snake gourds and five pieces of frankincense, each about the size of a jujube, grind them separately into fine powder, then simmer them with one jin of white honey until they form a paste. Take three qian at a time, dissolved in warm wine. The official bought the ingredients and followed the instructions; his mother soon recovered. Later, he shared the prescription with others, and it proved effective for them as well.

◇A Cure for Lameness in Zhaozhou

In Zhaozhou, a poor man named Liu had been lame for twenty years. Every evening, he lit incense and prayed to Heaven. One day, a Daoist carrying an iron dipper said to him, “Come with me.” Liu followed him for about two li. The Daoist pointed to the ground and said, “A little over three chi below here is a five-colored stone. Try digging it up.” Sure enough, Liu unearthed a stone about the size of a pellet, with unusually brilliant colors. The Daoist said, “Take it home and leave it in the open air for nine days. Then grind it into a fine powder and take it with a decoction made from quince peel. Once you are well, come to the eastern corridor of Zhuyun Hall in the east of the city, to the left side of the wall by the third room, and meet me there.”

Liu recovered soon. He went to look for the Daoist, but found only a painting on the wall showing Lü Dongbin accompanied by an iron dipper.

Healing the Eyes in Jiangling

There was a Daoist named Fu in Jiangling who respectfully worshipped an image of Lü Dongbin. On the first day of the first month during the Qiandao era, a guest wearing a square headcloth and a long robe came in and spoke with him. After they had talked for a long time, the guest invited him to drink together, and Fu agreed. From then on, the guest came by about once every ten days.

At the time, Fu’s eyesight was blurred, and his eyes often watered. The guest taught him to take a kind of pill: slice and dry raw and prepared Rehmannia root, then take Sichuan pepper, removing the stems, seeds, and closed fruits, and lightly fry it. Use equal amounts of all three ingredients, form them into pills with refined honey, and take fifty pills on an empty stomach with salt water. After taking them for a long time, Fu’s sight recovered, and he could see clearly. Later, when he recalled the guest’s appearance, he realized that the man looked much like the image of Lü Dongbin he worshipped.

Selling Medicine in Yueyang

When Lü Dongbin traveled through Yueyang, he took another name and sold medicine. He said a single pill was worth a thousand gold pieces, but no one bought one for three days. So he climbed Yueyang Tower and swallowed one of his pills in front of everyone. Suddenly he rose into the air and stood there. The crowd was astonished and full of admiration, and everyone wanted to buy his medicine.

Lü Dongbin smiled and said, “The Dao is right before you, and Penglai is so near that it takes only one step to reach it. If you fail to act when the moment arrives, you will miss it while it is right in front of you.” Then he chanted:

At dawn I traveled by the Northern Sea; by dusk I reached Cangwu.

A green serpent lies hidden in my sleeve; my courage is fierce.

Three times I have come to Yueyang, yet no one in the world knows me.

I sing aloud and fly across Lake Dongting.

Carrying the Elixir in Chengdu

The medicine market in Chengdu… “If you fail to act when the moment arrives, you will miss it while it is right in front of you.” Then he chanted:

At dawn I traveled by the Northern Sea; by dusk I reached Cangwu.

A green serpent lies hidden in my sleeve; my courage is fierce.

Three times I have come to Yueyang, yet no one in the world knows me.

I sing aloud and fly across Lake Dongting.

Chengdu: Holding an Elixir

Every day, a Daoist appeared at the medicine market in Chengdu. His face was filthy, his clothes were ragged, and he held a single pill in his hand. He called loudly to the people in the market, “I am Lü Dongbin. Whoever bows to me twice may take this pill.”

Everyone thought he was mad, so they gathered to jeer at him and follow him around. The Daoist walked back and forth several times, but no one bowed. Later, he sat on the fire pit in front of the Wuxian Temple. The children competed to pelt him with roof tiles and stones. The Daoist smiled and said, “People in this world long to see me, yet when they do, they fail to recognize me. Such, too, is fate.” Then Lü Dongbin swallowed the Golden Elixir himself. Before long, clouds of five-colored Qi (vital energy) surrounded his body, and moments later he vanished. Only then did everyone deeply regret what they had done.

Jue Neng Receives an Elixir

Huang Jueneng was famous for writing poetry. One day, while seeing off a guest at an inn outside the eastern capital’s city gate, he met a feathered adept—a Daoist. Huang brought out wine and food and invited him to share the meal. After they had finished eating and drinking, the adept lifted his cup and dipped it in water to write the character “Lü.” Then he said, “When you go to Jiangnan next year, you will see me.”

The following year, Huang Jueneng was indeed transferred to Jiangnan, where he met Lü Dongbin again. Lü gave him seven large coins, ten medium-sized coins, and three small coins, saying, “The number must not be increased. I am entrusting you with these measured doses of medicine. Each New Year’s Day, grind one with wine and take it; you will not fall ill for the rest of the year.”

Huang Jueneng followed his instructions. He lived to the age of seventy-three, by which time the medicine was nearly gone. He eventually died in the eastern capital.

Decheng Receives an Elixir

Lü Dongbin said, “The number must not be increased. I am entrusting you with these measured doses of medicine. Each New Year’s Day, grind one with wine and take it; you will not fall ill for the rest of the year.” Huang Jueneng followed his instructions. He lived to the age of seventy-three, by which time the medicine was nearly gone. He eventually died in the eastern capital.

Li Decheng was skilled in medicine. During a bitterly cold spell, he met an impoverished Daoist who wore only a single layer of clothing yet showed no sign of feeling the cold. The Daoist came with his guest to a tavern and sat straight down in the place of honor. Li Decheng found this strange. The tavern keeper said, “Please pay for your wine.” The Daoist went inside and brought out three wine flasks. “Each flask contains enough money for a liter of wine,” he said. The keeper checked and found that this was indeed so, then gave him three liters of wine.

The Daoist poured and drank. Li Decheng took only one flask, while the Daoist quickly drank the other two as well. “This is merely a little magic,” the Daoist told him. “I am Lü Dongbin.” Li Decheng was both astonished and delighted. The Daoist wrote this quatrain:

The Son of Heaven, enthroned ninefold, is the most honored in the world;

The five ranks of lords are honored even beyond the gate.

Yet what can compare with the wildly drunken man among common folk,

Who does not let his life be ruled by Heaven’s transformations?

The Daoist gave Li Decheng a pill. “Take this, and you will live a long life,” he said, then took his leave. After taking the pill, Li Decheng’s hair never turned white and his teeth never fell out. He lived to the age of one hundred and seven before he died.

Curing a Fistula in Jinling

Wan Yushi of Jinling once suffered from a fistula. He could not move the left side of his body and had endured the illness for many years. Every treatment he tried had failed. One day, while happening to travel south beyond the city, he met a Daoist from Mount Pude. The Daoist asked, “Why have you become so ill?” Wan Yushi told him about his condition. The Daoist pressed a hand against the affected area, and Wan Yushi immediately felt a dull ache. “Can this really be called paralysis?” the Daoist said. “It will soon heal on its own.”

Wan Yushi asked the Daoist for his surname and Daoist name. “My surname is Qian, and my Daoist name is Xitun. I lodge at Qingyuan Abbey,” the Daoist replied. He then explained the meanings of Qian and Kun, and of Tun and Meng, as well as the proper places of Heaven and Earth, ruler and teacher. These were ideas people encountered and discussed in their daily lives. When Wan Yushi returned home, his illness suddenly cleared, and he could walk as before.

He told his friends what had happened. They all said, “Qian belongs to Yang, and ‘Xitun,’ taken together, means ‘pure.’ Could this man have been the Perfected Pure Yang?” Wan Yushi went beyond the city again to look for the Daoist, but could no longer find where he lived. He saw only an image of the Perfected Pure Yang enshrined there. The incident took place in the eleventh month of the gengwu year of the Longqing era.

Poems on Scenery

One day, the deputy governor of Wuchang Commandery was playing chess when a Daoist whose name was unknown walked straight up to him and said, “I am the finest chess player there is.” The deputy governor agreed to test him at the game. After only eight moves, the Daoist said, “The governor has already lost.” The governor replied, “The board isn’t even full. How can you know I’m going to lose?” The Daoist said, “My pieces already occupy the crucial positions, so I know you’re going to lose.” And so it proved. They played several games in a row, and the governor lost every one. Before long, the Daoist swept away in his sleeve and vanished.

The governor sent people to search throughout the city. He heard that the Daoist was playing a flute in front of the commandery office. Just as the search party arrived, the flute’s sound came from the east gate. When they reached the east gate, it seemed to be coming from the west gate. They pursued it in turn to the south and north gates, and at last heard that the flute was sounding before Yellow Crane Tower. The Daoist walked into Stone Reflection Pavilion and disappeared. All they found inside was a poem:

As I play my flute before Yellow Crane Tower, white water celery and red smartweed spread across the river’s sandbars.

My heart is full of things I long to say—but who could understand? Only the fresh breeze and bright moon know.

The poem was signed with a single character: “Lü.”

He Xiangu was a Daoist nun from the Lingling area. When she was thirteen, she went into the mountains with her companions to pick tea. Later, she became separated from them and lost her way alone. Beneath the eastern peak, she saw a man with a long beard and blue-black eyes, wearing a tall crown and a six-zhu robe—a light, gauzy immortal’s garment in Daoist legend. This man was Lü Dongbin.

He Xiangu hurried forward to pay her respects. Lü Dongbin took out a peach and said to her, “You are still young, so I imagine you like fruit. Eat this peach, and in time you will ascend to become an immortal. If you cannot finish it, you will have to remain in the human world.” He Xiangu ate only half. Lü Dongbin showed her the way home. When she returned, she thought only one day had passed, but more than a month had gone by. From then on, she no longer felt hunger, no longer menstruated, and could foresee the good and bad fortune of people and events. Later, she departed by way of corpse liberation, a means in Daoist legend by which a practitioner leaves the body behind while the spirit departs.

Lü Dongbin once told He Xiangu, “I once traveled through the market in Huayin selling medicine. I placed one elixir among ten thousand ordinary pills. When someone came to ask for medicine, I would casually take one from my gourd and give it to them. In this way, I tested whether they had an affinity for becoming an immortal. I tried this for several days. The ordinary pills always stayed in my hand, but whenever the elixir came to hand, it fell away.” Lü Dongbin sighed that people in the world with the innate capacity to cultivate the Dao and become immortals were exceedingly rare.

A fellow Daoist gives a lecture on the scriptures.

Chen Danran was a wealthy Confucian.

◇ A Daoist Friend Discusses the Scripture

Chen Danran came from a wealthy family and had read Confucian books, yet he devoted himself to admiring Daoist arts. For years he invited Daoist priests who traveled from place to place to stay at his home, but never met anyone who suited him. Lü Dongbin disguised himself as a hired worker and tended the gardens at Chen’s home for more than a year. He worked with greater strength than an ordinary man. Chen liked him very much, but always regarded him only as a servant.

One day, Chen Danran and a Daoist friend were discussing the Yinfu Jing, a Daoist classic. When they came to the line, “Heaven sets the killing impulse in motion; Heaven and Earth turn back and renew themselves,” they could not understand what “killing impulse” meant. Lü Dongbin raised his voice from nearby and said, “Be born without clinging to life; die without clinging to death. Though already born, you can let go of your attachment to ‘life’; though not yet dead, you can begin learning to release your attachment to death. In this way, you can attain long life.” Chen Danran was greatly astonished and asked, “Aren’t you a hired worker? Who taught you to say such things?”

The original text then has two instances of “koukou,” whose meaning is unclear. It goes on to say that Lü Dongbin answered again in vague terms that no one could understand. The Daoist friend said, “He is just a country fellow from the fields. Who knows where he heard these words? He doesn’t really understand them.”

Before long, Lü Dongbin suddenly took his leave, saying, “I am going on a long journey. I will return at noon on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month next year.” After he left, there was no word from him. Later, a man from the village encountered him while visiting Baling. Lü Dongbin asked him to pass on a message to Chen Danran: “Please tell Master Chen that I am Lü Dongbin. I had thought he might be able to receive the Daoist teachings. After observing him for some time, I found that he had not understood them, so I will not return.” Having said this, he ran into the bamboo grove by the Lüxian Pavilion and vanished. At noon on the Dragon Boat Festival the following year, Chen Danran suddenly died.

◇ The Daoist Gathering in Shaoxing

In the guichou year, one of the years in the sexagenary cycle, a Daoist gathering was held on Mount Kuaiji. A Daoist wearing a sun hat arrived. After the gathering ended, he hung the hat on a wall. Though the wall had no hook, the hat did not fall. He wrote this poem:

By chance I rode with the Azure Emperor,

deity of the East and patron of spring, out from Penglai’s immortal realm.

Swords and halberds stood in ranks, filling the nine regions in every direction.

I am here before your eyes, yet no one recognizes me;

I leave behind a sun hat—do not let it be lost to obscurity.

A Patriarch’s Admonition to the World

Whenever you can do even a small good deed, make things easier for someone else. Even if an evil deed seems small, I urge you not to do it. Be content with whatever clothing and food you have, and you will naturally be happy. Why bother with fortune-telling or divination? Deceiving others brings misfortune; forgiving others is a blessing. Heaven sees all clearly, and retribution for good and evil comes swiftly. Listen carefully to what I say: accept clothing and food as they come, and you will naturally be happy; there is no need for fortune-telling or divination. Deceiving others brings misfortune; treating others generously brings blessing. Heaven sees all clearly, and retribution is swift. Heed my words, and the spirits will show respect while ghosts and monsters retreat.

Preface to The Peach Blossom Maiden

The full title of The Peach Blossom Maiden is The Tale of the Peach Blossom Maiden’s Contest in Yin and Yang. It is also called The Illustrated Marvelous Book of the Peach Blossom Maiden’s Magical Contest. The work consists of four volumes and sixteen chapters.

A physical form cannot be separated from its shadow, and a shadow must depend on a physical form. Yang does not depart from Yin, and Yin must accompany Yang. Yet if a physical form is separated from its shadow, it perishes; if Yang departs from Yin, harmony is lost and disorder follows. This is why the book is titled The Contest in Yin and Yang: it describes what happens when Yang departs from Yin. When Yin and Yang turn against each other and lose harmony, how could they avoid conflict?

Even so, a physical form can never truly be separated from its shadow, and Yang will never truly depart from Yin. So although Yin and Yang may clash at first, in the end they return to a state in which neither turns against or opposes the other. When Yin and Yang no longer turn against each other, conflict ceases; when they no longer clash, they can unite in harmony. Their union in harmony leads to transcendence and sagehood. Having reached that state, they are no longer entangled in the concerns of the mundane world; free of those entanglements, they no longer give rise to illusory visions. This is the ultimate conclusion that The Contest in Yin and Yang sets out to express.

Newly carved in the tenth month of the Wushen year of the Daoguang reign (1848).

According to tradition, during the era of the Three Sovereigns, there was a kingdom called Jingyue in Beijuluzhou. Its king married Lady Shansheng. She was pregnant for fourteen months and gave birth to a prince. This prince was the reincarnation of the Azure Emperor. When he grew up, he gave up the throne to cultivate the Dao and eventually attained the true fruit of the Dao. In Heaven, he became the Celestial Worthy of the Northern Pole, Master of the Jade Pivot; in the celestial realm, the Supreme Sage Who Subdues Demons; and among humanity, the Great Emperor Zhenwu Xuanti.

He once cultivated the Dao in the Snow Mountains. Using a ritual knife, he cut open his abdomen and cleansed his stomach and intestines. Then he lost consciousness and left the knife lying nearby. Immortals later revived him, but he forgot to retrieve it. Some time afterward, he went to the Yuansuan Cave to cultivate and discovered that the knife was missing. He left its scabbard in the cave as a treasure to guard the kingdom. Both the ritual knife and its scabbard were wish-granting treasures bestowed on the Great Emperor by the Azure Emperor. After absorbing the essence of the sun and moon for a full hundred years, they each took on a living form: the knife became Yang, and the scabbard became Yin. The knife concealed itself on Demon-Subduing Mountain to cultivate, while the scabbard remained in Yuansuan Cave, nurturing its nature.

Several hundred years later, the Queen Mother of the West summoned the scabbard to Heaven to oversee the Peach Garden and bestowed on it the name “Peach Blossom Immortal.” The knife, however, had not yet attained the true fruit of the Dao. Resentful, it stirred up trouble on Demon-Subduing Mountain. At times it breathed flames brighter than the sun and moon; at others, it summoned clouds and rain for no reason. This enraged the Celestial Court, which sent heavenly soldiers and generals down to capture the knife and bring it to the Golden Palace for execution at the Demon-Slaying Terrace. Fortunately, the Daoist patriarch Taishang Laojun took pity on it for having cultivated arduously for thousands of years. He pleaded with the Golden Palace, took the knife to the Doushuai Palace, and arranged for it to serve as a boy attendant guarding a box of trigrams. It secretly read the “Essential Instructions of the Heavenly Constellations,” then descended to the human world without permission.

Its spiritual nature had not been extinguished. It was later reborn into the household of a feudal lord in the Shang dynasty. The man’s surname was Zhou and his given name was Qing. He rose to the rank of Senior Grand Master and married a woman surnamed Feng. The couple were fifty when they finally had a son. Before the child was born, Lady Feng dreamed that her home was filled with dazzling flames. When she awoke, she gave birth to a prince and named him Zhou Qian. Zhou Qian had dark skin and two sharply arched brows like swords; from childhood, his eyes shone with spiritual light. When he was seven, he was playing in the garden when a mysterious stranger descended from Heaven and gave him a celestial book. Having already cultivated the foundations of the Dao, Zhou Qian understood it as soon as he read it. He learned to know the past and future, summon gods and immortals, and ride clouds and mist.

When Zhou Qian was in his thirties, his parents died, and he inherited his father’s official post. People called him Duke Zhou. He served honestly at court, and all the officials respected him. Seeing that the Shang king was foolish and unjust, Duke Zhou repeatedly submitted petitions urging him to change, but the king ignored them. This left Duke Zhou deeply troubled. One day, after court, he sat alone in his residence and thought: “I can neither help the king set the country on the right course nor give my life for the state. Must I spend my whole life like an ordinary person? Better to resign while I can, withdraw to Chaoge, find a quiet place to open a divination stall, tell people their fortunes, explain the principles that precede Heaven, and clarify the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). Though I cannot serve the state and its people directly, I can still leave a lasting name.” Once he had made up his mind, he wrote his letter of resignation that evening and submitted it at court the next morning. The Shang king was already tired of his frank remonstrations, so when Duke Zhou asked to resign, he gladly approved.

Duke Zhou took leave of the king and returned home. He packed his belongings, moved with his family to a quiet and elegant residence in Chaoge, and felt free and at ease. A poem says: “People think holding office is the height of glory, but I know a hidden life has its own workings of Heaven. With cloud-covered mountains for company, the heart is free of alarm; unlike the days in office, spent laboring from dawn to night.”

After enjoying more than ten days of leisure, Duke Zhou summoned an old retainer to give him instructions. The man’s surname was Jian and his given name was Pengjian. He had once served Duke Zhou’s father and was an honest man. Since following Duke Zhou into retirement, he had drawn water and tended the vegetables without complaint. Pengjian came into the hall and asked, “My lord, what would you have me do?” Duke Zhou said, “I resigned and withdrew because I could not fulfill my duty to the state and its people. I want to undertake another kind of work. Open a separate doorway to the left of the front gate. Partition off the three side rooms outside, clean them, and set out a chair. Have it done as soon as possible.”

Pengjian smiled and said, “I’ve never seen a high-ranking official go into business.” Duke Zhou smiled too. “I’m not going into trade. I want to open a divination stall and guide the people, so they won’t dare do wrong. But I worry that too many visitors will disturb the peace, and I’ve already thought of a way to manage them. Each divination will cost one tael of silver. They’ll pay you first, then you’ll bring them in to see me. I’ll do no more than ten readings a day; after that, I’ll refuse any more. Each visitor must also give you three-tenths of a tael for passing along the request and receiving them. What do you think?”

Pengjian did not answer. He only lowered his head and smiled. Duke Zhou asked why he was silent. Pengjian said, “My lord, you rank just beneath the king and above tens of thousands of people. Why take up such a lowly occupation? It would diminish your dignity and might invite misunderstanding. Besides, the fee is so high that I doubt anyone will come.” Duke Zhou replied, “How could explaining the principles that precede Heaven diminish my dignity? How could guiding the people mislead them? I worry only that the divinations might not prove accurate. If they do, people may come in such numbers they wear out the doorstep. Don’t concern yourself with it. Go and get it done.”

Pengjian had no choice but to hire craftsmen to renovate the rooms. Within a few days, everything was ready. He reported back to Duke Zhou and reminded him, “My lord, you’re charging one tael for each reading. If they prove accurate, people will gladly pay. If they don’t, the people will laugh at you and say you used divination to swindle them.” Duke Zhou said, “I have a plan. If a reading proves inaccurate, I’ll pay ten times the fee.” Pengjian quickly replied, “That won’t do! You may be able to afford ten times the fee, but I can’t afford to repay the three-tenths I collect.” Duke Zhou laughed. “You don’t know that my Bagua can communicate with the spirits. It can never be wrong. If there is any compensation to pay, I’ll pay it myself. It has nothing to do with you.” Pengjian was delighted and hurriedly kowtowed in thanks.

Duke Zhou had someone bring a large bamboo board and personally wrote four characters on it: “Divination principles communicate with the spirits.” Beside them he added: “Foretell life and death, good and ill fortune in advance”; “Divination fee: one tael of silver; message and reception fee: three-tenths of a tael.” He wrote another board: “Anyone seeking a divination should come here early in the morning. I will advise them on good and ill fortune. I will perform no more than ten readings each day and will accept no more after midday. If a reading proves inaccurate, I will pay a penalty of ten taels and three-tenths of silver.” When he had finished, he told Pengjian to sit alone at a crossroads and wait for people seeking divination.

The news soon spread throughout Chaoge. The people passed it from one to another, and the whole city talked about it: “How strange! I’ve never seen a lord give up such a promising career to make a living by divination. Who knows if his readings are accurate? And he charges a whole tael of silver each time!” Some wanted to try, but the fee seemed too high, and they hesitated.

Every day, Duke Zhou dressed neatly and sat alone in the seat at the center of the divination stall. He brought no attendants, lit only a stick of incense, and waited quietly. Pengjian sat just inside the doorway. For two or three days, no one came for a reading. Only a crowd of idlers stood outside, talking.

One wealthy landowner said, “This lord seems to be joking. I’ll join in the fun and spend one tael and three-tenths of silver to try it.” A soldier said, “I came into some money yesterday, but there’s something I can’t decide. I’ll get a reading too.” They went in one after the other. Since Duke Zhou held the noble rank of duke, neither man dared sit on an equal footing with him and chat. Without waiting for anyone to speak, both handed Pengjian one tael and three-tenths of silver. Pengjian took the money and thought happily, “How amusing! We’ve finally had our first customers today.” He placed one tael before Duke Zhou and reported their arrival. Duke Zhou told him to bring one of them in first.

The wealthy landowner went in. Duke Zhou said, “You needn’t bow, and you needn’t tell me what you’ve come to ask. Just pray silently in your heart.” The man stood to one side and silently repeated his concern. Duke Zhou studied him for a moment, then said, “I already know what is troubling you. You have taken a fancy to the wife of one of your household servants and want to break them apart so that her husband will marry someone else. He refuses, so you are thinking of killing him. Is that right? I’m afraid that before you manage to kill anyone else, you’ll lose your own life first!”

The wealthy landowner was stunned and turned pale when Duke Zhou revealed his secret. He hurriedly knelt and said, “My lord, I really did consider doing that. Please show me a way to save my life and avoid disaster!” Duke Zhou nodded. “Since you have already repented, there is still a way for you to live. If you had not met me, you would have been dead by tomorrow, with no grave to mark your resting place.” He took out a sheet of paper, wrote several lines, and handed it to the man. “What is written here is the concern in your heart…”

After the wealthy man’s fortune had been told, Zhou Gong handed him the written verdict. It read:

“You harbor deceit and intend to rob a young woman of her chastity. Little do you know that your scheme has already been exposed. When you meet the woman at the third watch tomorrow night, you and she will both be killed, and your bodies scattered in pieces.”

Zhou Gong said, “The woman’s husband has already stolen your money and bribed people. Tomorrow night, when his wife meets you, you will surely be caught and both of you killed. You ask me to save your life, so you must put an end to your improper thoughts about that woman and turn your heart toward goodness. Then Heaven will naturally protect you and help you escape danger. I will tell you one more thing that you can verify: at the third watch tonight, go thirty li east. When you see a lamp hanging outside a door, knock and go in. You will certainly meet the man who means to deal with you. Invite him to your home for a drink. Someone will help settle things between you, and tomorrow nothing will happen.”

The wealthy man heard this, hurriedly kowtowed in thanks, and ran out. Seeing him emerge with sweat pouring from his head, the crowd gathered around him and asked, “Was the reading accurate?” He had no time to answer. Pushing through them, he shouted, “It was accurate indeed—very accurate!” Then he hurried away.

Next, a soldier came to the table and, as instructed, prayed quietly. Zhou Gong wrote a few lines and handed him the verdict. It read:

“You took ten strings of cash from someone and now foolishly hope to catch a lover in the act. Do not take money that comes by crooked means, lest you invite trouble and entanglement.”

Zhou Gong asked him, “Did someone give you several dozen strings of cash yesterday and ask you to catch a man in adultery at the third watch tomorrow night, promising you another ten strings if the plan succeeded?” The soldier was so frightened that he kowtowed repeatedly. “Your Lordship is truly a living immortal! I came here for exactly that reason.”

Zhou Gong smiled. “Do not take that money. If you help the man catch the lovers, once he has vented his anger, he may not be willing to pay you. And if you fail to catch them, why would he give you money for nothing? I’ll show you what to do: simply go and meet him. After you meet, show them my verdict. Someone will naturally give you ten strings of green cash. From now on, do not entertain foolish schemes, and you can avoid trouble.”

The soldier kowtowed and said, “Your Lordship has given me such clear guidance. I won’t dare entertain such thoughts again.” He took his leave without telling anyone what had happened. He only said, “It’s truly accurate—he really is an immortal! Those who don’t believe it should come and see for themselves.” Then he hurried away from the fortune-telling market.

As it turned out, both the wealthy man and the soldier thought Zhou Gong’s fortune-telling remarkably accurate. Only when they met did they realize that they had been speaking of the same affair: it was the wealthy man’s own household who had hired the soldier to catch the lovers. When they met that night, everyone was both astonished and delighted, and their faith in Zhou Gong’s uncanny readings grew even stronger. The wealthy man invited them all to his home. The soldier helped mediate and showed everyone Zhou Gong’s written verdict, and the dispute was settled. The wealthy man also gave the soldier ten strings of green cash.

Once word of these two incidents spread, everyone in Chaoge knew that Zhou Gong’s readings were accurate. People with difficult questions flocked to him, and the fortune-telling market was packed. Zhou Gong read only ten fortunes a day. Once he had finished, he shut up shop, no matter how many people were still waiting outside. Peng Jian was very pleased with this arrangement: he earned three qian of silver every day, rain or shine. Peng Jian had no children and lived alone. Each morning, after helping Zhou Gong finish the ten readings, he would take down the signboard and go drink at a neighborhood tavern. He always spent all three qian before going home; if anything was left over, he gave it to the poor people he met along the way. This went on for more than half a year, until an unfortunate incident occurred.

In Chaoge lived a widow known as the Stone widow. Her husband had died years before, leaving her with one son, named Shi Zongfu. Her family was poor, but she had managed to save a few taels of silver and sent her son to Mengjin to trade. Mother and son had agreed that he would return within three months, but half a year passed without a word from him. The Stone widow missed him day and night. She waited by the door every day, but never saw him. She had prayed to the gods and sought answers through divination, but to no avail. Her heart was full of worry.

One day, as she stood outside her house, she heard a passerby say, “Zhou Gong has set up his fortune-telling stall in Qiyun Lane. His readings are remarkably accurate, but they cost a lot—one tael and three fen of silver.” Thinking of her son, the Stone widow borrowed one tael and three fen from a neighbor. At daybreak the next morning, she washed and dressed, ate a little, tied up her hair with black silk, locked the door, and went to Zhou Gong’s market.

It was just becoming light when she arrived. Peng Jian was opening the shop, putting up the signboard, and sweeping. The Stone widow knew him and asked, “Master Peng, is Your Lordship here yet?” Recognizing her as a former neighbor, Peng Jian said, “Sister-in-law, you’ve come so early; you must have something on your mind. Are you here for a reading?” With tears in her eyes, she replied, “Yes. My son, Shi Zongfu, went away to trade. He said he would be back in three months, but half a year has passed and I haven’t had so much as a letter. I can’t stop worrying. I borrowed this silver and came to ask Your Lordship whether he is safe away from home, whether he is alive or dead, so I can stop fretting over him every day.” As she spoke, she handed Peng Jian the silver. He took it and reassured her, “Don’t worry, sister-in-law. Heaven protects good people. Your son should be safe; perhaps something delayed him on the road. Come, I’ll take you inside.”

The Stone widow followed him into the inner hall. In the middle stood a table laid with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, a divination tube, and an incense altar. Zhou Gong sat at the center, looking solemn and imposing. The book describes him wearing a three-beam crown and a black robe embroidered with a horned dragon. His face was dark and radiant, his eyes bright as stars. He sat upright before the Eight Trigrams, seeming like an immortal.

When the Stone widow saw Zhou Gong, she could not help kneeling. Seeing an elderly woman with a sorrowful face come in and kneel before him, Zhou Gong felt somewhat displeased. That morning, his reading had shown an excess of Yin Sha, and he had been about to tell Peng Jian not to accept payment from women that day. Yet the very first person to enter was an elderly woman. Zhou Gong told her to rise, then asked Peng Jian why he had brought her in without reporting to him first. Peng Jian explained that she was a former neighbor whom he had known when her husband was alive. She had come to ask when her son would return, and he had not had time to inform Zhou Gong beforehand.

In tears, the Stone widow explained, “I have only this one son. He went away to trade and has been gone for half a year. I don’t know whether he is alive or dead, and my worry overcame me, so I failed to follow the proper rules. Please forgive and pity me, Your Lordship.” Zhou Gong nodded and said, “Very well. You have come to ask about someone away from home? I’ll cast a reading for you.”

He shook the divination tube several times, laid out the trigrams, and worked out the reading using the cyclical signs such as Zi, Wu, Mao, and You. Then he sighed and said to the Stone widow, “If I didn’t tell you plainly, wouldn’t I leave you hoping in vain? Your son will meet his death at the third watch tonight.”

The Stone widow was shocked. “Your Lordship, I asked when he would return. Why do you say he is about to die?” Zhou Gong replied, “My reading combines the Yin-Yang of the Former Heaven with the Eight Trigrams of the Later Heaven. Even the smallest details are revealed—how much more the life of your son? He has indeed set out, but I fear you and your son will never meet again.” The Stone widow began to wail and pressed him to say where her son would die and what would cause his death. Zhou Gong said, “My reading shows that at the third watch tonight, he will be crushed to death in a ruined kiln.”

Hearing him describe it as if he had seen it with his own eyes, the Stone widow felt even more grief-stricken. She kowtowed repeatedly, begging Zhou Gong to save her son. Zhou Gong could only ask her to give her son’s birth date and hour, so he could examine the course of his fate. She said her son had been born on the eighteenth day of the twelfth month, during the Ox hour, and was fourteen years old. Zhou Gong put away the divination tube and worked out Shi Zongfu’s birth chart. After looking it over, he said only, “How tragic! The baleful spirits loom over him, and the White Tiger guards his fate. Even an immortal would find it hard to get him through this ordeal. There is not a single saving star in his chart. Mother Stone, you should put your thoughts to rest and stop longing for him.”

As the saying goes: “If the King of the Underworld has decreed death at the third watch, who can keep a person alive until the fifth?”

When the Stone widow heard that her son could not be saved, she could only burst into tears. Grieving bitterly, she left the fortune-telling market and went home.

Whether Shi Zongfu was alive or dead will be told in the chapters that follow.

While the Most High Lord Lao was meditating in Doushuai Palace, the celestial palace of Daoist legend, a Golden Boy came to report that the lad who guarded the box of divination trigrams had disappeared and had not returned. The Lord Lao used his supernatural powers to discover what had happened, then sighed and said, “That wretch would not settle down to cultivate himself and seek the truth. Instead, he acted recklessly and brought trouble upon himself. It is not that I am unwilling to save him out of compassion.” He then reported the matter to the Jade Emperor, ruler of the celestial realm. The Emperor ordered the Peach Garden Immortal Maiden to descend to the human world. She became a beam of spiritual light and was born into the family of Magistrate Ren in the city of Zhaoge, as his daughter.

She was now sixteen, and strikingly beautiful. A poem praised her cherry-red lips and jade-white teeth, calling her a rare beauty of great intelligence among mortals. Her past-life affinity had enabled her to be born into the human world; an immortal maiden does not come to an ordinary household without cause.

When Magistrate Ren and his wife first had a daughter, they dreamed that an immortal maiden descended amid clouds of many colors, holding out a brilliant peach blossom to the wife. She took the flower and smelled it, then awoke. Within three days, their daughter was born, so they named her Taohua, “Peach Blossom.” The elderly couple had no other child and treasured her as the apple of their eye, indulging her in every way.

One day, Magistrate Ren and his wife heard a commotion and crying from the neighbors while they were sitting in the main hall. Magistrate Ren went outside and recognized Stone Widow, who lived next door. Tears covered her face, and she was weeping bitterly as people gathered around to comfort her. He invited her into his home to hear what had happened and see whether he could help console her.

Madam Ren helped Stone Widow sit down and asked whether she had quarreled with someone or suffered some injustice. Stone Widow sobbed that her son would die at the third watch that night, and that she would have no one to rely on from then on. The Rens thought she had received news of her son’s death and hurriedly asked what she meant. Stone Widow explained that when her son left home, he had said he would return within three months. More than half a year had passed, and there was still no word from him. That morning she had gone to Lord Zhou of the Zhou state to have his fortune told. The reading had been ominous, and Lord Zhou had declared that her son would be crushed to death by a ruined kiln at the third watch that night.

Magistrate Ren laughed and tried to reassure her. “A diviner is no immortal. How can he claim to know this with such certainty?” Stone Widow said that Lord Zhou’s divinations were always accurate. He had also told her that unless she pleaded for mercy before the King of the Underworld, her son was unlikely to survive. Magistrate Ren reasoned that since Lord Zhou had predicted the son would die in a ruined kiln, perhaps he could at least identify which kiln it was, so someone could hurry there and prevent it. Madam Ren replied that divination was based on interpreting the lines of a trigram and might not reveal a precise location; even if they asked, they might not be able to save him. Stone Widow grew still more distraught. Thinking of her poverty and the fact that her son was her only child, the Rens could not help weeping for her too.

When Miss Taohua was five, she was playing with a maid outside the gate when she met a Daoist who was collecting alms. He gave her three volumes of a heavenly book and a pill. After she swallowed the pill, she could read. From then on, each night she heard the Daoist explain the book in her dreams. She studied for several months before he stopped appearing in them. She also learned immortal arts, and in less than a year had mastered all three volumes. Until she was sixteen, she told her parents nothing of this and rarely met anyone from outside the household.

Because his daughter loved peach blossoms, Magistrate Ren planted several hundred peach trees in the rear garden. Miss Taohua often tended them and did needlework there. After breakfast that day, she heard a woman in the main hall weeping without pause and went to see what was wrong. Finding her parents weeping alongside Stone Widow, she stepped forward, bowed, and asked why they were so sad.

Madam Ren told her that Stone Widow’s son had left to trade and had been gone for half a year. Lord Zhou had divined that he would die at the third watch that night, and that there was no way to save him. Miss Taohua sighed and said to Stone Widow, “Auntie, you need not grieve so bitterly. If your son is fated to die, crying will not bring him back to life. And Lord Zhou may not be so accurate. Tell me your son’s birth date and hour, and I can make a calculation too. Then we can see whether he can be saved.”

Her parents thought she was too young to know how to divine. Miss Taohua said she had just learned and urged Stone Widow to tell her. Stone Widow had no choice but to give her son’s birth details. Miss Taohua counted on her fingers for a moment, then said, “Lord Zhou’s reading is indeed right. No wonder everyone in Zhaoge respects him. At the third watch tonight, your son will indeed be crushed to death by a ruined kiln. The White Tiger looms over him, and the Gate of Mourning guards his fate; neither the year nor the month is auspicious, so it seems he cannot escape death. By the directions, the ruined kiln is about fifteen li south of the city. Tomorrow, they will find his body there.”

Stone Widow began to weep again. Magistrate Ren tried to comfort her, saying that now they knew the location, he could send people to rescue her son, though his daughter’s words might not be reliable. Miss Taohua said, “How can human strength change the mandate of Heaven? If my parents and Auntie do not believe me, so be it. It is now the hour of the Horse. By the beginning of the hour of the Monkey, around three in the afternoon, there will be a heavy rain. If there is no wind or rain, then I was talking nonsense. But if the storm comes, Auntie can come back and ask me, and I will teach you a way that may save your son.”

When she had finished, she returned to the peach garden. Magistrate Ren thought the sky was clear and that rain was impossible. He advised Stone Widow to go home for now and said he would send people to inquire the next day. Stone Widow had no choice but to leave, her heart heavy with worry.

By the hour of the Monkey, the weather changed suddenly, and in the blink of an eye a violent wind and rainstorm swept in. Seeing that it had indeed begun to rain, Stone Widow believed Miss Taohua’s calculation had been accurate. Remembering that she had said there was a way to save her son, she hurried through the rain to the Ren household to ask for help.

At that moment, Magistrate Ren and his wife were discussing their daughter’s accurate divination. They were amazed by her abilities and puzzled about where she had learned them. When they saw Stone Widow arriving in the rain, they knew she had come to seek help for her son. How Miss Taohua would try to save him will be told in what follows.

Old Madam Shi came into the main hall. Lord Ren and his wife rose to greet her. She straightened her clothes and immediately knelt, pleading, “Master, Madam—you must save my son! I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life!”

Lord Ren and his wife hurried to help her up. “Dear sister, look at the heavy rain outside. What our daughter said earlier was only something she happened to guess. Please, get up first.”

Even after she stood, Old Madam Shi continued to plead. “Master, Madam, if Miss was only speaking offhand, how could her words have come true so exactly? Please ask her to come out at once. If we delay any longer, I fear it will be too late to save my son.” As she spoke, tears streamed down her face again.

Lord Ren had no choice but to send a maid to fetch Miss Taohua. The moment Old Madam Shi saw her, she knelt and begged, “Miss, have mercy and save my son’s life!” Madam Ren stepped forward and helped her up. “Child, if you truly have a way to save him, please do.”

Miss Taohua invited her parents and Old Madam Shi to sit down. “There is indeed a way to save him, but you must never tell anyone my name or say that I saved your son. If Duke Zhou finds out, he will never let the matter rest, and he will come after me. Then our two families will become enemies. Wouldn’t you be repaying my kindness by bringing harm upon me?”

Old Madam Shi replied, “Miss, don’t worry. I will never reveal your name or forget your kindness.”

“Then listen carefully and do as I say,” Miss Taohua said. “According to the Bagua, your son is certain to die. But I know a celestial method that can bring him back from the dead and break the death verdict shown by the Bagua. Unless you follow these instructions, there is absolutely no way to save him.”

Old Madam Shi asked eagerly, “What must I do, Miss? Please tell me at once so I can go home and follow your instructions.”

“Go and buy paper effigies of the Star Lords of the Soil and of Fire Virtue—the kind used in offerings to the gods. Set them up in your house as an offering, and light two candles. Beneath the table, place a bowl of clean water and an egg. Turn a sieve upside down, set a lamp beneath it, and call it the ‘Lamp for Adding Years.’ You must not let the lamp go out. If it does, your son cannot be saved.

“Keep watch on the wind and rain tonight. If the rain stops and the sky clears, take an old shoe and an old garment. Fold the garment, weigh it down with a mirror, and put it into the bowl of water. Then hold another old shoe in your hand and sit inside the house. After that, you must go out to the main gate and strike the threshold with the shoe. Each time you strike it, call your son’s name and tell him to return. Each strike and call counts as one round; repeat it once for every watch drum. When you have called him at the third watch, go to bed without worry. Tomorrow morning, I guarantee your son will come home, and mother and son will be reunited.”

Just so:

The lovely lady’s wondrous method was known to none;

Fortunately, she had received a secret teaching from before Heaven.

Old Madam Shi memorized every instruction, hurriedly took her leave of Lord Ren and his wife, and went home. The storm had not yet let up. After hearing their daughter describe so many steps, Lord Ren and his wife still found it hard to believe. They asked her, “Child, aren’t life and death already determined by Heaven? Shi Zongfu will die tonight at the third watch in a ruined kiln south of the city, yet you have told his mother to weep for half the night and said he will return tomorrow morning so they can be reunited. We hardly dare believe it.”

Miss Taohua did not dare explain the reason in advance, fearing she might reveal Heaven’s secrets. “It is not convenient to explain just now. I will tell you later,” she said. Her parents accepted this and asked no more. Miss Taohua took her leave and returned to the peach garden to rest.

Now, as for Shi Zongfu: when he left home the previous September, he had said he would return after three months. But while away, he met a fellow cloth merchant, and the two went to Mengjin to trade cloth, delaying his return. He had taken little capital with him, but fortunately the business earned him three times his investment. By the end of February, thinking of how eagerly his mother was waiting for him, he took leave of his companion, packed his belongings, and set out along the road to Chaoge that very night.

On the road, he ate when he was hungry and drank when he was thirsty, traveling by starlight and moonlight, eager to get home and see his mother as soon as possible. After several days, it was the fifteenth day of the third month. When he left his inn and estimated the distance, he found he was still a hundred and fifty or sixty li from Chaoge, but thought he could reach the city that day. He kept his head down and hurried along, paying no attention to the scenery around him.

Just as the hour of Shen began, between three and five in the afternoon, dark clouds suddenly gathered. Shi Zongfu thought, “It’s going to rain, and I’m still dozens of li from the city. How will I ever make it?” The more anxious he became, the slower he seemed to go. He ran for several li and was already soaked with sweat. A fierce wind blew into his face, and in an instant the rain came pouring down. He could find no village inn or house in either direction. Though he had brought rain gear, the wind and downpour made it impossible to keep himself dry, so he had no choice but to press on through the rain, searching all around for shelter.

Ahead stood a ruined kiln. It was in terrible condition, but would at least offer temporary shelter from the rain. He set down his baggage, took off his wet clothes and wrung them out, then put them back on, since there was nowhere to hang them up to dry. Once seated, he sighed repeatedly. “How infuriating! The more I hurry, the less I get anywhere. Heaven had to send rain at just this moment.” The sky was darkening, and the rain showed no sign of stopping. He knew he could not reach the city that day, so he would have to spend the night in the ruined kiln and set off again at dawn. He tried to comfort himself: “Must I really reach the city today? I’ve waited all these days. Surely I can bear to wait one more night.” After thinking this over, he felt a little calmer. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and rested.

Meanwhile, Old Madam Shi, half believing and half doubting, followed Miss Taohua’s instructions. She went out in the rain to buy two paper effigies of the Star Lords, then returned home and brought out a raw egg. As dusk fell, the rain gradually weakened. Remembering that Miss Taohua’s words had already come true, she began to feel a little hope. Before long, the sky indeed cleared. Startled and afraid, she said, “Miss Taohua really is a wonder. No one should underestimate her. It must be time for me to mourn my son now.”

She covered her face and began to weep, growing more and more heartbroken. She continued until the first watch, between seven and nine in the evening, then stopped. After that, she took Shi Zongfu’s shoe out to the main gate and struck the threshold with it, calling as she struck: “Shi Zongfu, my child! Come home quickly! Your mother misses you terribly! Your parents are still alive, so a son should not wander far away and leave his mother waiting at the door. You must remember that!”

At this point, the storyteller composed a song to sing to the audience:

At the first watch, the moon hangs low, and a widow weeps inside her home. She cries, “My child, Shi Zongfu, where are you? You said you were going on business, then cruelly left your mother behind. I counted the days on my fingers, waiting for you to return. Who knew you would leave at the end of the twelfth month and still be gone on the third day of the third month? Your mother is frantic with worry!”

At the second watch, the moon climbs higher, and the widow wails aloud inside her home. She cries, “My child, Shi Zongfu, why can’t your life be spared? Any other way of dying might be bearable, but why must you die in a ruined kiln in the wilderness? What sin did you commit to be doomed to die far from home? Ever since Duke Zhou told your fortune, my heart has felt as if it had been cut a thousand times. If anything happens to you and you leave your mother alone, how will I endure the days ahead?”

At the third watch, the moon stands overhead, and the widow grieves bitterly inside her home. She cries, “My child, Shi Zongfu, I don’t know what ill star has brought this disaster upon you. I have now followed Miss Ren’s instructions, but I don’t know whether they will work! If you truly come back alive, your mother will light silver candles and give thanks to the gods!”

Following Miss Taohua’s instructions, Old Madam Shi wept and called out until the fourth watch, between one and three in the morning. Then she returned to the inner hall and prepared to sleep. For now, let us set the story aside.

Meanwhile, Shi Zongfu remained alone in the ruined kiln. By the first watch, the rain had gradually stopped. The kiln was utterly desolate. He had been traveling since the fifth watch and had kept going until the hour of Shen; exhausted, he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and soon began to snore, sinking into a deep sleep.

In the night, the wall of the ruined kiln was on the verge of collapsing. What would become of Shi Zongfu’s life? Let us find out in the next installment.

Shi Zongfu waited in the ruined kiln until late at night. He was leaning against the wall and just about to fall asleep when he suddenly heard someone outside calling, “Shi Zongfu, my child, come back at once!” Startled, he opened his eyes and saw that he was still alone in the ruined kiln. He listened more closely, but the voice had vanished. He suspected that he missed his mother so much that he had imagined hearing her.

When the rain stopped, he went outside the kiln. Stars filled the sky, and a slender new moon hung above; the plants and trees on the ground were soaked with rain. He wanted to continue on his way, but knew there was nowhere ahead where he could spend the night, so he returned to the kiln and sat down. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed: his home was so far away—how could his mother’s voice have reached him? As he pondered this, he drifted off again.

In his sleep, he once more heard someone calling his name. He turned over, sat up, and cried, “Mother!” Tears fell before he knew it. He thought he must have heard her voice in a dream because he longed for her so deeply. Then he remembered that he was stranded alone in this desolate place, and his mother had no idea where he was. Troubled and unable to sleep peacefully, he decided to sit awake until dawn, then go into the city. He also wanted to find out whether he would hear the calls again.

After he had sat for a while, the moonlight gradually faded. At around midnight, he heard his mother clearly calling again: “Shi Zongfu, my child, come back at once!” Unable to hold back his tears, he answered, “Mother, I’m here!” Then he hurried out of the kiln, hoping to find her.

Just as he stepped through the doorway, a tremendous crash sounded behind him, as if heaven and earth had split apart. He turned and saw that the ruined kiln had collapsed. He was so frightened that he sank to the ground. It took him a long while to recover, and then he reflected that the kiln was old and poorly maintained, and the torrential rain had soaked it through; naturally, its walls could no longer hold. By the workings of cause and effect from a former life, he would have been crushed to death in the kiln that night. Fortunately, Peach Blossom Maiden had taught the widow Shi how to avert the calamity, and he had escaped. Peach Blossom Maiden’s magic was indeed wondrous, but Shi Zongfu’s devotion to his mother was also thought to have played an important part in bringing about this outcome.

Once he had steadied himself, Shi Zongfu recited, “Taishang Laojun, Heavenly Worthy Who Saves from Suffering and Disaster!” Thinking that he had nearly died in the kiln, he began to weep again. If he had left a moment later, no one could know when his body would have been found, and his mother would have gone on waiting for him to come home. And if he had died, who would care for her? As he wept, a gust of wind came, and the watch drum on the city tower sounded the fourth watch. Only then did he come to his senses. He realized that Heaven had protected him and he had escaped the disaster; at daybreak he would be able to see his mother. His sorrow turned to joy, and he sat by the roadside to wait.

After the watch gong in Chaoge sounded the fifth watch, he thought that daylight would come after one more watch. His belongings were buried in the collapsed kiln and he could not retrieve them, but he still had twenty taels of silver with him. There was no point in staying there, he decided, so he would wait outside the city gate and go in to see his mother as soon as it opened. He put on his clothes and hurried toward Chaoge. Though he had lost all his belongings, he had at least saved his life.

Shi Zongfu reached the city gate and waited alone. Before long, dawn came and the gate opened. He entered at once and hurried to his home. He had barely knocked once when someone inside answered immediately. The old woman Shi had gone to bed, but she had not been able to sleep.