Chapter 20: Shifting Clouds and Borrowed Strength

These days, Yuan Gonglu, the county constable of Xiuwu, was in high spirits, for a close friend had come to visit him after failing the provincial examination. Both were lovers of poetry, and so their days were spent wandering among woods and springs, composing verses and inscribing calligraphy.

The Tang Dynasty revered poetry, even its civil service examinations included a poetry section. Yuan’s friend was particularly skilled in verse, yet his repeated failures in the examinations had led him to seek solace in nature, journeying across the scenic heartlands.

“You must live a leisurely life, Yuan. Truly enviable.”

“It is but a hundred miles of tranquil land, and these are peaceful times. With little official business, leisure comes naturally. But the busy days are not yet here. The weather has been dry for a long spell—if things continue, it won’t be long before we must find ways to urge the people to fight the drought.” Yuan Gonglu sighed. “The people suffer greatly; my own days of idleness are numbered… Now that you’ve come to Xiuwu, there’s one place you simply must see: Mount Overturned Cauldron, the retreat of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove and the spot where Immortal Sun refined his pills. Surely your visit will inspire new verses!”

“With such a famed spot, I must go…”

Before his friend could finish, a bailiff hurried over, looking somewhat unsettled.

“What is it?” Yuan Gonglu’s tone was curt.

“Master, the village chief from Wu Ze Slope has come to report… to report…”

The bailiff hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

“Speak up—if it’s not important, let the local constable handle it,” Yuan Gonglu said irritably.

In the Tang Dynasty, the local constable wielded considerable authority, often resolving rural disputes and even apprehending thieves or criminals. Entertaining his friend, Yuan Gonglu had little desire for official business and sought to delegate.

“It’s not a complaint, but a peculiar case from Wu Ze Slope. The matron of the Ye family found the gold, silver, and land deeds in her chest suddenly gone. The village chief has come to report and requests you investigate.”

“Vanished without warning? Surely an inside job. Have the constable investigate—why bother me?”

“Yuan, why not inquire into the matter? I’d like to witness your skill in judgment and the authority of a county constable.” His friend quipped, clearly intrigued.

Yuan Gonglu laughed heartily, “Very well, summon the village chief of Wu Ze Slope.”

Soon, Ye Dan was ushered in. His hair was white with age, so Yuan Gonglu spared him the customary kneeling and asked for details. Ye Dan explained everything, and Yuan Gonglu’s interest was piqued. “This Ye Chang—does he truly possess magical abilities?”

His friend’s lips curled in a skeptical smile. Magic? Surely nothing more than trickery.

“I asked—the Eleventh Young Master insists he has no magic. The villagers, however, believe he received divine arts from the Medicine King after encountering an immortal.”

“An encounter with an immortal?” Yuan Gonglu’s curiosity deepened. “Tell me about it.”

Ye Dan recounted how Ye Chang was struck by a ‘broom star.’ The friend could no longer hold back and scoffed, “Simple folk, deceived by wandering charlatans. Ye Chang is merely feigning ignorance to lure the culprit.”

Ye Dan glanced at him in surprise. In their plan, it was supposed to be he who voiced doubts about Ye Chang’s ‘encounter.’ Yet the words had been snatched away. Still, realizing the moment called for some risk, he added, “This gentleman is correct—I too suspect as much. Yet the head monk of Shifang Temple claims the Eleventh Young Master is a star descended to earth, enlightened by an immortal.”

“How does Shifang Temple come into this?” Yuan Gonglu was increasingly amused.

Ye Dan then described how Ye Chang sought springs and channeled water, constructing a rainbow aqueduct with bamboo. Yuan Gonglu suddenly recalled, “Speaking of which, the magistrate mentioned this recently—a commoner in Xiuwu presented a method of irrigating drought-stricken fields with a rainbow aqueduct. Could it be this Ye Chang?”

“It is indeed the Eleventh Young Master.”

“Then he’s done a service for the people. Where is he now? Has he come with you?”

“He waits outside.”

“Bring him in. I’ll hear his account.”

Ye Dan breathed a sigh of relief—his duty was fulfilled. The Liu family had close ties to the clerks and officials; their greatest fear was that things would be settled locally, never reaching the county office.

At the county constable’s level, Ye Chang claimed he had his own solution.

“Such an interesting case. Do you think the youth’s encounter with an immortal is true?” Yuan’s friend asked.

“We shall know the truth soon enough.”

Shortly, Ye Chang was called in. Yuan Gonglu and his friend were eager to see this youth rumored to have met an immortal. Their first impression was striking.

Ye Chang stood about six feet tall, slender of build, his features clear and bright. Though his complexion was somewhat tawny, it was a healthy shade. His gait was neither hurried nor sluggish—not nervous as one about to face an official, nor careless. What caught the officials’ attention most was the object he swung as he walked.

Because his pace was measured, they could see it clearly.

Ye Chang, unwilling by nature to kneel before others, approached without haste. Instead, with a crisp sound, he folded the object in his hand, then crossed his hands, thumbs upright, signaling a bow before kneeling.

“Wait! Let me see what you’re holding,” Yuan Gonglu interrupted before the salute was complete.

Ye Chang relaxed—just as Ye Dan had described, Yuan Gonglu was quick-tempered and fond of elegance. His plan could proceed.

He unfolded the object with a flourish and presented it. A bailiff brought it to Yuan and his friend.

“A waist fan, fashioned ingeniously,” the friend laughed.

“Indeed—Emperor Cao Cao was fond of such fans, according to history. But painting bamboo and inscribing verses is rare…” Yuan Gonglu nodded.

Ye Chang nearly lost his composure.

Upon learning Yuan Gonglu appreciated the refined, Ye Chang had commissioned a craftsman to hastily make this folding fan, painted ink bamboo himself, and inscribed, “Better to have no meat than to have no bamboo; without meat one grows thin, without bamboo one grows vulgar.” He remembered that folding fans were imported from Japan only after the Song Dynasty, popularized among scholars by Emperor Zhu Di of the Ming. Yet here, two Tang literati not only recognized the fan, but claimed that even Cao Cao used them, asserting their native origin.

He was amused—whenever China claimed something was “from ancient times,” neighboring nations grew anxious. Yet he too felt a pang when thinking of “from ancient times.”

Fortunately, his bamboo painting and calligraphy at least caught their interest.

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than the friend commented, “Novel, yes, but both the bamboo and the script are distinctly craftsman-like, not the work of a master.”

Ye Chang nearly knelt again.

He had practiced painting and calligraphy as a hobby—though he had copied the styles of Yan, Liu, Su, Huang, Mi, Cai, and even the famously muddled Zheng Banqiao, his imitations were only superficially similar. The ink bamboo was modeled after Su Shi’s cousin Wen Tong, yet lacked the ‘bamboo already in the chest’ that Wen Tong was famed for.

Just two Tang scholars, and they’ve seen through my lack of skill. Best to hide my abilities when it comes to copying poems—except for the one on this fan.

“As for the poem…”

Ye Chang was pondering the verse on the fan when the friend spoke again.

He was about to comment, but upon glancing at Ye Chang, saw a look of deep grievance.

How could Ye Chang not feel aggrieved? His carefully planned scheme, which had begun so seamlessly, was now in peril thanks to the friend’s sharp eye.

“Well, the poem’s lines are plain, but its sentiment is charming—worth savoring. However, I see you left space. Could there be two lines yet unwritten?”

Ye Chang rejoiced.

The friend’s question felt like discovering a shortcut when one thought they must retrace their steps for miles.

“This poem was not composed by me, but glimpsed in a dream…” Ye Chang replied.

“‘I’” was the self-reference used in the Tang. Even a chancellor before the emperor had a seat; commoners did not open with ‘humble’ or ‘lowly.’ His mention of a poem found in a dream immediately heightened the officials’ interest. “Was it a dream of an immortal?”

“Not quite. A midday nap—I dreamed of someone reciting it. This gentleman’s keen eye spotted the missing couplet.”

“What was the final couplet?” the friend asked.

Ye Chang’s face fell. “I heard it in the dream, but remembered only the first two. When I tried to recall the last, there was a loud knock—my grandaunt barged in and woke me, and I forgot it.”

Ye Dan interjected, “His grandaunt is the one who lost her valuables.”

Yuan Gonglu and his friend exchanged glances. Yuan asked, “I hear you constructed a rainbow aqueduct at Wu Ze Slope, channeling mountain water down to the fields. Is this spectacle still visible?”

He cared little for the case itself, but if he could combine sightseeing with official duties, displaying his governance skills to his friend, why not? Moreover, Ye Chang’s story intrigued them—if he truly encountered an immortal, then Wu Ze Slope was a place of wonders, not to be missed.

“It is visible. Several hundred acres of terraced fields and over twenty households rely on it,” Ye Chang answered.

Since it was still early, Yuan Gonglu and his friend decided to set out together. They rode horses, Ye Dan rode a donkey, while Ye Chang walked, accompanied by five or six bailiffs.

The distance from the county seat to Wu Ze Slope was not far, but in an era of poor roads, it took nearly two hours—about four. They paused occasionally for rest and water. Along the way, Yuan Gonglu and his friend often questioned Ye Chang. Unlike most peasants, Ye Chang was not timid before officials; though he claimed not to have studied formally, his conversation and insight fascinated the literati. By the time Wu Ze Slope came into view, their initial curiosity was tinged with genuine appreciation.

When asked about his ‘encounter,’ Ye Chang steadfastly denied meeting any immortals. He said he was struck by a broom star, slept and dreamed, and in the dream was told by a Daoist to guard the furnace as a boy. When he awoke, he was home. The rainbow aqueduct he’d seen in the Daoist’s alchemy chamber. The more he denied, the more room he left for speculation—the friend, once skeptical, now believed Ye Chang had truly met an immortal.

“Yuan Seven, who would have thought your jurisdiction would yield such marvels. Take good care of this youth,” the friend said, his admiration clear.

Yuan Gonglu nodded. “No need for you to ask—his rainbow aqueduct, if genuine, is a blessing to the people and a great merit. I will look after him.”

‘Look after’ and ‘care for’ were not the same, but the friend did not notice the distinction.

Their interest lay in the aqueduct, not the case, so they bypassed the village and headed for the structure itself. At the terraced fields, they took little notice, but following the slender stream upward, they were astonished to see the waterway—bamboo and wooden boards arched across ridges, rocks, and treetops.

Who had ever thought to run water above ground?

At the bamboo siphon, their amazement grew. They questioned the principle in detail.

“Immortal’s art—ingenious indeed, makes water flow uphill. Seven, with this under your governance, promotion is surely near,” the friend exclaimed.

“It is the magistrate’s achievement,” Yuan Gonglu regretted. Had he known sooner, he would have claimed the credit, reported it as an auspicious sign, and surely drawn the emperor’s favor, his own advancement within reach.

Though Emperor Li Third had begun to neglect his duties in wine and pleasure, he had once been a strong ruler, still somewhat concerned for the people. This rainbow aqueduct, tied to the welfare of the masses, could serve as an auspicious sign—perfect for currying favor.

But the credit had already gone to the magistrate.

Yuan Gonglu’s interest in Ye Chang waned; he was about to order their return when suddenly, from behind, a cloud of dust and a crowd appeared, destroying the aqueduct wherever they passed!

The sight enraged Yuan Gonglu. Had he not been present, the magistrate would have borne the brunt. But with him here, the destruction of the magistrate’s reported aqueduct threatened to implicate him.

“Over here, over here!” voices shouted from the crowd.