It is said:

　　In May they first sprout,

　　By August already wither.

　　On every side are pine and cassia,

　　Ever green through all four seasons.

　　Now, the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox, having seen her scheme succeed, returned to her lodging to consult once more the Prophecy of the Back-Pushing Diagram. Her heart was full of expectation as she took it out and opened it. She beheld that the plums in the image had now become twenty-one in number. Looking closely, however, the prophetic verse had not changed. Startled, she looked to the accompanying hymn, and found that it had indeed altered. The hymn read:

　　“All things are born from the soil,

　　Two nines first bear fruit.

　　One unites and rules the Central Plains,

　　When yin prevails, yang is first exhausted.”

　　The Nine-Tailed Fox read this, unsettled, and turned the page again. She saw that the commentary too had changed. The explanation read:

　　“Heaven’s will is the Moon Fox, ordained as Empress. Her progeny will be incompetent. She shall change her name to Wu Zhao, and through wanton darkness disrupt governance, cutting short the flourishing Tang, replacing it with the Zhou…”

　　At this, the Nine-Tailed Fox was overjoyed, and turned further. There she saw the picture of a woman, strikingly similar to the present Empress of the realm. The words beside it declared:

　　Prophecy:

　　“The sun and moon hang in the sky, shining upon the earth below.

　　Puzzling and ambiguous, not merely ‘wen’ (civil), nor only ‘wu’ (martial).”

　　Hymn:

　　“Having explored all forms and emptiness of the Buddha’s path,

　　One day she reenters the palace of kings.

　　Though branches are stripped away, the root still remains.

　　When the rooster crows, who then is the true male?”

　　Delighted, the Nine-Tailed Fox concluded that the fortune of the Li-Tang house was now exhausted. She said to herself: “At last the mandate shifts to new brilliance!” Without even reading the commentary, she turned the page again. There appeared an image of five monkeys sending away a parrot. The words beside it were:

　　Prophecy:

　　“The one who flies does not fly,

　　The one who runs does not run.

　　Flapping wings upon a high hill,

　　Only thus is there a successor.”

　　Hymn:

　　“Her authority rivals that of the azure goddess—truly strange.

　　A bleak sight of eighteen branches laid bare.

　　Yet thanks to the monkeys working in unison,

　　The great tree, though tilting, is held upright.”

　　Alarmed, the Nine-Tailed Fox read the commentary:

　　“The five monkeys arise from Fire-Dog Renjie, who gathers disciples, and restores the house of Li-Tang…”

　　At this she burst into anger, muttering: “Di Renjie! I care not what divine being you may be. Any who stand in the way of my revenge—I shall reduce to ashes.” And with that, the Nine-Tailed Fox set off to seek Di Renjie, intending to destroy him in the bud, lest fate turn against her.

　　Let us turn back to Zhang Wen’guan. Having received the Holy Emperor’s command, he disguised himself and at once set forth for Taiyuan in Bingzhou. At that time, the fame of Di Renjie, legal officer of the Governor’s Office, resounded throughout Bingzhou. Along the road, everywhere, the people voiced their love for him. Seeing this, Zhang Wen’guan’s heart was set at ease, confirming the truth of what Yan Liben had said before. Without delay he went to the local yamen to proclaim the imperial order, summoning Di Renjie to the capital. But to his surprise, Di Renjie was not present. The military governor Lin Renji explained: “To report to Lord Zhang: Lord Di left half a month ago to undertake a distant errand on my behalf. He will need several more days to return.” Zhang Wen’guan asked: “Why so?” Lin Renji replied: “The duty was originally mine, but my mother lies long upon her sickbed. Lord Di, hearing of this, specially volunteered to take the mission in my stead.” Zhang Wen’guan was deeply moved by this lofty conduct, and asked: “This man’s character is excellent—but what of his ability?” Lin Renji replied: “Equal to his virtue.” Zhang Wen’guan sighed: “Such men are either of the truest loyalty, or of the greatest treachery. May Heaven protect our Tang.” He then resolved: “So be it. I shall wait here for his return.”

　　A few days later, Di Renjie returned to Bingzhou. As soon as he reached the city gates, a yamen runner rushed him straight to the provincial office. With a cry of “Lord Di has arrived!” his presence resounded through the hall.

　　Immediately Zhang Wen’guan saw a man brought before him, thinking: this must be the Di Huaiying the Emperor had spoken of. Yet at first glance he was surprised, for the man before him was handsome, refined, in the prime of life—not the image of a man in his mid-forties as the records suggested. He asked: “Are you Di Huaiying?” Di Renjie, not knowing the situation, hesitated. Lin Renji quickly said: “Huaiying, this is Lord Zhang, Minister of the Court of Judicial Review in the capital.” Di Renjie replied: “Indeed, I am he.” Zhang Wen’guan then read aloud the imperial edict, commanding Di Renjie to accompany him to Chang’an.

　　The next day, Di Renjie bid farewell to his family and superior, and set out with Zhang Wen’guan for the capital. Midway, a torrential rain washed out the official road, forcing them onto a merchants’ byway. As evening fell, they came to a small town and decided to lodge there.

　　They learned of an inn called “Guests Come in Ceremony.” Entering, they saw no keeper, only several young attendants tidying about. One of them rushed forward: “Honored guests, will you dine or stay the night?” Di Renjie answered: “We seek lodging. Please arrange two upper rooms for us.” No sooner had he spoken than a woman’s voice called from the stairwell: “Ordinary guests need only pay silver. But tonight, to lodge here, you must first drink wine with me.”

　　She descended in crimson robes, jade-like hands fluttering a delicate orchid fan, a white jade pendant swaying at her slender waist. The silk collar of her breast-high skirt revealed her full bosom. Her face bloomed like a lotus, brows arched like willows, hair coiled into a dark chignon set with a phoenix pin, eyes limpid as autumn waters, beneath a graceful nose a pair of crimson lips. When she smiled, her white teeth gleamed like pearls.

　　She said with a lilting smile: “My husband has been dead for years. Thanks to the aid of kindly neighbors I keep this inn. Not long ago a Daoist priest passed and cast my fortune, saying that today noble guests would arrive. Though you dress as merchants, your bearing speaks of higher station. Might you be the noble ones fated for me?” Zhang Wen’guan replied: “Auspicious words, madam. We are but weary traders seeking a little coin. Night falls, and we only ask two rooms for lodging.” The woman insisted: “I have said—tonight you must drink with me. Refuse, and I shall think you harbor other intentions.” Seeing no alternative, the two agreed.

　　At the banquet, the beautiful innkeeper plied Di Renjie with flirtation and teasing words. He parried them politely, then excused himself to rest.

　　No sooner had he lain down than came a knock. He opened the door to find the woman, her left shoulder bare, bearing a bronze goblet in one hand and a jug of rice wine in the other. She poured and pressed the cup upon him, saying: “On this cold night, I have come to comfort my Lord Di.” Then she feigned a stumble, falling upon his bed, clutching his hand: “Has Lord Di ever seen such a lovely woman as I?” Di Renjie broke into cold sweat, stammering: “Madam is indeed beautiful. I have never seen the like. Yet I suddenly recall business with my brother, and must consult him at once. Forgive me.” He fled in haste to Zhang Wen’guan’s room, rousing him, and the two slipped away to spend the night in a temple.

　　After they left, the woman revealed her true form: the Nine-Tailed Fox. She murmured: “Di Renjie, since I cannot overcome you, I shall see how fate weaves your rise and fall.” For though she had planned to kill him, when she raised her hand she found him shielded by celestial power, a descended immortal. Still wounded, she dared not act rashly, and let him go.

　　Soon after, Di Renjie entered the capital with Zhang Wen’guan, and was appointed by the Emperor as Assistant Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Though a mid-level post, its power was immense, lying at the very core of the Tang’s justice system. Di Renjie was charged with daily administration, judging prisoners and crimes.

　　Meanwhile, Prince Li Xian, since made crown prince, was ever more at odds with the Empress. The young Princess Li Lingyue, though still tender of age, sought to ease tensions by requesting to study with him. One day, the new Crown Prince’s tutor set “Spring” as a theme, asking both to compose a poem. Li Xian wrote:

　　“In the Hall of Harmony one spring day begins,

　　Stealthily it enters Chang’an with the wind.

　　The fair time and fine scene enchant the masses,

　　Upon painted scrolls yet lovelier they seem.”

　　The tutor was pleased, and Shangguan Wan’er, attending nearby, was also secretly delighted. She, descended from a great literary family, had been raised with fine education even in servitude, skilled in verse and prose, and intelligent in affairs. Since first seeing Li Xian, her heart had stirred; now, witnessing his refined bearing and talent, she silently pledged herself to him. The tutor noticed her blush and asked: “Why is this maid so pleased?” She answered: “Because His Highness’s verse is so fine, the pride of our Tang, which all must rejoice in.”

　　The tutor, impressed, asked Li Lingyue who she was. The princess said: “Wan’er, tell it yourself.” Wan’er replied: “I am Shangguan Wan’er, daughter of the disgraced minister Shangguan Tingzhi. Her Majesty consigned my mother and me to servitude, but thanks to the Princess’s favor I was chosen as her attendant.”

　　Learning her lineage, the tutor wished to test her talent, asking her to also compose upon the theme. Wan’er demurred, but at Li Xian’s urging, she agreed and wrote:

　　“In the jeweled palace of Harmony, I linger,

　　In this life, ever lost in longing.

　　Year after year, forever the same,

　　Though I die a thousand times, my fragrance remains.”

　　At this, the tutor was astounded: “Indeed, worthy of your lineage!”

　　The next day, he reported to the Empress. She scoffed that no fourteen-year-old could compose such lines, and summoned Wan’er to the Linde Hall, testing her on the spot under threat of execution if she failed. Li Lingyue, worried, protested, but Wan’er boldly accepted. The Empress whispered aside to her daughter: “Fear not, I merely wish to see her talent.”

　　Wan’er composed swiftly, her prose fluent, ornate, and beautiful as if long prepared. The Empress was overjoyed, freed her from bondage, and named her Talented Lady, entrusting her with palace decrees. Wan’er requested, however, to remain at Princess Lingyue’s side, which the Empress, loving her daughter, granted.

　　Meanwhile, since Di Renjie’s appointment, Wu Sansi grew jealous. He suggested to the Empress: “I hear Lord Di is peerless in judgment. The Court of Review has many old cases—why not let him display his skill?” The Empress agreed. Wu Sansi, harboring malice, assigned him over ten thousand accumulated cases.

　　Though displeased, Di Renjie worked tirelessly, day and night, until all were judged. Seventeen thousand people were involved, yet not one cried injustice, nor were new cases delayed. Thus the people of Chang’an hailed him as the greatest judge of Tang. Zhang Wen’guan was delighted and soon advised the Emperor to promote him to Censor. Wu Sansi, though resentful, dared not oppose.

　　News spread across the capital, reaching Princess Lingyue, who greatly admired him and wished to see this famed judge. She, Wan’er, and Prince Li Xian went to the Court of Review, but found him absent—he was at the palace with Zhang Wen’guan.

　　Arriving at the Xuanzheng Hall, they heard the Emperor in a rage, slamming memorials to the floor: “This man deserved death, yet you sentenced only dismissal! Do you know your crime?” Officials cowered. Di Renjie, however, argued: “By law, this was already the heaviest punishment.” The Emperor grew angrier. Zhang Wen’guan, alarmed, signaled him to desist, but Di Renjie pressed on. Zhang Wen’guan felt a chill and sighed inwardly: “After all these years, still so rash… this will be hard indeed.”