It is said:

　　When first we met, it was as if old acquaintances returned;

　　A bright moon at the world’s end is ever new, and dawn and dusk are filled with longing.

　　After Pei Judao’s (裴居道 — Pei Judao, General of the Left Golden Guard) command, many hands were set to mend the Secretariat (秘書省 — the Imperial Secretariat). To guard against a lack of palace labor, errands were sent to the inner courts to fetch those fit for ordinary tasks. Princess Li Lingyue (李令月 — Li Lingyue, the Princess), having left the Eastern Palace, wandered the palace compound until evening, when fatigue drew her thoughts homeward. As she passed the rear service-yards she saw a little palace maid carrying water to wet the flowers. A nearer look showed the girl to be nearly the princess’s own age, garbed in a half-sleeved gown; her skin was tender and white as frost, two dimples at the mouth, clear eyes touched with sorrow. Though fettered at wrist and ankle, a bright and pure spirit still shone about her. Curiosity stirred in Li Lingyue: “How could such a maid be here and I know nothing of her?” She stepped forward, scrutinized her from head to foot, and asked, “Little handmaid, what crime have you committed that your hands and feet are bound in shackles? I have never before seen such a thing on a palace maid.”

　　The girl continued watering the flowers and paid Li Lingyue no mind. “Why do you not answer?” the princess pressed. Only then did the girl set down her wooden dipper and reply: “I have a name; I am not merely ‘a little maid.’” Li Lingyue laughed lightly, “What temper! I only forgot to ask your name — no need for such ceremony.” The girl said, “It is not temper but protocol. Your Highness, the auspicious princess of the Great Tang, deserves all due observance.”

　　Yielding, Li Lingyue changed tone: “I am of the Li clan; my name is Lingyue. My parents call me ‘Yue’er.’ What is your name?” The girl bowed with humble courtesy and answered, “Your Highness, my clan-name is Shangguan (上官), my petty name Wan’er (婉兒); my mother calls me Wan’er.” Li Lingyue asked, “Then why are your hands and feet in irons?” Shangguan Wan’er (上官婉兒 — Shangguan Wan’er), replied, “They say my grandfather offended the law, so my mother and I came into the inner courts as maids; these fetters are the usual mark of our lot. Beyond that I know nothing.”

　　Li Lingyue touched her brow and murmured, “So that is it.” Then, “Why have I not seen you before?” Wan’er answered, “We servants dwell near the inner-yards and are seldom presented. Today, because General Pei Judao sent many hands to repair the Secretariat, they set us to odd jobs in the outer service-quarters.”

　　Thus the two fell into easy companionship and spoke together as if long-known; they chatted until time had slipped away, only returning when Nurse Zhang (張夫人 — Madam Zhang) came in search of the princess. On parting, Li Lingyue vowed, “I shall return in a few days and I will have those shackles taken off.”

　　As for the little Daoist who had recently intervened at the Rongguo mansion: when Lady Yang of Rongguo died, the Court Master of Divinations had been summoned to conduct rites, but—wounded as he still was from his clash with the Nine-Tailed Fox five years prior—he sent the young Daoist in his stead.

　　The youth returned to the Temple of the Mysterious Origin (玄元廟) with a face full of contrition. “Master,” he said, “I have carried out the task you gave me. I used the Heavenly-Thunder Talisman you entrusted to me as well.” The Master (the Court Master / 國師) tapped his finger and, after a calculation, smiled faintly: “That talisman was meant to be expended. Still, whom did you save with it?” The disciple answered, “I do not know for certain—I only heard the household call her ‘the Princess, Your Highness.’” The Master, counting the causal threads, at last sighed and said, “Disciple, you are perhaps not fated for the Way.” Alarmed, the young man begged, “Since you took me in, Master, I have devoted myself to the Dao. Please guide me; do not let me stray.” The Master replied, “Affinities are not forced; let them follow their course. Night deepens—go rest.” The youth proffered his bow and withdrew.

　　Left alone, the Master murmured, “Affection for another is a calamity; the bond between you and the Princess has been set. Whether it ripens or withers depends upon your lot.” The disciple, haunted by the Master’s verdict of being “unfit for the Way,” tossed and turned and could not sleep. He lit an oil lamp and began to copy the Scripture of Constant Purity Spoken by the Venerable Lord (《太上老君說常清靜經》). He inked with steady hand, inhaled, and, with square-regular script, wrote:

　　Lao-Jun (太上老君) says:

　　The Great Way has no form—it brings forth Heaven and Earth;

　　The Great Way has no heart—it moves sun and moon;

　　The Great Way has no name—it nourishes myriad things;

　　I know not its name, so I call it Way.

　　Concerning the Way:

　　There is clear and turbid, there is movement and stillness;

　　Heaven clear, earth turbid; heaven moves, earth rests;

　　Male clear, female turbid; male moves, female rests;

　　Returning from the superficial to the root, myriad things arise.

　　The clear is the source of the turbid; motion is the basis of stillness;

　　If a man keeps himself always clear and still, all under Heaven returns.

　　Copying thus calmed him somewhat, and he continued:

　　The spirit loves clarity but the mind pulls at it; the human heart loves stillness yet desire drags it away.

　　One who can dismiss desire finds the heart still; purify the heart and the spirit is clear.

　　Then the six desires do not rise and the three poisons vanish. Failure is only that the heart is not pure, desire not cast off.

　　To cast it off: look inward at the heart—find no heart; look outward at the form—find no form; look upon things afar—find no things.

　　When these three awaken, only emptiness is seen. Emptiness watches emptiness; emptiness lacks nothing. In that stillness desire cannot be born; desire unborne is true quiet. True constancy answers the world and true constancy attains nature. Thus constant response, constant stillness, and constant purity are the gate to the Way.

　　As he wrote, Li Lingyue’s face rose before his mind: dressed in the high-waisted dress, her gentle mien, the breath of her voice uttering but “young gentleman.” The disciple’s calm faltered; his regular hand slid into semi-cursive, and he penned anew:

　　Lao-Jun says:

　　High adepts do not contend; lower men love contention.

　　The high virtue does not hold to virtue; the low virtue clings to virtue.

　　Attachment misnames virtue; beings fail the genuine Way for their deluded hearts.

　　With delusion, spirit is startled; once startled it clings to things and gives rise to greed, producing vexation and suffering; thus are men cast into muddied ignominy and wander the wheel of birth and death.

　　He who truly awakens attains the Way and dwells in constant clarity.

　　He copied further teachings—passages attributed to immortals and adepts—until the memory of the rescue at Rongguo house steamed up before him and he could not go on in strict form. The image of Li Lingyue invaded his mind and his hand ran into cursive. When finally the exhaustion overcame him, he lay down. As the verse says:

　　At Rongguo house first sight was made; beneath the Nine-Tails’ banner they fled hand in hand.

　　At a time when one seeks the Way, why entangle in the sweetness of earthly love?

　　Enough of this digression. On the next day, a jet-black steed thundered south along the official road, raising clouds of dust; upon its back rode Pei Judao’s messenger, bearing the Empress’s command to overtake Helan Minzhi (賀蘭敏之 — Helan Minzhi, noble scion). Pei chased for several days and at last caught up with Helan’s escort in a small copse among the hills. The escorting soldiers rose and saluted as the messenger approached. “I greet you, sir,” the soldier said. Pei dismissed the ceremony and produced the Empress’s order: “The Empress commands that the criminal be executed by hanging [or self-strangulation].”

　　Helan Minzhi broke out in cold sweat and fainted to think he would meet such an end. The guards loosened his shackles and handed him a bridle-rope with which to slay himself: “Listen, the Empress has given her will—do the deed.” Helan snatched the rein with trembling hands.

　　Fear seized him and he hesitated to hang himself. Pei urged, “What cause for delay? Knowing all beforehand, why this present faltering? End it swiftly so we may return and report.” Helan whispered, “I—” but would not move. The escorting soldiers debated: “Her Majesty has ordered death; he must die. Since he hovers, we might perform the act for her—bind the rein about his throat and strangle him.” Helan, aghast, let the rein fall. Pei shot him a look of rebuke: “You would compound crime by action against superiors!” The soldier answered, “We serve the Empress and know the order of things.” Pei consented, “Do as you will—dispatch him quickly and we will all return to present the report.” The soldiers leapt forward gladly; Helan tried to run and was seized and overborne. The rein was cast about his neck; he was throttled until his breath failed. As verse teaches:

　　Good and evil pay off in the end; Heaven marks all deeds with an even eye.

　　They returned to the capital and Pei reported to the Empress. Days later the little Daoist presented the portrait he had drawn of his rescuer to Li Lingyue; at dawn he raced to the Eastern Palace and thrust the image into Li Hong’s hand: “Brother Hong, this is the face of the youth who saved me—will you command men to find him?” Li Hong smiled: “Moon, how shall I seek him when he has no name, no clan, no place? A picture alone cannot guide men.” Li Lingyue protested, “‘But we have an image!’” Li Hong answered, “An image is only a start. I will note this matter; if chance allows me to meet the Court Master, I will ask him for a divination.” The princess’s hope dimmed; then, brightening, she added, “If that will not do, Brother Hong, could you ask to have the handmaid Shangguan Wan’er (上官婉兒 — Shangguan Wan’er) assigned as my personal maid?” Li Hong replied, “Such matters of the inner palace must be asked of our mother.” Li Lingyue stammered, “I—” and Li Hong, seeing her distress, scooped her up. “Do not be cross with Mother; come. I will take you to petition her.”

　　So Li Hong carried Li Lingyue across a white stone causeway to the Taiye Pool. At the pool’s left stood a six-sided bamboo pavilion with upturned eaves like dragon heads; a grove of evergreen bamboo sighed nearby—a green bower called, simply, the “Bamboo Pavilion.”

　　Within the pavilion the Empress sat with closed eyes, tended by attendants; without, a court performer tapped bamboo lightly and the Empress, hearing the pure sound, hummed a tune.

　　Li Hong set Li Lingyue down and bowed. “Your Highness, I greet you,” he said. The Empress opened her eyes and the princess, startled, slipped shyly behind her brother. The Empress smiled: “So you chose finally to see your mother?” Li Hong brought her forward, but Li Lingyue flung herself into the Empress’s arms and sobbed, “Mother, how I have missed you.” The Empress had come to chide her, yet her heart melted; she only asked, “If you truly missed me, why did you hide from me these past days?” Li Lingyue replied, “Not at all, Mother; I met one like Sister Qing’er and went to play with her.”

　　The Empress asked, “What maid is like Qing’er?” Li Lingyue said, “Her family-name is Shangguan, her pet-name Wan’er; she is now bound in the rear yards.” The Empress’s brow tightened: “Shangguan? Could she be a descendant of Shangguan Yi?” Li Lingyue answered, “Yes, as you say.” The Empress, more serious: “Do you know what crime Shangguan Yi committed?” The child shook her head: “I do not. I think the sins of past ages should not fall upon descendants.” The Empress smiled at the child’s wisdom and asked playfully, “Do you favor this Wan’er?” Li Lingyue blushed and admitted she did. Then she begged, “Now that Sister Qing’er is gone, will you let Wan’er be my personal maid?”

　　The Empress hesitated. Li Hong interposed, “Mother, the child’s word is not without sense. Wan’er has been working long in the rear yards and has repaid much; since she and the princess took to each other, why not let her be the princess’s attendant?” The Empress, long eager to please her daughter, could not refuse and consented.

　　Elated, Li Lingyue hastened to the service-quarters. There she found Shangguan Wan’er and bade General Pei Judao instruct the guards to remove her fetters. Watching Wan’er’s shackles fall one by one, her eyes flooded with tears; she knelt in thanks. “I thank Your Highness,” she whispered. Li Lingyue helped her up: “Wan’er, you are elder to me—henceforth I will call you Sister Wan’er; will you remain by my side?” Wan’er, who had been so talkative in other scenes, was now at a loss for words; after long looking, she replied, “I will stay ever at Your Highness’s side.” Li Lingyue added, “If there be no formal occasion, simply call me ‘Yue’er’—I love that name.” Wan’er vowed, “So will I.” Hand in hand, the two returned to the princess’s chamber.