Elio’s Notes: The title, 月下低眉立, comes from Bai Juyi’s Tang poem Two Poems While Drinking and Thinking of Idle Matters (《把酒思闲事二首》), in the line “Beneath the moon, one stands with lowered brows; before the lamp, one sits clasping one’s knees.”
Forest vines block the sun; even summer holds much chill. The finest season had already passed. On the Maiguang paper, the final stroke ended with startling force.
Elio’s Notes: “Forest vines block the sun; even summer holds much chill” comes from Tang poet Fang Gan’s Written at the Upper Precinct of Bao’en Temple (《题报恩寺上方》).
Had Zhao Kuangyin not seen it with his own eyes, he would have found it difficult to imagine that Li Congjia’s calligraphy could possess such ringing strength. Beneath the daylight, the ink seemed to penetrate through the back of the paper. It was as though the man himself had suddenly been turned inside out, revealing frost-hardened bamboo within.
His answer was equally brief, only three characters. “Phoenix Terrace.”
Zhao Kuangyin held the paper near the flame, and in an instant it became ash. Li Congjia refused to cross the river, using those three concise characters to block him. The post station at Luzhou still retained the style of a southern courtyard, with ponds and flower beds that, though made by human hands, seemed formed by nature. The farther Zhao Kuangyin traveled south, the more an indescribable expectation began growing within him. He could not help wondering whether what poets and scholars said had perhaps been true after all: At sunrise, the river flowers are redder than fire; in spring, the river water is greener than indigo. The soft rain and spring blossoms he had once disdained now flickered in and out of his memory as he drew closer to returning.
Elio’s Notes: The quoted line is from Bai Juyi’s Remembering Jiangnan (《忆江南·江南好》). The raw chapter prints 兰 in 春来江水绿如兰, but the canonical poem has 蓝, “indigo.” FD translates the intended quotation while preserving this source discrepancy in the note.
Someone in brocade had once traveled by night, bending beneath a tree as he arrived. A pale, exquisite wrist had released the remembered fragrance of red sandalwood. Somehow, the nearer Zhao Kuangyin came, the less he knew how he should face him.
In truth, Zhao Kuangyin had not wanted to return beneath that stretch of sky. The moment he stepped into it, everything seemed to begin slipping beyond his control. It was an exceedingly subtle feeling. Precisely because he did not want to enter it, he found himself expecting it all the more.
Watching the faint movement between the tree shadows, he suddenly felt that Li Congjia absolutely had to cross the river and come find him himself.
And so, for a time, both sides remained silent. Neither would cross the river.
The Prince of Wu, Li Congjia, had traveled to the southern bank of the Yangtze to personally receive the Zhou envoy, the Inspector-General and Grand Tutor. Between them stretched a vast river blurred with mist and waves, north and south facing one another across the water.
Li Congjia waited serenely, without the slightest panic of a man expected to bow his head and acknowledge himself a subject. His father repeatedly ordered him to cross the river and present himself, but every command was gently talked away by Li Congjia.
He simply insisted on waiting. Before everyone’s eyes, Li Congjia temporarily stayed at the post station on the southern bank, lightly playing the qin each day, sitting idly and watching the clouds, appearing completely untroubled by affairs of state.
On the banks north and south of the river, evening of the third day.
Piaopeng knelt outside Li Congjia’s qin pavilion. Li Congjia sat alone within and played slowly for a long time. The pavilion itself had originally been nothing more than an ordinary decorative structure attached to the post station’s corridor, yet Li Congjia had ostentatiously ordered it hung with the finest gauze. Whenever the river wind passed through, the fabric danced like drifting catkins, exceptionally elegant. He had even specifically ordered that the gauze be delivered all the way from the Eastern Palace, displaying such extravagance without the slightest attempt at concealment.
Piaopeng could only continue kneeling. Li Congjia raised his eyes faintly and saw Piaopeng’s silhouette through the lifting gauze. “I have been away for several days. How is the Princess Consort?”
“Everything in the palace is peaceful. The Princess Consort has not suffered another attack.”
“That is good.” He said nothing more.
Piaopeng clenched his teeth and endured, waiting for Li Congjia to tell him to rise so that he could try persuading him again. As always, his master was not someone who could bear watching another person suffer.
From afternoon until evening, only a few scattered notes sounded from the qin. Piaopeng remained kneeling.
Li Congjia rose and spread his sleeves, looking somewhat weary. He glanced toward the figure outside the pavilion but did not come out. “Do you know why I have kept you kneeling all this time?”
“Your Highness does not want to hear advice.”
“Since you know that, why did you come?”
Piaopeng grew anxious, and his voice inevitably became louder and louder, startling the other members of the entourage into quietly opening their windows to listen. “This matter truly concerns too much. Your Highness absolutely cannot act entirely as you please. The superior court ordered us to cross the river and present ourselves. If we continue delaying and something happens…”
“It appears you have not knelt long enough to forget the matter.” The gauze stirred lightly. Amid its layered folds, the man inside looked exactly as before, showing neither anger nor anything else. “Then continue kneeling.”
Quiet and indifferent, he carried his qin away. As he passed, only the fragrance of red sandalwood could be sensed. He did not look at Piaopeng even once.
The fourth day.
Across the river, one subordinate official was so furious that his entire face flushed. “The Li clan of Jiangnan truly has no understanding of the vastness of imperial grace! The Grand Tutor personally came to Luzhou, yet Li Congjia refuses even to cross the river. Instead, he sits on the southern bank composing poetry and making music!”
Zhao Kuangyin stood leaning against the window and gave no response. The man, having heard still more news, became even angrier. “I also heard that he thought the post station’s furnishings too crude and actually had all sorts of rare objects sent over from the Eastern Palace to redecorate the place. Anyone who tries to persuade him to cross the river gets punished by kneeling for an entire day!”
Zhao Kuangyin genuinely laughed. “As expected… that is exactly what he would do…” Even when forced into the inferior position, Li Congjia still refused to lose the integrity of his bearing. His stubbornness had never changed with circumstance. Even with half of Jiangnan’s realm surrendered into another’s hands, he would never easily allow himself to be ordered about at will. Zhao Kuangyin knew perfectly well that Li Congjia was deliberately trying to anger him, yet warmth unexpectedly rose in his heart, leaving him immediately delighted.
“Wait a little longer. A scholar’s temperament. Let us see what else he can do.” His words made it clear that he was not angry at all. His expression suddenly brightened, leaving the official who had come to report unable to continue. The man could only withdraw.
He had waited an entire night upon Phoenix Terrace. That night had been far longer than these days.
The seventh day.
Once again, that elegant, extraordinary handwriting arrived quietly upon a sheet of paper. It was still Li Congjia’s hand, and though this was a private letter to him, the tone had not softened in the slightest. “Phoenixes once roamed Phoenix Terrace; the phoenixes departed, the terrace stands empty, and the river flows on. Seven days have passed without our meeting. My wife remains ill, and I fear that with the days growing long there will be no one to care for her. This humble subject will return tomorrow to visit her. Forgive me for being unable to come personally to receive the Grand Tutor.”
Elio’s Notes: The opening sentence quotes Li Bai’s Climbing Phoenix Terrace in Jinling (《登金陵凤凰台》): “Phoenixes once roamed Phoenix Terrace; the phoenixes departed, the terrace stands empty, and the river flows on.”
After reading it, Zhao Kuangyin drew a deep breath. His right hand clenched and opened. The sheet of paper had already become powder. “Li Congjia…” He pronounced the name with obvious difficulty. He was genuinely angry now.
He glanced toward the portrait hanging on the wall. The person depicted seemed sightless. Going back to visit Ehuang because she was ill? The longer Zhao Kuangyin stared at it, the more helpless he became, until he angrily tore the painting down.
Fine, fine, fine. Seven days. I’ll give you seven days; that should be enough to repay that one night.
“Cross the river.”
The long waves rush as though poured forth; the linked mountains seem carved apart.
Elio’s Notes: This line comes from Bai Juyi’s Tang poem Written with Feeling from the Shu River to the Mouth of Dongting Lake (《自蜀江至洞庭湖口有感而作》).
When Zhao Kuangyin once again set foot upon the soil of Jiangnan, Li Congjia stood waiting in formal dress, his proud bearing alone at the head of the officials assembled to receive him.
The river wind blew sharply, the evening sky gradually clear as water. Li Congjia smiled, as though severing all that had come before, then bent to perform the formal salute.
Zhao Kuangyin stepped forward to stop him, reaching out and supporting him upright. The instant his hand touched that exquisite wrist, Zhao Kuangyin released a long sigh. “Li Congjia, I told you long ago. You are a madman.”
Almost as though in a dream, those double pupils dark as ink looked directly at him. For one instant, even a thousand li of Jiangnan blooming like brocade could not compare with the elegance of that single wrist.
It had not truly been very long. Yet seeing him again somehow felt like a gift.
The wind stirred their sleeves. Dusk closed around them. The man before him, clothed in the memory of night rain, seemed the only light remaining between heaven and earth.
Within Li Congjia’s eyes, Zhao Kuangyin could see clouds gathering and dispersing, leaving an inexplicable melancholy inside him.
No one present dared speak. They had long heard that Zhao Kuangyin’s achievements in the northern court were great enough to overshadow his sovereign. Now, seeing his open and commanding presence for themselves, every minister lowered his head for fear of giving offense.
Zhao Kuangyin’s hand still rested over Li Congjia’s wrist. Seeing everyone around them behaving with such timid deference only displeased him more. His hand naturally slid downward. The wind entered Li Congjia’s sleeve. His fingertips were slightly cool.
They had always been like this. Cool and pale, a person somehow even fainter than the portrait. Why, then, was Zhao Kuangyin unable to set him down either before his eyes or within his heart?
Li Congjia felt that something was improper. Lowering his voice, he tried to make him release his hand. “Zhao Kuangyin…”
In the season of falling flowers, I meet you once again.
Elio’s Notes: This line is from Du Fu’s Meeting Li Guinian in Jiangnan (《江南逢李龟年》). Its companion line, “It is precisely the beautiful scenery of Jiangnan,” is echoed again shortly afterward, making their reunion deliberately shadow Du Fu’s poem about meeting again amid beauty after enormous change.
The sword-browed man finally released him. Seeing the sandalwood bracelet still safe beneath Li Congjia’s sleeve reassured him. Then Zhao Kuangyin strode ahead first.
Li Congjia accompanied Zhao Kuangyin back into Jinling. Water from waterfalls seemed faintly bright beneath the nine heavens. It was precisely Jiangnan’s beautiful scenery: a thousand gates glowing with lamps, the avenues fragrant with wind, Qinhuai wrapped in mist and rain until the northerners accompanying him seemed intoxicated to the bone.
That night, an exceptionally lavish welcoming banquet was held at the post station, with music and dancing continuing without pause. Neither host nor guest appeared.
Li Congjia, dressed in his usual blue-green robes, stood alone at the end of a crowded night-market lane. It was the very alley where trouble had first erupted when they met. Turn the corner and one would see the brilliant lights beyond. He walked over and lightly tapped the trunk of the tree with the rib of his fan. Suddenly, hoofbeats sounded nearby, rapidly approaching. Li Congjia smiled faintly and turned to see Zhao Kuangyin leading a horse toward him. “Did the southern kingdom fail so badly in its manners that it prepared only one horse, or did none of the others meet the Grand Tutor’s standards?” They had clearly agreed to go to Phoenix Terrace. Yet Zhao Kuangyin had brought only one horse.
Zhao Kuangyin looked at him without speaking, patted the horse’s back, then reached toward him. Li Congjia retreated three steps. “I broke our appointment at Phoenix Terrace. But there is one matter I must ask you clearly.”
Zhao Kuangyin considered it. “You want to ask whether I will agree to restoring trade with the former territories?”
Li Congjia’s smile disappeared. There was suddenly something regretful in his expression. “That is not what I mean.”
Zhao Kuangyin could not imagine what else might still stand between them at this point. Puzzled, he said, “Ask.”
“Was it you who killed the Crown Prince?”
Zhao Kuangyin’s hand abruptly tightened around the reins. “Yes. Is that the matter you wanted clarified?” Beneath the night sky, Li Congjia’s eyes were difficult to see clearly, much less the bottomless abyss behind them.
Even now, he still refused to let go in his heart. Zhao Kuangyin suddenly felt that his assumption that Li Congjia would ask about affairs of state had been extraordinarily foolish. For someone like Li Congjia, the word feeling outweighed heaven and earth.
That had been why he had insisted upon dying that day. It remained the same today.
One day, this man would surely be destroyed by his attachment to human hearts.
“You never thought I would ask you?” Li Congjia’s voice now clearly carried emotion. “Never mind. To you, perhaps this was no more than passing smoke. For Zhao Kuangyin, killing one person is probably the easiest thing imaginable. Perhaps it never cost you another thought…” He turned away abruptly, refusing to let Zhao Kuangyin see any expression on his face. “You saved my life. I kept my promise and still wear this bracelet. With that, what lay between us before is settled…” He stepped forward, already preparing to open his fan and leave.
Behind him came the sound of Zhao Kuangyin swinging onto the horse. Li Congjia did not turn around. He continued walking.
“Li Congjia!”
The blue-green figure showed no hesitation.
“Come back!”
He continued toward the mouth of the alley. It formed a precise boundary between shadow and light. One more step would take him into the crowded outer street.
The night air of Jinling carried waves of gardenia fragrance mingled with cosmetics. He saw that dividing line almost directly before him.
Zhao Kuangyin reined in the horse and finally called after him, “I will say it once more. Come back! Take one more step, and the southern kingdom can wait another three or five years before submitting another petition about trade!”
Li Congjia’s figure stopped. Only one step remained. In the distance, fine gauze floated from an upper-story pavilion. Beneath it stood a small shop whose owner called out to sell cloud cakes and other snacks. The lives of ordinary people were so simple and so easily satisfied.
Zhao Kuangyin suddenly became nervous. He watched Li Congjia remain there, afraid the next step would be taken without hesitation. “Do you still want the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance?”
That sentence had precisely the opposite effect. Li Congjia truly became furious. Without thinking further, he strode directly toward the street. “What sort of person do you take me for? Do you think I would, for the sake of one musical score…” His figure passed from shadow into light. He had barely stepped beyond the alley before he could finish speaking.
The man behind him did not dare wait to hear the answer. Zhao Kuangyin suddenly cracked the whip and drove the horse through the alley at full speed. As he passed the blue-green figure, he bent from the saddle, caught Li Congjia around the waist, and swept him directly onto the horse.
Before Li Congjia could even panic, he was already in Zhao Kuangyin’s arms upon the saddle. The headband in his hair came loose under the sudden rush, spilling his long hair completely across the horse’s back. Zhao Kuangyin locked both arms around Li Congjia’s waist so that he could not struggle. It was immediately obvious that Li Congjia could no longer maintain his usual serene expression. His entire profile showed astonishment. “You!”
Zhao Kuangyin’s mood only improved. Leaning close beside his ear, he said softly, “Shh. Do you understand now why I brought only one horse?” His satisfaction at succeeding was unmistakable.
And so the two rode one before the other. Li Congjia could not break free and could only remain half-held against Zhao Kuangyin. Seeing that the horse was heading directly toward Phoenix Terrace made him even more anxious. The route inevitably passed through Jinling’s busiest Flower Market Street. If the people coming and going there saw them like this… “Zhao Kuangyin! Have you truly gone mad? Let go of me!”
The man behind him tightened his hold instead, startling Li Congjia so badly that he no longer dared move. “Stop talking. Be careful you do not bite your tongue.” Feeling the person in his arms immediately stiffen and fall silent, Zhao Kuangyin laughed inwardly and drove the horse onward.
In the final Jinling of memory, perhaps no one on Flower Market Street ever clearly saw the two figures vanishing into the distance. The sword-browed man rode with the arrogance of one who looked down upon the realm, one embrace binding that pale and wandering soul to him. If an entire lifetime could remain forever like this night. If this single journey could carry them together to the ends of the earth and into white-haired old age. If Jiangnan’s mountains and waters remained unchanged, with painted boats beside the railings, then why would anyone ever need to compose another lyric of heartbreak?
Blue-green robes capable of toppling a kingdom. Turn your head, and a hundred years have already passed.
Bianjing.
The Grand Tutor’s residence was utterly silent. Zhao Kuangyin had never kept many people in his household to begin with, and while he was away, there were no visitors either. Once night fell, the silence became even deeper.
With nothing else to do, Zhao Guangyi walked through the courtyard holding a Buddhist scripture. Near a decorative rock outside Autumn Pavilion, he noticed what seemed to be someone’s silhouette. He approached and discovered Yunjie.
It was rare to see her willing to come outside. Zhao Guangyi hesitated, afraid that approaching might frighten her back into the pavilion to shut herself away again. While he was still deciding, Yunjie noticed his shadow cast by the moon and turned around.
“Forgive me for disturbing Miss Yunjie. I will leave immediately.”
“My Lord need not deliberately avoid me. Yunjie did not mean that…” Still dressed in mourning, she sat again upon the steps beside the rock. “It is good that he is not in the residence.”
“Why insist on avoiding Big Brother?” Zhao Guangyi thought Yunjie must have become unbearably stifled after so many days behind closed doors. Speaking with her might do her good, so he walked over and sat at the other side of the steps.
Yunjie sighed. “I do not want to make things difficult for him. He lied before His Majesty about an engagement between us. Who knows how this matter will ever be resolved?”
Zhao Guangyi looked at her. “Since you already have feelings for him, would that not make this a fortunate outcome?”
Yunjie turned toward him in surprise. She wanted to ask yet hesitated. “My Lord… how did you know about Yunjie’s… feelings?” By the time the question left her mouth, she herself felt it was unnecessary. Anyone with eyes had understood long ago. Only Zhao Kuangyin had not.
Zhao Guangyi lightly tapped the Buddhist volume in his hand and looked toward the fine moonlight. “Actually, I saw the embroidery on that handkerchief. You know Big Brother’s nature. He never pays attention to such things. A man like him would never notice the patterns embroidered upon a handkerchief. So what he said before leaving for the campaign was entirely because he held the Tui Bei Tu prophecy in contempt. It was not directed at you.”
Yunjie lowered her head and fell silent. After a long while, she sighed and shook her head. “I have shut myself away for so many days. Whenever I had nothing else to do, I thought about it alone. I no longer care whether his words were directed at me. If his heart contains no such feeling, then saying anything is useless. Besides, I am still in mourning.” Catching sight of the old volume in Zhao Guangyi’s hand, she casually asked, “What book is My Lord reading?”
“I was reading scriptures in the garden this afternoon and lost track of the time. Later, once it became dark, I simply carried it with me while walking around.”
“Scriptures? My Lord believes in Buddhism?”
Zhao Guangyi smiled. “I suppose I could be considered half a disciple of Buddhism, though I never formally received the precepts.” Seeing that sorrow still covered Yunjie’s gentle features and looked even more desolate beneath the moonlight, compassion suddenly rose in him. “Why must the benefactor remain trapped by worldly feeling… Amitabha Buddha…” He pressed his palms together with an exceptionally serious expression.
Yunjie could not help laughing. “I nearly forgot. Back then, I was the one who accompanied him to Zhongmiao Temple and helped find My Lord.” Having said it, she remembered the days she had spent beside Zhao Kuangyin and became sad again.
Zhao Guangyi closed his eyes and began quietly reciting.
Elio’s Notes: The raw text prints 赵匡胤 at this point, but the entire surrounding scene is explicitly between Yunjie and Zhao Guangyi, who has just discussed his Buddhist background and is holding the scripture. FD therefore renders the intended speaker as Zhao Guangyi while flagging the source’s name slip.
“When there are no deluded thoughts, the single mind is a Buddha-land. When deluded thoughts arise, the single mind becomes a hell. Living beings manufacture delusion, producing mind from mind, and therefore remain constantly in hell. Bodhisattvas observe delusion without producing mind from mind, and therefore remain constantly within the Buddha-land. If mind does not generate mind, then each mind enters emptiness and each thought returns to stillness, passing from one Buddha-land into another. If mind generates mind, then each mind remains unsettled and each thought returns to movement, passing from one hell into another. If a single thought arises, then there are the two karmas of good and evil, heaven and hell. If not one thought arises, then there is neither good nor evil karma, neither heaven nor hell. Its nature is neither existence nor nonexistence. Among ordinary beings it appears to exist; among sages, it does not. The sage possesses no such mind, and therefore the breast and heart are empty and vast, equal in measure to Heaven.”
Elio’s Notes: This passage is found in the Buddhist text traditionally attributed to Bodhidharma, the Treatise on Realizing the Nature (《悟性论》). Its argument is that deluded thought itself creates the experienced division between “Buddha-land” and “hell.”
Human beings were ultimately made of deluded thoughts. From delusion arose countless forms of suffering. Yunjie closed her eyes along with him. In the summer night, the sound of cicadas became increasingly clear. Zhao Guangyi had intended to comfort someone else, yet instead stirred up the stories buried in his own heart.
After leaving Andong Temple, he had finally found somewhere to belong. Yet sitting upon these stone steps today, Zhao Guangyi felt no particular joy. Once, he had wanted nothing more than to escape that place forever surrounded by incense smoke. Now that the wish had finally been fulfilled, emptiness had unexpectedly filled him instead.
That child… if you were here today, would you still have some wish left? The more Zhao Guangyi thought, the more frightened he became. He was merely using that person’s name. He should have lived according to his own heart. Yet somehow, he had already become accustomed to that fool’s expectations.
He opened both hands and tried to grasp something for himself. Unfortunately, there was nothing but moonlight spread across the ground.
The two people seated upon the stone steps each carried their own sorrow. When Yunjie heard him stop and opened her eyes, she asked, “What was life in the Buddhist temple like every day?” She could not sleep and was only making idle conversation. Zhao Guangyi likewise had no one with whom he could speak about his past, so he followed the subject and began talking.
As the people and events of those earlier years were told again under different names, the person who had died could only be Jiang Zheng.
The name did not matter. He had merely begun to envy you.
Zhao Guangyi spoke slowly, and Yunjie listened beside him. It was an utterly different world. Touching the past always drew out endless thoughts. By the time they finally began to feel tired, pale light had already appeared in the sky. They had unexpectedly sat there talking for an entire night.
Zhao Guangyi rose and told her to go back and rest, preparing to leave himself. Yunjie calmly thanked him for spending the night talking her through her grief. She understood that he had also been worried she might once again lose hope and do something foolish, which was why he had remained with her. Zhao Guangyi waved it away. After walking several steps, however, he turned back. Seeing that the gentle expression on her face had eased considerably compared with the previous night, he finally felt reassured. “Actually, I too have many things from the past that I have no one to tell. If Miss Yunjie still has knots in her heart in the future, you may come find me and we can talk again.”
She smiled and nodded, then turned back toward Autumn Pavilion.
That night had written far too many stories.
He and he shared a single horse on the road toward Phoenix Terrace. Beyond the city, the open wilderness revealed brilliant stars across the night sky, while some unseen hand seemed to push open a darkened window tangled in branches and leaves.
It was almost like… the trembling within his embrace…