Chapter 1: The Buddha Speaks
"A wealthy young girl prayed to the Buddha to see the man she adored one last time. The Buddha granted her wish by turning her into a stone, forcing her to cultivate for five hundred years just to glimpse the man passing briefly over a bridge. Then she became a tree, cultivating another five hundred years to let him rest beneath her shade... What are youpraying for?"
A sun-tanned young man knelt on a cushion before a gilded Buddha statue, palms pressed together in prayer. Yet instead of focusing on devotion, he struck up a conversation with the woman kneeling beside him.
She had been there long before he entered the hall. Her attire was masculine: a huntuo hat, a narrow-sleeved, tight-fitting robe with a turned-down collar, trousers, and high boots. Yet her intent was not to disguise herself as a man. Her face bore obvious traces of makeup—willow-leaf eyebrows delicately painted, full lips stained vermilion—accentuating her striking femininity. The tailored clothing only emphasized the curves of her body.
Such was the Tang Dynasty's fashion: women often wore men's attire not to conceal their gender, but to flaunt their beauty through contrast.
The hall was vast. Though monks chanted sutras within the same room, their voices seemed to drift from afar, accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of wooden fish. The ambiance was hazy, ethereal, and serene.
Qianfu Temple owed its existence to Li Xian, the Crown Prince Zhanghuai, who donated his residence as a monastery in the fourth year of Xianheng (673 CE). Now, in the second year of Jingyun (711 CE), thirty-eight years had passed. The prince who built it was long gone, as was Empress Wu Zetian, who had ordered his execution. Dynasties rose and fell, courtiers and commoners replaced in waves, yet the temple's ancient architecture stood unchanged.
The structures remained, but the people were gone.
Green tiles, white walls, roofs adorned with owl-tail ornaments stretching into the distance. Incense smoke swirled, insulating the temple from the scheming world outside. Over time, Qianfu Temple had retreated into pure sanctity.
Hearing the man's voice, the woman opened her almond-shaped eyes and glanced at him. Clearly acquainted, she pressed a finger to her crimson lips and whispered, "The Buddha is watching. Hush—we'll talk later." Her voice was melodic, unhurried, like a languid tune.
The young man fell silent. After a few perfunctory bows to the statue, he stood abruptly and strode out.
His sudden departure caught the woman off guard. A flicker of unease crossed her mind. She hurriedly bowed a few times and chased after him.
Outside the hall lay a courtyard bordered by latticed windows and covered corridors—a remnant of the crown prince's former residence. The courtyard was silent save for tender willow branches swaying in the breeze. No one else was in sight.
For reasons she couldn't fathom, a pang of loneliness struck her. Why? The man was no one of consequence to her. Human hearts are ever perplexing.
Just then, a voice sounded behind her: "The Buddha says you've cultivated for a thousand years, yet still cannot win his affection. Will you keep trying?"
She turned, frowned, and pouted. "Must you play these tiresome games, Xue Qing? Shouldn't you be on duty? What brings you to Qianfu Temple?"
The man addressed as "Xue Qing" was Xue Chongxun, Duke of Wei and Grand Minister of Ceremonies (Taichang Qing), eldest son of Princess Taiping, the empire's most formidable woman.
The woman, Yuwen Ji, was the fiancée of Feng Yuanjun—Deputy Minister of Ceremonies (Taichang Shaoqing) and cousin of the powerful eunuch Gao Lishi. In the Tang Dynasty's open society, women freely mingled in public, and their overlapping connections had brought Xue Chongxun and Yuwen Ji into occasional contact.
There was another layer to their acquaintance: Yuwen Ji was renowned in Chang'an as a "divine physician," famed for curing obscure ailments with unorthodox methods. Xue Chongxun's ministry oversaw the Imperial Medical Bureau, and though Yuwen Ji wasn't a court physician, her skills had once saved Emperor Li Dan (father of Crown Prince Li Longji) from debilitating migraines when palace doctors failed.
Xue Chongxun replied, "You know Feng Erlang handles daily affairs. I rarely intervene. Today is the day we sons pay respects to our mother, so I came from Anyi Ward. With time to spare, I wandered here."
At the mention of Princess Taiping, a shadow of worry flashed in his eyes.
Since last year's coup—which saw Empress Wei, Princess Anle, and Shangguan Wan'er purged—Emperor Li Dan had reclaimed the throne. Now, Crown Prince Li Longji and Princess Taiping stood as rival powers, their factions locked in an irreconcilable struggle. For Xue Chongxun, his mother's eldest son, the outcome loomed perilously close. The reckoning might come within a year or two.
Perhaps his lack of piety explained why the temple's incense and chants offered him no peace. The specter of conflict haunted him still. He sighed inwardly, clasped his hands, and said, "I must go. Time waits."
"Wait." Yuwen Ji stopped him. "You never finished the Buddha's story. Does such a tale truly exist in the sutras?"
"It does," Xue Chongxun said solemnly.
"What did the girl reply when the Buddha asked if she'd keep cultivating?"
"She said no more."
"How dull." Yuwen Ji looked disappointed—proof that women cling to obsessions.
Xue Chongxun added, "Then the Buddha sighed in relief and said, 'Another man has cultivated two thousand years just to see you once.' Understand?"
Yuwen Ji's cheeks flushed. Connecting his words to her own prayers—and her engagement to Feng Yuanjun—she wondered: Is he mocking me?
"You've changed," she remarked. "It's... peculiar."
"How so?" Xue Chongxun tensed slightly.
"Forgive my bluntness, but before, I thought you belonged on the battlefield, not in the Ministry of Ceremonies. Now? You seem... contemplative."
Xue Chongxun forced a laugh. "We seldom meet. How would you know who I truly am?" He glanced at the sun, now dipping westward. If he left now, he could join his mother's household for dinner after paying respects. "I really must go."