He said:

　　“If you are but the dust of the road, I am but the mud of the mire.

　　Though we drift and sink in different currents,

　　When shall our meeting find harmony?”

　　In the first year of Shangyuan (674 AD), after the matter involving Lu Zhaolin, Liu Shenwei, Song Lingwen, Meng Shen and others became more perceptive. They gathered to learn news from the palace and discovered that Emperor Gaozong and Empress Wu already harbored intentions to change their titles, though they struggled with finding an appropriate form of address.

　　One day, they assembled again in the Drunken Spring Pavilion. After drinking, Liu Shenwei said:

　　“The will of Her Majesty the Empress is clear to us. If we can share her burden, it will be a great service. If we succeed, the road ahead will open, and the Empress will not hold against us the words of Wu Sansi.”

　　Hearing the name of Wu Sansi, Meng Shen grew furious. Striking his cup on the table, he exclaimed:

　　“That petty villain! Ever since he became Minister of Rites, he spends his days nitpicking protocol, seeking others’ faults at every turn. Truly despicable.”

　　Song Lingwen tried to calm him:

　　“Brother Meng, restrain your anger. As Brother Liu said, the true matter now is to relieve the Empress’s worries and correct our image.”

　　Meng Shen sighed:

　　“Easier said than done. Since ancient times, establishing rightful names and titles has always been difficult.”

　　Liu Shenwei replied reassuringly:

　　“Precisely because it is difficult, we can earn merit from it.”

　　Song Lingwen added:

　　“Indeed. I have a plan. Let us study the classics and annals, seeking wisdom from the ancients. Perhaps Heaven will grant us guidance.”

　　Meng Shen’s eyes lit up at this, though he soon dimmed again and muttered: “Very well.” The group agreed and dispersed.

　　Time passed swiftly, and half a month later they met again in the Drunken Spring Pavilion. Song Lingwen said:

　　“Brothers, I have consulted the texts. It is not perfect, but it offers us eight or nine chances in ten. I believe our plan can be carried out.”

　　He explained his findings. The others nodded in agreement. Song Lingwen smiled:

　　“Then let us wait for the right occasion, and jointly present our counsel.”

　　One day, when Emperor Gaozong ascended the throne and the ministers finished reporting state affairs, Liu Shenwei, Song Lingwen, Meng Shen and the others submitted a memorial. They requested that, to avoid repeating the titles of former emperors and empresses, Gaozong should be called “Heavenly Emperor” (Tianhuang), and Wu should be called “Heavenly Empress” (Tianhou).

　　The will above and the intent below aligned. Gaozong was delighted. Without waiting for further discussion, he said:

　　“Your words are most thoughtful. I shall follow your counsel.”

　　The ministers had no choice but to bow and proclaim:

　　“His Majesty is wise.”

　　Thus Gaozong and Wu thereafter were known as the Heavenly Emperor and Heavenly Empress.

　　When the Empress heard of this, she thought to herself:

　　“Not foolish at all. They may yet be useful.”

　　Soon she appointed Liu Shenwei, Song Lingwen, and Meng Shen to the Hanlin Academy.

　　Wu Sansi, displeased, confronted the Empress:

　　“These men have committed offenses in the past. Why has Your Majesty elevated them to the Hanlin Academy? Your nephew is perplexed.”

　　At his side, Li Lingyue laughed and said:

　　“They now dedicate themselves to the state. Why should they not be promoted to fulfill their duties? Cousin, why cling to the past?”

　　The Empress retorted:

　　“Even Lingyue, young as she is, understands the weight of such matters. Yet you, her elder brother, feel no shame?”

　　Wu Sansi quickly replied:

　　“Your nephew was momentarily short-sighted. I am indeed ashamed.”

　　The Empress continued:

　　“One more thing. You too shall enter the Hanlin Academy, to work alongside Liu Shenwei, Song Lingwen, and Meng Shen. In this way, you may achieve some merit as well.”

　　She then admonished him:

　　“Remember, Sansi, the affairs of the state outweigh personal emotions.”

　　Wu Sansi bowed:

　　“I shall take care, and will not betray Your Majesty’s trust.”

　　In the twelfth month of winter, Wu Sansi commanded Liu Shenwei and his colleagues to present twelve proposals to the Empress. After reviewing them, the Empress soon petitioned the Heavenly Emperor: that princes and ministers all should study Laozi; that every year candidates for the Classics examinations be tested on The Classic of Filial Piety and The Analects; and that children should wear mourning for three years upon their mother’s death.

　　The Heavenly Emperor approved all these. The decree was issued, and the people rejoiced.

　　Now let us set this aside and return to the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox.

　　After obtaining from Li Hong the information about the Tui Bei Tu (Back-Pushing Diagram, a prophetic text), the fox hastened to Mount Beimang north of Luoyang. But upon arrival, it found the monastery empty. It then split into thousands of avatars to search for the National Preceptor’s whereabouts. One avatar eventually heard that the Preceptor had gone to Dongshan Temple.

　　Thus the fox went there alone, swearing to seize this extraordinary book of prophecy, to glimpse the fate of its mortal foe’s dynasty.

　　Disguising itself as a seventy-year-old beggar woman, it lingered at the foot of the temple in Huangmei County.

　　A passing monk, pitying her, carried her into the temple, lodging her there while seeking her family.

　　At midnight, beneath a brilliant moon and towering temple halls, the Nine-Tailed Fox searched every corner, but found no trace of the Tui Bei Tu. Failing, it left Dongshan Temple. At a mountain post-station, it encountered a retainer sent by Xue Yi, Prefect of Jizhou.

　　The retainer, after confirming her identity, said:

　　“My lord has long sought your trail. I bring news of the Tui Bei Tu. It was secretly delivered to Dongshan Temple, but then carried south by the monk Huineng. He is now a great master. Your Highness must beware.”

　　Receiving this, the fox flew south to Huineng’s monastery.

　　There it saw Huineng himself: plainly robed, serene, with the bearing of an immortal. At night, sensing the presence of the book, the fox searched and discovered a hidden chamber. Certain the Tui Bei Tu was inside, it tried to steal it.

　　But Huineng had foreseen this. As soon as the fox entered, a protective array was triggered. The monastery’s defenders rushed to guard the prophecy.

　　Huineng himself arrived, eyebrows raised in shock:

　　“So it is you?”

　　The fox, realizing it had been discovered and fearing it might never have another chance, saw the book close by.

　　“Yes, it is I,” it replied coldly, and launched into battle.

　　In their clash, the sandalwood chest containing the Tui Bei Tu was smashed. The book fell to the ground. A gust of wind turned a page, revealing an illustration: countless plums upon a branch, beneath which were verses.

　　The fox stooped to read, but Huineng sighed:

　　“The secrets of Heaven are revealed. I cannot stop you. But if this age of peace is overturned, war will ensue. Countless families will be destroyed, countless souls cast adrift—all for your resentment alone. Truly, all beings suffer!”

　　The fox hesitated for a moment, then sneered:

　　“I was once a spirit of Qingqiu, sent by Nuwa—no, by the Dao Ancestor himself—to dwell in palaces, beguile kings, and end the Shang dynasty, ushering in the Zhou. But once my task was complete, Jiang Shang stripped my powers and cast me upon the executioner’s block. My name was ruined, cursed for generations. Tell me—what have the flourishing common people of this world to do with me?”

　　Huineng answered:

　　“You claim obedience to destiny, yet did this destiny command you to slaughter the innocent and poison the loyal?”

　　The fox replied:

　　“Monk, how else can fate be severed without the blood of the loyal? Without killing heroes, how can dynasties fall?”

　　Unable to refute, Huineng instead urged:

　　“If you are a spirit of Qingqiu, why not lay down hatred and embrace Buddhahood?”

　　The fox answered bitterly:

　　“A thousand years ago, I did lay down my blade. Yet your Buddha buried me beneath a mountain. For a thousand years, I alone watched the world’s changes.”

　　Huineng sighed:

　　“Resentment and fate, entwined for a thousand years!”

　　The fox turned without another word and vanished. Huineng sat in silence, the world utterly still.

　　The Nine-Tailed Fox then examined the book’s prophecy:

　　“Clusters of ripe fruit, countless in number.

　　One fruit, one seed, both new and old.”

　　And another poem:

　　“All things are born of the earth.

　　In peace, greatness begins.

　　One unites the Central Plains,

　　The Tang of Li shall shine for all generations.”

　　Angered by this, the fox read further, seeing notes that praised Li Hong as a ruler of eternal fame. Enraged, it tried to destroy the book with its magic, but the book resisted. In fury, it cast the book down.

　　A gust blew the pages to the end, revealing this message:

　　“Ancient prophecy is but prophecy, never certainty.

　　The fate of all things lies in human hands.

　　With Daoist arts and Heaven’s power, this chart was made.

　　Yet the book is no book, the picture no picture.

　　The deeds of men change its words.

　　May future generations ride the wind, avoid evil, and build a world of peace and unity.”

　　Reading this, the fox’s grief turned to joy. It resolved to manipulate events and watch the book change. Thus it returned to inhabit Pei Qiuxue’s body.

　　The next year (675), during Princess Li Lingyue’s tenth birthday, the Heavenly Emperor decreed an eastern journey to Luoyang, accompanied by Crown Prince Li Hong and the young princess.

　　Before departure, Prince Li Xian invited Li Hong to a banquet at his residence. The brothers exchanged pleasantries and drank deeply, though what they discussed is unknown.

　　When they departed, the Emperor instructed Li Xian, Li Zhe, and Li Dan to govern Chang’an well in their absence, and to consult Zhang Wenguan, Minister of Justice, if needed.

　　On the journey, Princess Lingyue often gathered flowers to wear on her head, asking Li Hong:

　　“Brother Hong, do I look pretty?”

　　Li Hong would set aside his memorials, gently pat her head, and reply:

　　“Prettier than the Moon Goddess herself.”

　　She would beam with joy and twirl in delight.

　　At the Hebi Palace, Empress Wu summoned Li Hong by night to teach him statecraft. But a comet streaked across the sky. The Nine-Tailed Fox, within Pei Qiuxue, knew the moment had come, and acted.

　　The next morning, it was announced that Crown Prince Li Hong had died suddenly in the Qiyun Hall, at only twenty-three years of age.

　　The Emperor, Empress, and Princess Lingyue were devastated. The Emperor mourned for months without holding court. The Nine-Tailed Fox, however, rejoiced, leaving Qiuxue’s body and returning to the prophecy. Without the fox’s soul, Pei Qiuxue also died, leaving her family heartbroken.

　　Months later, the Emperor posthumously honored Li Hong as Emperor Xiaojing, burying him in Gongling with full imperial rites. Crown Princess Pei Qiuxue was buried alongside him.

　　Grief-stricken, Pei Judao requested retirement:

　　“Your Majesty, I am old and weary, my heart disturbed. I can no longer serve the court. I beg leave to return home and spend my remaining years in peace.”

　　Sharing his grief, the Empress agreed:

　　“If that is your wish, so be it. But who will take your place?”

　　He recommended his friend Qiu Shenji, a prudent and capable man. The Empress consented.

　　Thereafter, the Emperor’s vertigo worsened. He said to his ministers:

　　“Since the execution of Shangguan Yi, the Empress has sat behind the curtain, hearing all affairs of state. Now the Crown Prince is gone, and my illness severe. The empire cannot go ungoverned. I wish to decree that the Empress act as regent. What say you?”

　　The ministers opposed. Hao Chujun protested:

　　“Your Majesty, how can the empire of Gaozu and Taizong be entrusted to the Empress, not passed to your sons?”

　　Thus the matter was postponed.

　　The Empress raged:

　　“Fools! The Crown Prince is dead, the Emperor gravely ill, and the princes know only cockfighting and falconry. How can they manage the state?”

　　She ordered Wu Sansi to summon Liu Shenwei and his colleagues to compile many books—Xuanlan, Models of Past and Present, Essentials of the Eastern Palace, Standards of Shaoyang, Teachings for the Ramparts, Records of the Purple Pivot, New Admonitions from the Phoenix Tower, Lives of Filial Sons, Lives of Exemplary Women, Essentials of Inner Precepts, Essentials of Music, New Admonitions for Officials, The People’s Occupations, Guidelines for Ministers, and more—to counter dissent in court.

　　Scholars under secret orders reviewed petitions, undermining the Secretariat’s power. These were called the “Northern Gate Scholars.”

　　A month later, a secret memorial accused the Empress of poisoning Li Hong:

　　“The Crown Prince, upright and uncompromising, threatened her power. As with Shangguan Wan’er, so too did she poison him.”

　　The Emperor wavered, but the Empress’s power was overwhelming. To balance matters, he appointed Li Xian as Crown Prince, then summoned Zhang Wenguan to Taiye Pond.

　　“Do you know why I have called you?” asked the Emperor.

　　“I believe I do,” Zhang replied.

　　“Then go quickly and do it,” said the Emperor.

　　After Zhang departed, the Commander of the Imperial Guard came before Gaozong.

　　“Years ago, I sent you to investigate Duke of Guo Xue’s case in Fangzhou. What have you found?”

　　The commander presented conclusive evidence.

　　Gaozong said:

　　“You and your men shall be rewarded. But I will decide this matter myself. Speak of it to no one.”

　　“Yes, Your Majesty,” the commander replied, and withdrew.