Fire-trees and silver flowers entwined; bridges of stars and iron locks were unsealed. Dust followed the horses away in the dark, while the bright moon pursued the people who came. The courtesans bloomed like plums in full; the wandering songs fell like scattered petals. The Golden Guards relaxed their curfew; even the jade clepsydra’s urging slackened its pace.

　　So the year had flown: a year had passed, and now it was the fourth year of Yifeng (679 AD), the night of the Shangyuan festival. The Emperor ascended the Chengtian Gate and issued a proclamation:

　　“At the foundation of the realm Heaven has bestowed blessings; it is the time of Shangyuan. The celestial officers confer favor; the people rejoice. Once again the Festival of Shangyuan arrives: adorn lamps and lanterns in full splendor, relax the Golden Guards’ prohibitions, and permit three nights of unrestrained wandering.”

　　Thus Chang’an’s lanes were hung with lamps; merchants made wares for sale; nobles and townsfolk streamed into the streets. Some wore beast-masks; some men dressed in women’s robes; actors and acrobats put on strange guises. The Emperor returned to Hanyuan Palace to receive envoys from many lands. Tributes were presented; congratulations given. After the formal audience the court repaired to the Linde Hall for a night banquet: court musicians played, palace dancers rose, and the Crown Prince Li Xian offered a congratulatory poem:

　　“A thousand doors and ten thousand households shine with lamps;

　　The first-month Shangyuan moves the hearts of men.

　　Full streets and lanes, sleeves whirl in dance;

　　Even heaven above lends voice to verse.”

　　When the feast had deepened, a palace maid carried forth a flower lantern. Its craft was exquisite and novel: through red oiled paper swam painted carp in glimmering motion. The maid presented it and said, “Your Majesty, the hour is auspicious. If Your Majesty lights this lantern and sends it forth, the people of the city will share in the joy.” The Emperor himself set the flame and it passed from hand to hand until the palace lantern-brought blessing spilled out into the city.

　　Princess Li Lingyue sat within the Taiping Monastery. On this festive night the Emperor and Empress were lost in revelry and had forgotten her; a thin sadness rose like mist in her breast.

　　Lin Chaoyang, seeing her stillness by the monastery balustrade and perceiving the heaviness in her heart, sought to cheer her. He went to the National Preceptor and asked permission to take Lingyue to the city that night. The Preceptor consented but bade him guard her closely and watch over her at all times. Lin Chaoyang bowed and promised. He came to the Princess and, with a small gesture of qi, traced her name “Yue’er” in the air before her eyes. “Do you know what day it is?” he asked. She answered, “The Festival of Shangyuan — how could I not? Yet whenever the festival comes Father and Mother are busied by affairs and forget their Yue’er.” He said, “They are burdened by statecraft; but tonight I will take you to see the lanterns.” She brightened and agreed. So they slipped into the night together.

　　Chang’an had become a blaze of lights. The city was hung with banners and lamp-trees; flame and silver flowers dazzled every street. The air swelled with music: phoenix flutes stirred, jade lamps revolved; moonlight rose from the east and spread across the capital. Hanyuan Palace showed like an expanse of stars; high lamp-poles bore lotus