Chapter Thirteen Of Knowing, Longing, and Sorrow (I)

　　It is said:

　　My heart is like a double-woven net, within which a thousand knots lie bound;

　　The night grows long—at the east window the pale remnant moon clings yet to the dark.

　　A month passed, and Emperor Gaozong began to mend in health. He summoned Zhang Wenguan, Dai Zhide, and Li Jingxuan and said, “I will shortly journey east to Luoyang; Prince Hong will be acting regent—I entrust the capital’s affairs to you.”

　　The three bowed and answered as one, “Sire, your words are excessive; this is but our duty—nothing to be praised.”

　　Thereupon Gaozong issued edicts commanding Zhang, Dai, and Li to remain in Chang’an to assist Crown Prince Li Hong in governing, while he and Empress Wu set out eastward for the Eastern Capital, Luoyang.

　　Empress Wu loved Princess Li Lingyue dearly and could not bear to be parted. “Yue’er is still small,” she said to Gaozong. “If we leave her in Chang’an and she misses us, what shall we do?”

　　Gaozong laughed: “If the Empress misses her, then take the child along. She should see the realm’s mountains and rivers.”

　　The Empress rejoiced and told the princess: “Soon I shall travel with your father to Luoyang. Life in Chang’an is dull for you—would you wish to go with us?”

　　Lingyue asked, bright-eyed, “May I see the Court Master there?”

　　“Of course,” the Empress replied.

　　Lingyue was delighted and agreed at once.

　　But her quick thought turned: “If I go, what of Sister Wan’er?”

　　So she asked her parents, “May Sister Wan’er accompany us?”

　　Gaozong and the Empress could not deny their beloved child and consented.

　　Next day the golden imperial litter rolled from Chang’an. Shangguan Wan’er rode a horse at the litter’s right front; Pei Judao paced the left.

　　Inside the litter Lingyue peered out and, seeing only the three of them, asked the Empress, “Mother, why do Brothers Hong, Xian, Zhe, and Dan not travel with us to Luoyang?”

　　The Empress answered, “Your brother Hong now acts as regent and must learn statecraft; the others have affairs of their own. They cannot roam as you may.”

　　Lingyue insisted: “Then let me sit with Hong to help him govern; if I serve Him, Xian, Zhe, and Dan will be free to spend time with us.”

　　The Empress and Gaozong smiled at such childlike earnestness.

　　Gaozong said, “The thought is tender—but such matters must be asked of your brother.”

　　Lingyue promised to ask him.

　　They smiled at the child’s innocence; the Empress held her to her breast and smoothed the princess’s hair until the small scene braided them into memory.

　　At the Temple of the Mysterious Origin, the Imperial Preceptor called his disciple Ming Chongyan and instructed him: “Disciple, the Sovereign approaches—prepare yourself to receive him.”

　　Ming Chongyan—born Ming Jing, styled Chongyan, a native of Yanshi in Luo Prefecture—was of a learned and striking family, a scion of a noted line. He had studied under the Imperial Preceptor in the arts of the Way and medicine, and his reputation had spread.

　　In the year of the new era, when the rites at Mount Tai were arranged, he had been appointed a county official; when a provincial magistrate’s daughter fell ill, Ming’s methods cured her, and the Emperor, testing the man’s skill, summoned him.

　　Once, when music mysteriously ceased by Ming’s command, Gaozong marveled and saw that the youth truly was a favored pupil of the Preceptor.

　　On a summer day, desiring snow for sport, Gaozong commanded Ming to perform and snow fell in Chang’an in the lunar sixth month; Ming’s reputation grew, and Gaozong elevated him to a post in the Prince Dan household.

　　Time moved on. Ming, having sought leave to return to the temple to see his master, was counseled by his teacher: “I will shortly take a distant journey with your younger brother; for certain reasons I cannot meet the Sovereign myself.”

　　Ming asked, puzzled, why his master refused to meet Gaozong, and the Preceptor whispered: “The Sovereign’s journey will seek the fabled Tui Bei Tu. I cannot be present for such a thing.”

　　Ming took this and vowed to prepare the rites for the Emperor; the Preceptor leaned close and spoke counsel into the youth’s ear.

　　Soon Gaozong and the Empress reached the Divine Capital. Pei Judao arranged a night feast. At the banquet Pei-relationsman Pei Xianshen informed that preparations were made and that on the morrow they would visit the Imperial Preceptor at the Xuan Yuan temple.

　　Hearing this, Gaozong smiled and raised a cup in Pei’s honor.

　　Princess Lingyue, hearing they would see the Preceptor, rushed to the Emperor with a plea: “Father, may Wan’er and I also go to see the Preceptor?”

　　Gaozong agreed on the condition that she behave obediently; Lingyue promised, delighted.

　　The Empress wondered at her daughter’s joy. Lingyue confided, inwardly: “Soon I shall learn where the one who saved me stands.”

　　Next morning the princess and Wan’er went before the hall and saw a handsome, extraordinary young man approach—Ming Chongyan himself.

　　He bowed: “Your Highness, Ming Chongyan pays respects.”

　　Lingyue returned his courtesy and asked after the Preceptor.

　　Ming answered, “I came to visit my teacher, but he departed on a journey several days hence; I know not his whereabouts.”

　　At this Lingyue’s bright hope sank: “Then when will I see my benefactor again?”

　　Soon Gaozong and the Empress entered. Ming reported what the Preceptor had said.

　　Lingyue knelt before the statue of Lao-Jun and, hands clasped, prayed silently: “Ancestral spirits above, Li Lingyue pays respect—grant that I may soon locate my rescuer.”

　　The Emperor and Empress entered and Wan’er helped raise the child.

　　Pei presented incense: Gaozong tilted the stick, lit it, held it reverently and placed it within the censer, bowing thrice and murmuring vows: “Constantly burn the heart’s incense and obtain great purity.”

　　First he inserted the central stick and silently prayed for the welfare of sentient beings; the second for the teaching of the sutras; the third for the teacher—that the multitude learn rightly.

　　He bowed to the image and intoned blessings: “Heaven bless the Li line, protect the Tang, bring benefit to all beings; may wisdom’s light shine everywhere.”

　　Then he withdrew.

　　Not long after, Gaozong and the Empress strolled in the Divine Capital Gardens. The Emperor, pleased, asked Lingyue: “Have you practiced painting and calligraphy enough to render these vistas?”

　　She answered confidently, “Yes, Father; I can do it.”

　　Gaozong ordered preparations, and Wan’er set paper and ink for her.

　　While Lingyue painted, General Pang Tongshan, Commander of the Right Jinwu Guard, reported that an envoy from Tubo—Minister Zhongcong—had come with tribute.

　　The Emperor met him in the Garden. Zhongcong described his country’s austere lands, hardy people, and strict laws.

　　Gaozong light-heartedly prodded him about past conflicts; Zhongcong said war matters were not his to discuss, and the Emperor laughed at the envoy’s frankness.

　　The Empress led the Emperor to Lingyue’s painting; Zhongcong praised it—“The Princess’s work possesses both form and spirit.”

　　Gaozong declared the painting a gift to Tubo to seal friendship, and sent Hou Rensu with Zhongcong back as an emissary, bearing generous rewards.

　　Lingyue, seeing flattery paid, shrugged: “It is mere praise.”

　　The Emperor laughed; the child made faces, then left with Wan’er.

　　A month later the imperial tutor Xu Jingzong passed away. Lingyue mourned and wept for days; Gaozong convened the court to discuss the posthumous title to be granted.

　　Yuan Sigu suggested a title based on traditional shi-laws. Disagreements arose among ministers—some urging one honor, others another—and Gaozong ordered a re-examination by senior officials.

　　One day Lingyue asked Gaozong about the debate, and Gaozong explained the differing opinions; the child sighed, “No one is perfect; no one without fault.”

　　At that moment the new Minister of Rites Yang Sijing arrived and proposed a fitting posthumous epithet: “Gong”. Lingyue brightened; Gaozong approved and conferred the title.

　　Thus the journey continued, the court’s business blended with the small domestic scenes of palace life: prayers, poems, painting, and the soft, persistent thread of a child’s care for a newly made friend—and the patient mysteries of men of the Way who watch the stars and speak in riddles, while the world below arranges its honors and punishments.