It is said:

　　Fine clouds weave their cunning, shooting-stars deliver fate; the Silver River stretches far and stealthily crosses.

　　When golden wind and jade dew meet but once, that meeting outshines all mortal multitudes.

　　Two years after the war with Goguryeo, Princess Li Lingyue (Li Lingyue — the imperial princess) had passed her fifth year. Empress Wu (Wu Hou — the Empress) judged it well that the child be taught the rudiments of learning, and so she summoned Xu Jingzong (Xu Jingzong — courtesy name Yanzu; scholar and tutor) from Li Hong’s household to instruct the little princess.

　　Xu Jingzong was of the eminent Xu clan of Gaoyang; his lineage traced back to the famed Xu Xun of the Eastern Jin. Born in the Xin City of Hangzhou (modern Fuyang, Hangzhou), he was the son of the late Xu Shanxin, former Vice-Minister of Rites. In youth he earned the xiucai degree and served as a scribe; under Taizong he became a writer for the imperial library and supervisor of national history, later promoted to Zhongshu Sheren. In Longshuo’s second year (662) he was made Right Minister and granted the honorary title Guanglu Daifu; the next year he was appointed Junior Preceptor to the Crown Prince and honored with the rank of the third grade, achieving the pinnacle of ministerial rank.

　　But let small talk pass. Several months later, in deep autumn, the sunlight braided itself in filaments across the surface of the Taiye Pool; the bed below shimmered like countless flakes of gold, a sight of singular enchantment.

　　A breeze skimmed the pool’s edge and loosened the blood-red leaves that had ripened there; they drifted like dancing butterflies and carpeted the ground. Xu Jingzong, inspired, painted a little studies of birds and blossoms:

　　A single bough divides the world above and below; red leaves cling above and fall below.

　　Two bulbuls perch and gaze — an echoed pair upon the bough.

　　When his sketch was finished he bade Princess Li Lingyue try her hand at copying it. Qing’er (Qing’er — palace maidservant), passed the paper and brush; just as the princess was about to lay down a stroke, her mischievous wit prompted a question: “Lord Xu, is your painting skill better, or that of Minister Yan (Yan — a court official)?” Xu Jingzong answered, “Minister Yan’s hand is the stronger, Your Highness. First learn the fundamentals with this old man, and later you shall study further with Minister Yan.”

　　At that Li Lingyue took up her brush. A stray red leaf brushed her cheek and drifted upon her shoulder. From afar Prince Li Zhe (Li Zhe — also styled Yingwang in the narrative) came walking; as Xu Jingzong and Qing’er were about to salute, Li Zhe put his forefinger to his lips and softly signaled “hush,” bidding them keep silence.

　　Li Zhe moved quietly behind the child and gently blindfolded her eyes, asking in a low voice, “Moon-child, do you know who I am?” Believing the voice to be the Emperor’s, the princess cried with delight, “Father! I think of you every day; at last you have come to see me — how joyful am I.” Li Zhe teased her, “So your heart holds only Father, and has no room for your elder brother?” Realizing her mistake, Li Lingyue quickly amended: “I long for Father, and I long for Brother Zhe too. Brother Zhe has not shown his face for many days — let go your hands so I may look upon you properly.” No sooner had Li Zhe released her than she sprang up and threw her arms about him: “You have neglected me so long in palace; I grow bored.” Li Zhe replied, “Knowing you grow dull there, I have come to carry you out and show you the world.” The pair ran toward the palace gate; Qing’er called after them, “Princess, go and return soon; do not make trouble for Master Xu and for your servant.” Li Lingyue turned, smiled, and promised, “I shall go and come back quickly; I will not bring trouble to Sister Qing’er or Master Xu.”

　　Prince Li Zhe led Li Lingyue through Chang’an’s streets. The princess found everything wondrous; wherever they passed she peppered the prince with questions: “Brother Zhe, what is that thing? May I have it?” Li Zhe explained each thing and, when it pleased her, bought it for her. Seeing this, the merchants—heedless of the Golden Guards—pressed forward to display their wares and to extol their goods.

　　At length the party reached the mansion of Prince Li Xian (Li Xian — styled Peiwang in the text). Li Xian, seeing the two princes laden with purchases, laughed in astonishment: “Have you two bought up the whole of Chang’an?” The princess laughed and said, “Chang’an is large; we have not bought it all. These things are gifts from Brother Zhe and the princess to Brother Xian.” Li Xian smiled and said, “Children are sly; very well. Brother, order something good to be prepared for the little one—what flavor does she desire?” Li Lingyue clapped her hands: “Any flavor is fine; I only want to be with Brother Zhe and with you, Brother Xian.” Li Xian joked, “Such a sweet tongue.” He bade his servants prepare a banquet.

　　After they had eaten, Li Lingyue stretched and asked, “Brother Zhe said you have other entertaining things; what are they?” Li Xian prudently replied, “You are a princess—what play would suit you? If my lord the Emperor or the Empress knew, they might be displeased. Come instead to Wang Sanlang (Wang Sanlang — a poetic teacher) and learn some verse.” The child pouted and rebuked him: “I do not want to learn now; I have learned some already. Brother Xian must show me those interesting things.” Seeing Li Xian at a loss, she turned to Li Zhe: “Brother Zhe promised to bring me here—don’t fool me!”

　　The two princes were helpless before her charms, and indulged the child by taking her to play polo.

　　Li Xian stooped to take her hand: “Would you ride one horse with Brother Xian?” Li Lingyue, petulant, let go and instead linked Li Zhe’s arm: “Brother Xian would not let me play, so I will go with Brother Zhe.” She pulled Li Zhe away to prepare. Li Xian laughed inwardly: “Such small spite at so young an age.”

　　The children raced for a few rounds and Li Lingyue soon grew sleepy in Li Zhe’s arms; seeing this, he signaled an end to the match.

　　Dismounted, Li Lingyue rubbed her eyes and complained, “It is all so dull. Brother Xian, have you truly no other amusements?” At this the prince conceived a scheme: “Not long past, Brother Zhe and I each acquired a fighting cock. Shall we hold a cockfight for the princess to watch?” “A cockfight?” Li Lingyue leapt awake with excitement. “What is that?” “You shall see,” he answered. Both princes had their attendants fetch the birds.

　　Li Xian called for the poet Wang Bo (Wang Bo — a young man of letters) and bade him compose a piece to stir the occasion. Wang Bo composed his “Proclamation to Yingwang’s Fighting Cocks,” a rousing piece that praised the cock’s spirit and valor in soaring, martial metaphors and exalted the spectacle as a noble contest. The two princes read it and were enraptured by its vigor, likening Wang Bo’s talent to the ancient Cao Zijing.

　　The cocks were then set between them. Each bird threw up its eyes, fluffed its wings and sprang, neck feathers bristling, feet beating the ground, and they charged. Beak met beak, blood flew and feathers scattered until, breathless, both birds lay spent and the bout ended.

　　Princess Li Lingyue found the sport both fascinating and alarming; she clung to her brothers in fright while the princes applauded and called for encore.

　　The next day Wang Bo’s essay spread throughout Chang’an. The literati praised its breadth and clarity and its stirring vigor; the city’s pens sang of it. But when the piece reached Emperor Gaozong (Gaozong — the Emperor), his face darkened. He thundered, “A rogue’s talent! These two princes play with cocks, and Wang Bo—an imperial clerk—rather than remonstrate, composes a proclamation that magnifies the jest. He should be dismissed from the Prince’s household at once.” Thus Wang Bo was stripped of his post.

　　At the same time Gaozong summoned Princes Li Xian and Li Zhe. Unaware of the Emperor’s anger, the pair came. Gaozong chided them severely, recounting the cockfight and asking, “Have you nothing better to do in the capital than feed birds and play?” The brothers, fearing reproach might fall upon Princess Li Lingyue, gave only lame excuses: “Boredom led us so.” Empress Wu, present, scolded them: “Folly indeed. As princes you should learn affairs of state rather than amusements. Little Lingyue is young and ignorant; as her elders you should set the example, not lead her astray. What will the ministers and people think?” Li Xian and Li Zhe were struck dumb. The Empress decreed punishment: each prince forfeited a month’s salary, must copy twenty essays, and thereafter was forbidden to take the princess out of the palace without leave.

　　A few days later Wang Bo, disgraced, left Chang’an with his wife Lu Yuan for a journey to the Shu region.

　　As for the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox (Nine-Tailed Fox — a souled fox demon), having been grievously wounded at Mount Tai, it fled to Xue Yi’s (Xue Yi — a general/official allied to the fox) residence to recuperate for several years. During that time Xue Yi spoke with it of the secrets of the Tui Bei Tu (the prophetic charts).

　　When at last its wounds had partially healed, the fox divided itself and sent an avatar into Chang’an to seek the Tui Bei Tu’s whereabouts. At that moment the Duke of Zhou (Helan Minzhi — Helan Minzhi; son of Helan Anshi; nephew of the Empress), seeing the avatar’s beauty, ordered his retainers to seize her and bring her to his household. The fox, foreseeing this, bound the party in place with an immobilizing art and then departed. Only after the fox had gone did the ensorcelled men recover, bewildered and with a brief lapse of memory as to why they had gathered; Helan Minzhi, puzzled but without further thought, led his retainers away.

　　Helan Minzhi (Helan Minzhi — styled Changzhu; of the Xianbei Helan clan, nephew to Empress Wu) was handsome and licentious, given to wanton excesses. Since Dry-Seal’s first year (666) he had illicit intimacy with Lady Yang of the Rongguo household; the Empress knew and disliked it yet lacked means to curb him.

　　One day the family of Lord Helan (Helan Wushun — guest) presented themselves at court with their children. Gaozong noticing a beautiful young woman among them favored her and conferred upon her the title Lady Wei and lodged her in the palace. The Empress, hearing this, vowed revenge and contrived to poison her before long.

　　When Helan learned of his sister’s death he came to court to mourn. Gaozong, struck with grief at the news, declared he had seen the woman alive in the morning and now lamented her sudden passing; Helan, fearing the Empress’s hand and suspecting nothing in open speech, wept as ordered though deep suspicion burned within him.

　　Skip this matter onward. In Xianheng’s second year (671), Gaozong fell fatally ill, and state affairs were temporarily entrusted to Empress Wu and Crown Prince Li Hong. When Lady Yang of Rongguo died, Empress Wu ordered Princess Li Lingyue to go to the Rongguo mansion with Qing’er to pay vows. There Helan Minzhi, seizing upon Qing’er’s fair and ethereal beauty, began to molest the maid publicly. Li Lingyue warned her kinsman: “Cousin, if you do not control yourself I will tell Father and Mother.” Helan laughed it off: “This is an adult matter the child cannot grasp—I was merely playing.”

　　At dusk, seeing his chance, Helan bade his retainers seize Qing’er and drag her to his chamber. There he drugged and raped her. Qing’er awoke in pain, but the drugs and the suddenness overpowered her; she was assaulted and left broken in body and spirit. In secret Qing’er wept at having been violated.

　　As Helan Minzhi prepared to leave, a figure burst through the door — Princess Li Lingyue. Qing’er cried aloud, “Princess! Oh—” Helan, startled, feigned bewilderment: “Princess, how came you here?” Li Lingyue drew a blade and struck; Helan sidestepped, seized the knife from her, and in that instant a murderous aura descended upon him, empowering him to attack the child. A malignant spirit had attached itself to Helan — the Nine-Tailed Fox, learning that Li Lingyue had come alone, had taken possession of Helan to accomplish its thousand-year grudge: by the hand of Helan it meant the princess slain.

　　At that critical moment a young Daoist boy of the household, armed with divine talismans, stepped in and by a charm halted the fox’s influence, striking down Helan’s attack and driving the demon away. The boy then snatched Li Lingyue and fled the estate.

　　When stripped of its host, the fox’s malign air dissipated. The little Daoist, seeing the lingering evil, followed the scent of the demon and came to the rescue.

　　Afterward, broken by shame and despair, Qing’er could not bear her dishonor and took her own life in the Rongguo mansion.

　　The Daoist guided Princess Li Lingyue back to the palace gates at Daming Palace, to the Watch-for-Immortals Gate (Wangxian Men). There, without a word, the Daoist turned and vanished into the night. As Li Lingyue passed toward the imperial compound she often looked back, fixing the Daoist’s robed silhouette and the face within her memory like a talisman — a single image she would not forget. Truly it is as the poets say:

　　At first acquaintance no bond seemed born, yet ere long the heart will know;

　　Thoughts deepen and the mind’s desire grows—such yearning nests within the bone.