Said:

　　What one loves stands before one’s eyes, yet lies across mountains and seas.

　　Mountains and seas might be leveled — but this love cannot be reached.

　　After the Grand Master and Lin Chaoyang left without farewell for half a month, the filth that had tainted the eastward tour to Luoyang vanished entirely. The Nine-Tailed Fox, seeing this, muttered to herself, “So they have left. In time I shall come to Chang’an and turn heaven and earth upside down.” After speaking, she used a thousand-mile voice technique to summon Xue Yi. Xue Yi hurried without delay to her side. When he arrived, the fox laid out her plan and persuaded Xue Yi to assist her covertly.

　　She handed Xue Yi a bronze mirror and said, “When our plan succeeds it isn’t convenient for me to show myself. If anything happens, use this mirror and speak the charm; I will appear within it and counsel you.” Xue Yi took the ordinary mirror and, though suspicious, had no time to question. The fox had already gone; only the charm hovered in the air, and Xue Yi was forced to trust.

　　One bright day in Chang’an, while the Nine-Tailed Fox was passing through a county on the city’s edge, she came upon a sixteen-year-old girl. The girl’s looks were unremarkable. The fox calculated with a flick of her fingers and pronounced, “Fate has brought you — heaven lends a hand.”

　　The girl’s surname was Wei; her given name was Lian’er. Her father Wei Xuanzhen was a lowly local clerk outside the capital, far from the seventh rank. Lian’er had been clever and lively since childhood, but plain in appearance; at sixteen, still inside her inner chamber, no suitor had come forward. She would not accept a humdrum fate, however, and always dreamed of marrying into the imperial household, of climbing into power and dazzling success.

　　While Lian’er stood sorrowing by a creek, the Nine-Tailed Fox transformed into a wandering Daoist and came up to her: “Young lady, you are meant for wealth and rank — why this gloomy face?” Startled, Lian’er turned and saw a figure with the aura of an immortal. She, an ordinary girl, did not recognize the fox and took him for a Daoist sage. She poured out her heart. The fox laughed, “You needn’t grieve over such trifles. I possess a miraculous elixir; take it and you shall attain the wonders you imagine.” Lian’er, overjoyed, thanked him and swallowed the pill at once.

　　Not long after, she felt light as air and then, horrified, realized she could no longer sense her body — she seemed to be in a dream. Turning, she saw her own flesh before her; her eyes flew wide and terror blanched her face.

　　In truth the pill was not a beauty elixir but a Daoist “soul-separating elixir.” The soul and body parted at once. The fox showed her true form and mocked, “What a naive little thing.” Then with a single spirit-shattering strike, the Nine-Tailed Fox blasted Lian’er’s spirit into dust.

　　The fox took possession of Lian’er’s body. Freed from its own demonic aura by this mortal shell, the fox — now in Lian’er’s skin — appeared with ivory-smooth skin, a willowy, perfect figure, and a faint exotic fragrance that lingered within ten paces. Adopting the name “Wei Lian’er,” she thought to herself: “With this mortal guise I can ignore palace spells and remain long inside the palace; I’ll make the Li family’s fortunes tumble — we shall see how their destiny fares.”

　　Days later, Wei Xuanzhen returned from duty and found his daughter transformed into a beauty he scarcely recognized. Lian’er explained the sequence of events so convincingly that her father believed her, and she told him the remainder of the plan: “The Daoist said I carry the Empress’s fate, but I need your help, Father.” Wei Xuanzhen was willing and pledged wholehearted support.

　　From then on “Lian’er” appeared throughout the capital. Using a spirit-binding technique she took hold of the townsfolk and sown a rumor that Ming Chongyan’s death had been plotted by the Crown Prince Li Xian out of dissatisfaction with the Empress.

　　One day Pang Tongshan, while on official business outside the palace, heard commoners repeating these rumors. He questioned them and their account sounded detailed and convincing, as if they had seen the things themselves. Pang hastened back to report the rumor to the Empress. The Empress grew deeply suspicious and ordered Pang to summon Di Renjie. Shangguan Wan’er heard of this and did not believe the slander, but the Empress’s actions made Wan’er fear for Li Xian, and her heart grew uneasy.

　　Before long Di Renjie arrived. The Empress asked flatly, “Are you aware of the rumors circulating in Chang’an?” Di Renjie replied, “I have heard them on the road.” The Empress then appointed him as Duzhi Langzhong and Chaosan Daifu, ordering him to investigate at once and giving the Dali Temple free rein to act without reporting back. Di Renjie accepted the mandate and departed.

　　After he left the hall, Shangguan Wan’er hurried after him. “I have heard the rumors too,” she said. “The Crown Prince is wise and beloved by court and ministers; he would never harm Ming Gong. Di Gong, your insight must clear the Prince’s name.” Di Renjie smiled: “Madam Shangguan, rest assured — I will uncover the truth for the Prince.” Wan’er breathed easier and prayed silently, “Di Gong, eternity is yours — Wan’er awaits your revelation.”

　　Meanwhile the Nine-Tailed Fox, observing the Empress’s moves, whispered into the bronze mirror and fed Xue Yi with further lies — telling him the Empress intended to kill Li Xian — and urged him to go all out to protect the Crown Prince. Convinced, Xue Yi secretly set his forces in motion.

　　As for Xue Shao, under Li Lingyue’s care his wounds slowly healed. When he had fully recovered, his elder brother Xue Yi took him to a night feast hosted by Prince Li Zhen, the Prince of Yue.

　　As the wine loosened his tongue, Xue Shao confessed to Li Zhen that he loved Li Lingyue. Li Zhen thought: “If Xue and Li were joined, they might serve as a counterweight to the Wicked Empress.” He smiled and said, “If the two desire it, when the time is right I will act as matchmaker and speak with the Sovereign — there will be more to come.” Xue Shao thanked him warmly but then turned pensive: “Moon already has another in her heart; I should bless her and not spoil her fate.” He told Li Zhen about Lingyue and Lin Chaoyang; Li Zhen replied, “Youth knows little of these matters. Lin Chaoyang is but a solitary Daoist — he doesn’t compare to you, Shao. The two families could be well matched, and I will keep this in mind.” Xue Shao thought he might have spoken too freely to the Prince.

　　Three days later, the Emperor summoned Li Zhen, Li Zhe and Li Dan to the Taoye Pool and ordered them to remain in Chang’an to maintain order. Li Zhen then told the Emperor about Xue Shao’s confession and his own inclination to help arrange a match; the Emperor smiled and said when the time comes he would consent. “For now,” he said, “after my eastern tour, I entrust the capital to you three.” They replied in unison: “We will not disgrace the trust.”

　　The Emperor, Empress and the Crown Prince Li Xian soon set out east to tour Luoyang. Li Lingyue, her old feelings stirred, returned to the Taiping Temple — and sang to herself the remembered lines:

　　Old feelings touch the brows with a shy confession;

　　I remember shoulders shared in wandering.

　　Silk skirts, apple-blossom banks; soft fans, apricot-blossom pavilions.

　　How many times we walked and drank and stayed —

　　Who could have thought the spring breeze would cut us off?

　　Who could have thought morning clouds would scatter?

　　Heavens age and spite remains unrequited —

　　Bees cannot understand human grief; swallows cannot tell human sorrow.

　　Old affections do not vanish — when will they end?

　　A month on, Xue Yi slipped from Chang’an to Luoyang to meet with Li Xian privately. “Your Highness,” Xue Yi said, “as Crown Prince you must know certain matters.” Intrigued, Li Xian pressed him, “What would make Xue Gong speak this way?” Xue Yi replied, “There have been hushed talks in the palace suggesting you were born to Lady Han. Do you recall?” Li Xian scoffed: “Only rumor. Had you not mentioned it I would have forgotten.” Xue Yi drew out a letter and handed it to Li Xian. Li Xian read it calmly at first — until the contents made his eyes go wild and his heart fill with fear.

　　Xue Yi continued, “The wet nurse knows the truth but has kept silent; she recorded the matter in secret. Had fate not put this letter in my way I would not have found it.” Li Xian trembled. “So that’s why Mother dislikes me. These are slanders; I do not accept them.” Xue Yi warned, “You may disbelieve, but the Empress may soon seek to destroy you. Guard yourself.” Li Xian warned back, “Do not speak nonsense. If the Empress learns of this tonight I will not forgive you. Return to the capital and mind the affairs there.”

　　Xue Yi then spoke the charm over the bronze mirror. The Nine-Tailed Fox appeared and Xue Yi reported: “I have shown the wet nurse’s letter to the Prince, but he will not believe. If I have failed the task I beg punishment.” The fox merely smiled, “It is natural. You have no crime. To save the greater plan, return at once to Chang’an.” Xue Yi sped away that night.

　　Soon an informer entered the palace with a secret memorial: Ming Chongyan’s death had been plotted by the Crown Prince, and armor had been hidden in the Crown Prince’s stables at the Luoyang East Palace — a prelude to a palace coup. The Empress read the memorial, recalled Ming Chongyan’s words and Li Xian’s recent conduct, and remembered previous rumors that Li Hong’s death had been Li Xian’s design. She thought: “True or not, the Prince should not be heir. Rumors swirl — the bird-fighting and cockfighting Princes cannot compare to the wisdom of Hong.” Resigned, she sighed: “Very well; perhaps Li Zhe can shoulder the duty.”

　　She ordered Cheng Wenyu to search the East Palace. Cheng did so and indeed found hundreds of suits of armor in the stables. Though the Crown Prince protested his innocence, the sight of armors stacked before the court silenced him. The Empress, now believing the plot, commanded Cheng to burn the confiscated armor on Tianjin Bridge as a public display that the Crown Prince had betrayed trust.

　　A month later, back in Chang’an, the Empress set Xue Yuanchao, Pei Yan and Gao Zhizhou to handle the case; Di Renjie was punished with a month’s salary withheld and told to rest at home for half a month because his investigation failed. The appointed officials then used brutal coercion; Li Xian’s close followers confessed under torture. Zhang Da’an and Liu Ne were demoted and exiled; several were killed by private vengeance; Prince Cao Li Ming was executed. Dozens implicated. The Emperor was inclined to mercy for his son, but the Empress urged, “A son who plots rebellion must be punished in the great name of righteousness.” Thus the Crown Prince could not clear his name: he was stripped of title, reduced to commoner status, imprisoned and cut off from any private visitors upon pain of collective punishment. That same month, on the day yichou, the Emperor proclaimed Li Zhe as Crown Prince and gave him the name Li Xian (note: historically Li Xian/ Li Zhe naming—context preserved).

　　After the Crown Prince’s fall, Shangguan Wan’er repeatedly petitioned the Empress to see Li Xian but was sternly refused. Li Lingyue had lost her sun-lit brother, and Wan’er could not see the man she loved.

　　One night well before curfew, Wan’er slipped out of the palace during an interval when the Empress rested, intending to go to the Taiping Temple and pour her heart out to Li Lingyue. Passing a market she encountered a vendor with a cart full of strong wine. She bargained for several jars and drove the cart to the Taiping Temple, determined to drown her woes with Li Lingyue.

　　Li Lingyue and Wan’er drank until they were drunk. Li Lingyue, borne on wine and moonlight, danced and made shadows; Xue Shao refrained from too much drink: with only three people at the temple he could not leave them wholly unattended, and so he drank but lightly. The two girls fell into stupor and Xue Shao looked after them, cooked broth and fussed over them. As the old lines go:

　　Red soft hands, yellow-sealed wine, the city full of spring by palace walls and willows.

　　East wind harsh, joy shallow. A chest full of sorrow, a handful of years of absence. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

　　Spring remains; the person grows thin; tear stains soak through silk. Peach blossoms fall by idle pavilions. Though vows of mountains remain, embroidered letters are hard to entrust. Do not, do not, do not!