Ziya comes down from Mount Kunlun

Now, on Mount Kunlun, in the Palace of Jade Emptiness, the Heavenly Venerable Yuanshi, who ruled over the Way and the teachings of the Exposition Sect, had closed his palace and stopped teaching. For the twelve disciples under him had run into the calamity of the red dust, and slaughter and punishment were coming upon them; and besides, the Lord on High of the Vast Heavens3 had commanded the twelve chief immortals to declare themselves his subjects. And so the three teachings4 were taken together — the three orders of the Exposition Sect, the Interception Sect and the way of men — and a roll of three hundred and sixty-five gods in all was drawn up, divided into eight departments: the upper four, of Thunder, Fire, Plague and the Dipper; and the lower four, of the host of stars and constellations, of the Three Mountains and the Five Sacred Peaks, of the spreading of rain and the raising of clouds, and of the gods of good and evil. At this time the house of Cheng Tang was due to perish and the house of Zhou to rise. It happened, too, that the immortals had broken the precept, that Yuanshi was to invest the gods, and that Jiang Ziya was to enjoy the good fortune of a general and a chancellor: all of it fell due together, and none of it was chance. This is just what is meant by the saying, “Every five hundred years5 a true king arises, and in that time there is sure to be a man who makes a name for his age.”

One day the Heavenly Venerable Yuanshi, seated on his Eight-Treasure Cloud-Light Throne, said to the White Crane Boy, “Ask your Uncle, Jiang Shang6, to come here.” The White Crane Boy went to the peach orchard to fetch Ziya. “Uncle,” he said, “the Master asks for you.” Ziya hurried before the throne in the precious hall, bowed and said, “Your disciple Jiang Shang pays his respects.” “How many years have you been on Kunlun?” asked the Heavenly Venerable. “Your disciple came up the mountain at thirty-two,” said Ziya, “and now I have idled my way to seventy-two.” The Heavenly Venerable said, “You were born to a thin lot. The Way of the immortals is hard for you to attain; you can only enjoy the blessings of the world of men. Cheng Tang’s allotted span is spent, and the house of Zhou is about to rise. Do this work for me: go down the mountain to invest the gods, and help the enlightened ruler. You will be a general and a chancellor, and your forty years of cultivation on this mountain will not have been in vain. Nor is this a place for you to stay long. Pack your things and go down the mountain soon.” Ziya pleaded, “Your disciple left the world with a true heart, and I have endured the bitter years for a long time now. Though cultivation is as hard as rolling a mustard seed onto the point of a needle, I beg you, Master, in your great compassion, to lead me out of delusion and back to awakening. I would gladly stay on the mountain and practise austerities, and I would never dare to hanker after wealth and honour in the red dust. I beg you, Master, keep me at your side.” “Such is your fate,” said the Heavenly Venerable. “You must submit to Heaven. How can you go against it?” Ziya lingered, unable to tear himself away. Then the Immortal Elder of the South Pole7 stepped forward and said, “Ziya, a chance like this is hard to come by, and the moment must not be lost. Besides, Heaven’s reckoning is already fixed; there is no escaping it. You may be going down the mountain, but when your work is done, the day will come for you to come back up.” Ziya had no choice but to go down the mountain. He packed his zither and sword, his clothes and his bag, rose and bowed in farewell to his master, then knelt and said through his tears, “Your disciple goes down the mountain at your sacred command, Master. But how will it all end for me?” The Heavenly Venerable said, “Now that you are going down the mountain, I have a sealed gatha8 of eight lines for you; days to come will bear it out. The gatha says:

“Very well,” said the Heavenly Venerable. “Though you go now, there will still be a day when you come back up the mountain.” Ziya bowed and took his leave of the Heavenly Venerable, then of all his fellow Daoists, and taking his bag with him, he left the Palace of Jade Emptiness. The Immortal Elder of the South Pole went with him to see him off, and at Qilin Cliff he told him, “Ziya, take good care of yourself on the road ahead!” Ziya parted from the Immortal Elder of the South Pole and thought to himself, “Above me I have no uncles, no elder brothers or their wives; below me, no younger brothers or sisters, no sons or nephews. Where am I to go? I am like a bird that has lost its forest, with not one branch to perch on…” Then suddenly he remembered: “In Zhaoge there’s my sworn elder brother, Song Yiren. I’d better go to him.” Ziya came by the earth escape and was soon at Zhaoge. Thirty-five li from the south gate he came to the Song family manor. Ziya saw that the gate and the courtyard were as they had always been, and the green willows still stood. He sighed. “Forty years I’ve been away from here. The place looks just the same as ever, but the faces are not the same.” When he reached the gate, Ziya asked the gatekeeper, “Is your squire at home?” “Who are you?” asked the gatekeeper. “Just tell him an old friend, Jiang Ziya, has come to call,” said Ziya. A servant boy went in and told the squire, “There’s an old friend outside, a Jiang Ziya, come to call.” Song Yiren was going over his accounts. Hearing that Ziya had come, he hurried out of the house to meet him, crying, “Worthy brother! How could you go all these decades without a word?” ““Here I am — your unworthy brother!”,” Ziya answered at once. Hand in hand, each holding the other up, the two of them went into the thatched hall, bowed to each other and sat down. Yiren said, “I’ve always longed to see you, and today we meet again. What luck, what luck!” Ziya said, “When I left you, my good brother, I truly hoped to leave the world behind and rise above the mortal. But alas, my destiny was shallow and my lot was thin, and I never achieved my aim. Now I have come to your fine manor and found you again, my good brother: this is Shang’s good fortune.” Yiren hurriedly ordered a meal and asked, “Vegetarian, or meat?” Ziya said, “I have left the world. How could I drink wine or eat meat? I keep to vegetarian fare.” Song Yiren said, “Wine is the jade nectar of the Jasper Pool, the ambrosia of the immortals’ grottoes. Even the immortals go to the Peach Banquet. A little wine will do you no harm.” “Since you advise it, my good brother,” said Ziya, “your younger brother will obey.” And the two of them drank merrily. “How many years were you on Kunlun, worthy brother?” asked Yiren. “Forty years, before I knew it,” said Ziya. Yiren sighed. “How time flies! And did you learn anything up on the mountain, worthy brother?” “Of course I learned things,” said Ziya. “What else would I have been doing?” “What Daoist arts did you learn?” asked Yiren. “Carrying water, watering the pines, planting peach trees, tending the fire, fanning the furnace and refining elixirs,” said Ziya. Yiren laughed. “That’s servants’ work — hardly worth mentioning! Now that you’ve come back, worthy brother, you’d do better to find yourself some line of work. Why stay a man who has left the world? Live here with me; there’s no need to go anywhere else. You and I are old friends; it’s not as if we were strangers.” “Quite so,” said Ziya. Yiren said, “An old saying has it: ‘Of the three unfilial things, to have no heir is the worst11.’ Worthy brother, for the sake of all the years we’ve been friends, tomorrow I’ll arrange a match for you. Then if you have a son or a daughter, the Jiang family line won’t be lost.” Ziya waved his hand. “Let’s talk about that another time, my good brother.” The two of them talked until evening, and Ziya stayed on at the Song family manor.

Now, Song Yiren rose early the next day, mounted his donkey and rode to the Ma family manor to arrange the match. When he reached the manor, a servant boy announced to Squire Ma, “Squire Song has come to call.” Squire Ma was delighted and came out of the gate to meet him. “What wind has blown you here, squire?” he asked. “Your nephew has come especially to propose a match for your daughter,” said Yiren. Squire Ma was very pleased. They exchanged bows and sat down. When they had taken tea, the squire asked, “My worthy young friend, to whom would you match my daughter?” Yiren said, “He’s a man of Xuzhou by the East Sea. His surname is Jiang and his given name Shang; he is styled Ziya, and he also goes by the name of the Flying Bear (Feixiong). He and your nephew are close friends, our families are as one, and that is why this match is just right.” Squire Ma said, “With you making the match, my worthy young friend, nothing can go amiss.” Song Yiren brought out four ingots of silver as the betrothal gift. Squire Ma accepted them and hastily laid on a feast for Yiren, and they did not part until dusk. Meanwhile Ziya got up and saw nothing of Song Yiren all day. He asked a servant boy, “Where has your squire gone?” “He went out early this morning,” said the boy. “He must be off collecting debts.” Before long Yiren got down from his donkey, and when Ziya saw him, he went to the gate to meet him. “Where have you been, elder brother?” “Congratulations, worthy brother!” said Yiren. “What is your younger brother to be congratulated on?” asked Ziya. Yiren said, “Today I arranged a match for you. Truly, you have met across a thousand li, brought together by the fate of marriage!” “Today’s hour is not a lucky one,” said Ziya. “Never mind yin and yang and their taboos,” said Yiren. “Heaven looks after a lucky man.” “Whose daughter is she?” asked Ziya. “Ma Hong’s daughter,” said Yiren, “with talent and looks both, just the match for you, worthy brother. And she’s a little sister to me besides: a virgin maid of sixty-eight!” Yiren had wine set out to celebrate with Ziya. When they had drunk, Yiren said, “You must choose a lucky hour to take your bride.” Ziya thanked him. “You look after me so well, brother. How could I ever forget such kindness?” So a lucky hour on an auspicious day was chosen, and he took Madam Ma as his bride. Song Yiren laid on another feast and invited the neighbours from the front of the manor and the back, and kin and friends from all around, to celebrate the wedding. That day Madam Ma crossed the threshold: the flowered candles burned in the bridal chamber, and they became man and wife. Truly: a match made by Heaven is no chance encounter. There is a poem that says:

Now, after the wedding Ziya pined for Kunlun all day long. His one worry was that he would never attain the great Way, and he was unhappy at heart. What heart had he for taking his pleasure with Madam Ma, night and morning? Madam Ma knew nothing of what was on his mind and simply took him for a useless thing. Before they knew it, two months had passed. Then Madam Ma asked Ziya, “Is Brother Song your cousin?” “Brother Song is my sworn brother,” said Ziya. “So that’s how it is,” said Madam Ma. “Even with brothers born of one mother, there’s no feast that doesn’t break up in the end. While Brother Song is here, the two of us can live at our ease. But if one day he’s gone, what will become of you and me? As the saying goes, ‘A man lives between heaven and earth by plying a trade.’ I’d advise you to do some business, to provide for the two of us later on.” “You’re right, my good wife,” said Ziya. “What trade can you do?” asked Madam Ma. “At thirty-two I went to Kunlun to study the Way,” said Ziya. “I know nothing of worldly affairs or business. All I can do is weave bamboo strainers13.” “Even that’s a business,” said Madam Ma. “And there’s bamboo in the back garden. Cut some, split it into strips, weave them into strainers and sell them in Zhaoge for a little cash. Big or small, it’s all business.” Ziya did as she said. He split bamboo into strips, wove a shoulder-pole load of strainers and carried it to Zhaoge to sell. From morning till noon, and on into the middle of the afternoon, he did not sell a single one. Seeing that it was already late afternoon, with thirty-five li still to walk under his load and his belly empty besides, Ziya had no choice but to hurry home. There and back, it was seventy li in all, and the load had crushed his shoulders till they swelled. When he got back to the gate, Madam Ma looked: a full load had gone out, and a full load had come back. She was just about to ask when Ziya pointed at her and said, “Wife, you are no good wife. You were afraid I’d sit idle at home, so you sent me to sell strainers. Zhaoge must have no use for strainers. How else could I sell all day and not sell one, and get my shoulders crushed and swollen into the bargain?” “Strainers are used everywhere under heaven!” said Madam Ma. “Instead of owning that you don’t know how to sell, you come home making false complaints!” Husband and wife went at it word for word, shouting themselves hoarse in each other’s faces. Song Yiren heard Ziya and his wife squabbling and hurried over to ask, “Worthy brother, what are you and your wife fighting about?” Ziya told him all about selling the strainers. Yiren said, “Never mind the two of you — even if there were twenty or thirty mouths, I could feed them all. Why carry on like this?” Madam Ma said, “You mean well, Brother Song, but the two of us must think of where we’ll end up. Are we just to fold our hands and wait for death?” Song Yiren said, “My sister-in-law has a point. But why do this kind of business? The wheat in my granary is starting to sprout. I’ll have the lads grind some flour, and you can carry it off to sell, worthy brother. Won’t that be better than weaving strainers?” Ziya got the baskets and carrying pole ready, the lads set up the millstone and ground a load of flour, and the next day Ziya carried it into Zhaoge to sell. He went round all four gates and could not sell a single catty. His belly was empty and his load was heavy, and there was nothing for it but to go out by the south gate, his shoulders aching again. Ziya set down his load and sat with his back against the city wall to rest a while. Brooding on his bad luck and evil times, he made up a poem. It went:

Now, Ziya sat for a while before he got up again. Just then someone called out, “Hey, flour-seller, wait!” “Here comes my first sale of the day!” said Ziya, and he set down his load. The man came up to him. “How much flour do you want?” asked Ziya. “One copper’s worth,” said the man. Ziya could hardly refuse to sell, so he bent his head and scooped up the flour. But Ziya was no seasoned porter. He had tossed his carrying pole down at the roadside, and the ropes lay sprawled on the ground. At this time, because King Zhou was without the Way, four hundred lords15 of the east and south had risen in revolt, and the reports coming in were most urgent. Prince Wucheng was drilling his troops and horses every day, and the boom of the gun to dismiss the camp had startled a horse, which slipped its reins and came galloping as if it flew. Ziya, bent over scooping flour, was not on his guard when someone behind him yelled, “Flour-seller, horse coming!” Ziya leapt aside, but the horse was already upon him. The ropes from his load lay spread on the ground, and the horse came on so fast that they looped round its fetlocks, and it dragged both baskets of flour fifty or sixty feet. The flour spilled all over the ground, and a gust of wild wind blew it clean away. By the time Ziya had scrambled to save it, he was coated in flour from head to foot. Seeing the state he was in, the man who had come to buy flour simply walked off. Ziya had no choice but to go home. Sighing and groaning all the way, he came to the front of the manor. When Madam Ma saw him come back with empty baskets, she was delighted. “So flour sells like that in Zhaoge!” Ziya came right up to her, flung down the baskets and pole and cursed her: “It’s all because of you and your meddling, you bitch!” “Flour sold clean out is a good thing,” said Madam Ma, “and you come back cursing me!” “I carried a whole load of flour into the city,” said Ziya, “and when did I ever sell any of it? Not till the afternoon did I make one copper’s sale.” “You’ve come back with empty baskets,” said Madam Ma, “so you must have let it all go on credit.” Ziya said in a fury, “A horse broke loose and got its legs caught in my ropes, and it dragged the whole load and spilled the flour all over the ground. Then Heaven sent down a wild wind, and one gust blew every bit of it away. And isn’t all this trouble of your making, you bitch?” At that Madam Ma spat full in his face. “You’re useless, and you come back blaming me! You’re nothing but a rice bag on a clothes rack — all you know is eating and drinking!” Ziya flew into a rage. “You bitch — a mere woman! How dare you spit on your husband?” And the two of them grabbed hold of each other and went down in a heap. Song Yiren and his wife, Madam Sun, came to make peace. “Brother-in-law, whatever are you and my sister-in-law fighting about?” Ziya told them all about selling the flour. Yiren laughed. “What’s a load of flour worth, that the two of you should carry on so? Come with me, worthy brother.” Ziya went with Yiren into his study, and they sat down. Ziya said, “You are kind enough to take your younger brother under your wing, brother, but my times are bad and my luck is crossed: nothing I turn my hand to comes to anything. I am truly ashamed!” Yiren said, “A man’s life is ruled by luck, and a flower blooms when its season comes. An old saying has it: ‘Even the Yellow River has its day of running clear; how can a man never have his turn of luck?’ Don’t take it so hard, worthy brother. I have a great many partners, and there are thirty or fifty taverns in Zhaoge, all of them mine. Let me invite all these friends of mine for you to meet. Each tavern will let you run it for a day, and then round again from the start, taking turns to make a living. Won’t that be fine?” Ziya thanked him. “You do me too much honour, my good brother.” So Yiren gave Ziya the Zhang family tavern by the south gate to open for business. The south gate was the finest spot in Zhaoge: close to the drill ground, where roads from every quarter met, and thronged with people — a very lively place. That day the cooks slaughtered plenty of pigs and sheep, steamed dumplings and set out the wine and drink all in good order, and Ziya, who was to mind the till, sat inside. But for one thing, Ziya was the leader of all the gods, and for another, his stars were against him that year: from early morning until well on in the forenoon, not even a ghost came through the door. When noon came, the rain poured down as if from a tipped basin, and Huang Feihu held no drill. It was sweltering, and the pork and mutton dishes, steamed in that sultry heat, began to stink at once; the dumplings went sour, and all the wine turned. Ziya sat there feeling foolish and called to the staff, “You’d better eat and drink it all up yourselves. A little longer and it’ll all be wasted.” Then Ziya made up a poem: