Now, Bo Yikao meant to go to Zhaoge to redeem his father’s crime. The Senior Counsellor San Yisheng tried to dissuade him, but the young lord’s mind was made up and he would not agree. He went into the palace to take leave of his mother, Tai Ji, for he meant to go to Zhaoge and redeem the crime. Tai Ji said, “Your father is held at Youli. To whom will you entrust the affairs of Xiqi, within and without?” Yikao said, “The inner affairs I shall leave to my brother Ji Fa, the outer affairs to San Yisheng, and military matters to Nangong Kuo. Your child means to go to Zhaoge himself and see the king, and with tribute as my reason, ask to redeem Father’s crime.” Seeing that Bo Yikao was set on going, his mother could only consent. “My child,” she charged him, “take great care on this journey!” Yikao took his leave and went straight to the front hall, where he said to his brother Ji Fa, “Brother, live in harmony with all our brothers, and make no changes to the ways of Xiqi. I go to Zhaoge now; in three months at most, or two at least, I shall be on my way home.” His instructions given, Yikao packed up the treasures for the tribute and chose a day to set out. Ji Fa, with the officials civil and military and all ninety-eight younger brothers, gave him a farewell feast at the Long Pavilion, ten li out of the city. Yikao drank with them and said his farewells, and then he was on his way, cracking his whip and giving his horse its head, past fragrant groves of red apricot and along endless old roads shaded by willows. One day Bo Yikao and his followers reached Sishui Pass. The soldiers on the pass saw two tribute banners bearing the name of the Lord of the West, and an officer went to report to the commander. Han Rong, the Commander of the pass, ordered the gates opened. Yikao went through, and the road brought nothing worth the telling. He passed the Five Passes and came to Mianchi County, crossed the Yellow River to Mengjin, entered the city of Zhaoge and took lodgings at the guesthouse for royal envoys. The next day he asked the keeper of the guesthouse, “Where is the Chancellor’s residence?” “On Taiping Street,” the keeper answered. The next day Yikao came to the Meridian Gate, but not a single official was to be seen coming or going, and he did not dare go in through the Meridian Gate unbidden. Five days he went back and forth like this. Then Yikao, dressed in plain white1 and holding his memorial in his arms, stood waiting outside the Meridian Gate. Before long a great minister came riding up: it was the Second Chancellor, Bi Gan. Bo Yikao went forward and knelt. “Who is that kneeling at the foot of the steps?” asked Bi Gan. Yikao answered, “I am Bo Yikao, son of the criminal subject Ji Chang.” At these words Bi Gan sprang from the saddle and raised him with his own hands. “Please rise, worthy young lord!” The two of them stood outside the Meridian Gate, and Bi Gan asked, “What brings you here, young lord?” Yikao answered, “My father offended the Son of Heaven, and it was thanks to your protection, Chancellor, that his life was spared. That kindness is as high as heaven and as deep as the earth; my father and all of us, his sons, have it carved on our hearts and can never forget it! But now seven years have gone by with Father held at Youli all this while — how can a son have any peace? I believe the Son of Heaven must surely care for his good and law-abiding subjects. How could we be content to lie like fish on the chopping block? I, Yikao, have agreed with San Yisheng to present to the royal court the rare treasures our ancestors handed down to guard our state, and so redeem my father’s crime in his place. I beg you with all my heart, Chancellor: open your heart, kind and merciful as heaven and earth, and pity Ji Chang his long suffering at Youli. If his old bones may be granted leave to go home to their native soil, your kindness will truly be as great as Mount Tai and your goodness as deep as the sea. There is not a soul in Xiqi who will not remember your great kindness with gratitude, Chancellor.” Bi Gan said, “And what treasures are you bringing as tribute, young lord?” Bo Yikao said, “The Seven-Fragrance Carriage that our first ancestor Danfu2 handed down, the Sobering Rug, a white-faced ape and ten beautiful women, to redeem my father’s crime.” “What is so precious about the Seven-Fragrance Carriage?” asked Bi Gan. Yikao answered, “The Seven-Fragrance Carriage: when the Emperor Xuanyuan defeated Chiyou at the North Sea, he left this carriage behind. If someone sits in it, it needs no one to push or pull it; if he wishes to go east, it goes east, and if he wishes to go west, it goes west — a treasure handed down for generations. The Sobering Rug: if a man is dead drunk, let him lie on this rug, and in no time at all he will be sober. The white-faced ape: though only a beast, it knows three thousand short songs and eight hundred long ones. It can sing for a banquet and dance as lightly as if on the palm of a hand — truly like the trilling of an oriole, like a slender willow swaying.” When Bi Gan had heard him out, he said, “These treasures are wonderful indeed. But the Son of Heaven has lost his virtue, and to offer him playthings as tribute is the very way to help Jie in his cruelty: they will dazzle and bewilder His Majesty and only add to the disorder at court. Still, since you, young lord, act out of kindness and filial love because your father is a prisoner, and your heart is true, I will carry this memorial to His Majesty’s hearing for you, so that your coming here shall not be in vain.” Bi Gan went to the Star-Plucking Tower to await the royal command.

A chamberlain announced, “The Second Chancellor, Bi Gan, asks to see Your Majesty.” “Summon Bi Gan up into the tower,” said King Zhou. Bi Gan came up into the tower and paid his respects. King Zhou said, “We sent no summons, minister. What memorial do you bring?” Bi Gan said, “Your servant begs to tell Your Majesty: Bo Yikao, son of Ji Chang, Lord of the West, has brought tribute to redeem his father’s crime.” “What has Bo Yikao brought?” said the king. Bi Gan presented the memorial listing the tribute. When the king had read it, he said to Bi Gan, “The Seven-Fragrance Carriage, the Sobering Rug, a white-faced ape and ten beautiful women, to redeem the crime of the Lord of the West.” King Zhou ordered Yikao summoned up into the tower. Yikao came forward on his knees and elbows, lay prostrate and said, “Bo Yikao, son of a criminal subject, comes to pay his respects.” King Zhou said, “Ji Chang’s crime was great: he defied his sovereign. Now his son brings tribute to redeem his father’s crime — that may be called filial indeed.” Bo Yikao said, “The criminal subject Ji Chang committed the crime of defying his sovereign, yet he was pardoned and spared death, and lives for the present at Youli. Our whole household is grateful for Your Majesty’s vast grace, high as heaven and wide as the sea, and looks up to your great virtue, deep as the earth and high as the mountains. Now, heedless of our folly and meanness, we risk death to lay this before you and beg to bear our father’s crime in his place. If in your benevolence you would grant him new life and pardon him to go home, so that my mother and we her sons may be made whole again, flesh and blood together, then for ten thousand years we shall look up to Your Majesty for showing us, beyond all our hopes, Heaven’s love of life.” King Zhou saw how grief-stricken Yikao was and how earnestly he pleaded his father’s wrong. He knew these were the words of a loyal subject and a dutiful son, and he was deeply moved. He bade Yikao rise, and Yikao thanked him and stood outside the balustrade. From behind the inner curtain Daji saw that Yikao was handsome and refined, with fine eyes and clear brows, red lips and white teeth, and a gentle way of speaking. Daji sent out a command: “Roll up the pearl curtain.” The palace women on either side rolled it high and hung it on its golden hooks. When King Zhou saw Daji come out, he said, “My royal wife, here is Bo Yikao, son of the Lord of the West, bringing tribute to redeem his father’s crime. His case truly deserves pity.” Daji said, “Your handmaid has heard that Bo Yikao of Xiqi plays the zither3 beautifully — truly without equal in the world, a rare thing among men.” “How do you know that, my royal wife?” said King Zhou. “Though your handmaid is only a woman,” said Daji, “when I was a girl in my secluded chambers I heard my parents tell how Yikao was learned in all music and finer still at the zither, with a deep knowledge of the lofty music handed down from the ancients. That is how I know. Let Your Majesty have Yikao play a piece, and you will see how deep his art goes.” King Zhou was a slave to wine and women and had long been bewitched by the demon’s aura. The moment he heard this, he ordered Bo Yikao to kowtow to Daji. When Yikao had made his obeisance, Daji said, “Bo Yikao, I hear you play the zither beautifully. Will you try a piece for us now?” Yikao said, “Your Majesty, your servant has heard that when a man’s parents are ill, their son dares not loosen his clothes or eat at his ease. Now my father, a criminal subject, has been a prisoner for seven years and has suffered every kind of torment. How could your servant bear to slight his father and play the zither for his own pleasure? Besides, your servant’s heart is broken and tangled like hemp — how could I keep to the notes and the beat? I would only offend the royal ears.” King Zhou said, “Yikao, play a piece here and now. If it is truly rare, We will pardon you and your father and let you go home.” At these words Yikao was overjoyed and gave thanks. King Zhou sent for a zither. Yikao sat cross-legged on the floor and laid the zither across his knees. His ten slender fingers plucked the strings, and he played a piece called “Wind in the Pines”:

Yikao played the piece to its end. Its notes rose and fell, deep and lingering, truly like the chime of struck jade and ringing pearls, like the pine wind surging through ten thousand valleys, pure and tender almost past bearing. It swept the dust of the world from the heart at a stroke, and one seemed to stand by the Jasper Pool among the phoenix towers of heaven; beside it, reed pipes and flutes, clappers and songs seemed coarse enough to stifle one. It was truly as the saying goes: “Such music belongs in heaven alone4; how often can it be heard among men?” When King Zhou had heard it, he was delighted, and said to Daji, “He truly lives up to what you heard, my royal wife. This piece of Yikao’s may be called perfect in beauty and perfect in goodness.” Daji said, “All the world has heard of Bo Yikao’s zither. Now that I see the man himself, what I heard falls short of what I see.” King Zhou, overjoyed, sent down a command to lay a banquet in the Star-Plucking Tower. Daji stole a look at Yikao: a face like the full moon, a handsome and refined bearing, a figure far from common, and a grace about him that stirred the heart. Then Daji looked at King Zhou: his face was dull and murky, with little to stir anyone! (Mark this, reader: King Zhou had the looks of a king, but how could they stand up to the ravages of lust? He had grown haggard and wasted. Since ancient times beautiful women have loved young men — and how much more so Daji, who was a demon!) Daji thought to herself, “I’ll keep Yikao here on the pretext of having him teach me the zither, and tempt him when the chance comes. Then perhaps the two of us can become a pair of phoenixes and share the joy of birds that fly wing to wing. Besides, he is young; he will do me far more good5. Why should I cling to this old man?” Having laid her plan to keep Yikao, Daji at once said, “If Your Majesty pardons the Lord of the West and his son and sends them home, that is indeed Your Majesty’s boundless grace. But Yikao’s zither is the finest music in the realm. If he is pardoned and sent home now, Zhaoge will never hear its like again — a great pity.” “Then what is to be done?” said King Zhou. “Your handmaid has a way to have both,” said Daji. “What clever plan have you, to have it both ways?” said King Zhou. Daji said, “Your Majesty might keep Yikao here to teach your handmaid the zither. When I have learned it thoroughly, I can wait on Your Majesty morning and evening and add to the pleasures of your leisure hours. On the one hand, the Lord of the West will be grateful for Your Majesty’s pardon; on the other, Zhaoge will not lose the music of the jasper zither. So perhaps both may be had.” At this King Zhou patted Daji on the back. “How wise you are, my love! Truly clever and wise — you have found the very way to gain two ends with one move.” And he sent down the command at once: “Yikao is to stay in this tower and teach the zither.” Daji was secretly delighted. “Now I’ll get King Zhou drunk and have him helped off to a deep sleep, and then I’ll be free to have my way with that one. How can it fail?” She hurriedly sent word to lay the banquet. King Zhou took it that Daji meant well — how could he know that within lay a passion that would harm the morals of the age and corrupt its customs, and break down the barriers that the bonds and the constants, ritual and righteousness had set? Holding up a golden cup in both hands, Daji said to King Zhou, “Drink this cup to your long life, Your Majesty!” King Zhou took it for loving devotion and thought only of his pleasure, and before he knew it he was dead drunk. Daji ordered the waiting women at her side to help His Majesty to his dragon couch to sleep, and only then did she have Yikao teach the zither. The palace women on either side brought two zithers: the upper one for Daji, the lower one for Bo Yikao to teach on. Yikao said, “The son of a criminal subject begs to tell Your Majesty: the zither has the five forms, inner and outer, the six pitch-pipes and the five notes; it has trilling and playing, hooking and flicking. The left hand makes the dragon’s eye and the right hand the phoenix’s eye, pressing out gong, shang, jue, zhi and yu6. Then there are the eight strokes: stroke and pick, hook and flick, sweep and push, pluck and strike. And there are the six taboos and the seven times not to play.” “What are the six taboos?” asked Daji. Yikao said, “Hearing of a death; weeping in grief; a mind full of other business; an angry temper; desire, which must be curbed; and fright.” Daji asked again, “And what are the seven times not to play?” Yikao said, “In sudden wind and driving rain; in great sorrow and grief; with cap and clothes awry; when drunk and wild; without incense, for that is close to irreverence; before one who does not know music, for that is close to vulgarity; and when unclean, for that is close to defilement. At any of these times one does not play. This zither carries the music left from remotest antiquity; its joy comes close to the refined, and it is quite unlike all other music. It has eighty-one major modes, fifty-one minor modes and thirty-six grades of tone.” There is a poem to prove it:

When Yikao had finished speaking, he plucked the strings. The sound rang out clear, wonderful beyond words. But Daji had never really wanted to learn the zither; what she craved was Yikao’s looks. She meant to tempt him, wanting the two of them to fly wing to wing, to give rein to her lust and throw off all restraint — when had she given the zither a thought? She did nothing but lure him this way and that. She let the peach blossom bloom in her cheeks, showing off all her seductive young beauty, the charm of a beauty to dazzle a kingdom. She turned on him eyes clear as autumn ripples, sending him sweet, melting looks of love; she parted her red lips and breathed soft, warm whispers. All of it was meant to stir Yikao and throw his mind into confusion. But Yikao was the son of a sage. His father had met with the misfortune of captivity, and he wished to do his duty as a son; so, shrinking from no hardship on the long road, he had come to Zhaoge with tribute to redeem his father’s crime, hoping only that father and son would go home together. How could he have any such thought? Though he was teaching her the zither, his heart was like iron and stone and his will as hard as steel; his eyes never strayed, and his whole mind was on the teaching. Two or three times Daji tried to lure him, but Yikao would not be moved. Daji said, “This zither is hard to understand all at once.” And she told her attendants, “Bring in the banquet now.” The attendants on either side set out the banquet at once. Daji had a seat set beside the table and told Yikao to keep her company at the feast. Yikao was frightened out of his wits. He knelt and said, “Yikao is the son of a criminal subject. Your Majesty has been gracious enough not to kill me and has granted me a way to new life; I feel your sacred virtue to be as great as the mountains and the sea. Your Majesty holds the dignity of ten thousand chariots and is mother of the realm among men. How would Yikao dare sit at your side? Your servant deserves ten thousand deaths!” Yikao lay prostrate and did not dare raise his head. Daji said, “You are wrong, Yikao! If we went by subject and sovereign, you certainly could not sit. But in teaching the zither we are master and pupil — what harm is there in sitting?” Hearing Daji say this, Yikao gnashed his teeth in silence. “This bitch takes me for the disloyal and unfilial kind, without virtue or kindness, without propriety or righteousness, without wisdom or goodness! My first ancestor Danfu served under Yao as a minister and held the office of Minister of Agriculture7; our line has come down for dozens of generations, loyal and good in every one. Today I, Yikao, came to the Shang court for my father’s sake and have blundered into a pit. Who would have thought that Daji, with her wicked lust, would wreck the bonds and the constants of our sovereign, harm the morals of the age and bring deep shame on the Son of Heaven? Her wickedness is no small thing. I, Yikao, would sooner suffer death by ten thousand blades — how could I disgrace the honour of the house of Ji? When I am dead and down among the Nine Springs, how could I face my first ancestor?” Now, Daji saw Yikao lying prostrate and saying nothing, and saw that his feelings were not stirred; she had no plan left to try. But her wicked desire would not let go. “Here am I, full of love and longing, and he hasn’t so much as a glance for me. Very well — I’ll try another way to lead him on. Then I needn’t fear this man’s feelings won’t stir!” Daji had no choice but to have the palace women clear away the wine. She bade Yikao rise and said, “Since you are so set on not drinking, go back to teaching the zither as before, and put your heart into it.” Yikao received the command and played the zither as before, hooking and plucking the strings for a long while as he had done earlier. Suddenly Daji said, “I am up here and you are down there; we are too far apart. I keep pressing the strings wrong, and it is most awkward — how can I master it quickly? I have a way that suits us both and brings us close, so that you can guide my fingers on the strings. What could be wrong with that?” Yikao said, “Play long enough, and the skill comes of itself. Your Majesty need not be impatient.” “That’s not the point,” said Daji. “If I haven’t mastered it tonight and His Majesty asks me tomorrow, what am I to say to him? That would be most awkward. Move up to the upper seat, and I’ll sit in your lap. You take both my hands and pluck the strings with them, and I’ll have it in no time. Why drag it out for days and months?” Bo Yikao was so terrified that his soul fled ten thousand li and his spirit three thousand. He thought, “My fate is already sealed. I can hardly escape this net. Let me at least die a ghost clean and unstained, true to the way my father taught his sons. There is nothing for it but to speak loyal words and remonstrate plainly, and go gladly to my death.” With a stern face Yikao said, “Your Majesty’s words would make your servant a cur and a swine for ten thousand years! When the court historians set this down in the records, what kind of queen will they say you were? Your Majesty is mother of the realm to all its people. You receive the tribute and homage of all the lords of the realm; you enjoy in the pepper chamber the substance of supreme honour; you hold power over the six palaces within the golden gates. Yet now, over a matter of teaching the zither, you would demean your high station like this — it is mere child’s play. Where is the decorum in it? If word of this should once get out, then though Your Majesty were pure as ice and spotless as jade, how would the world ever believe it, for ten thousand generations to come? I beg Your Majesty not to be impatient, lest to those standing by it should look like an insult to the supreme dignity.” Daji was so ashamed that she flushed red to the tips of her ears and could find nothing to say. She sent down a command for Bo Yikao to withdraw for the time being. Yikao went down from the tower and back to the guesthouse. But no more of that.

Now, Daji burned with hatred. “What a churl, to slight me so!” she said to herself. “I gave my heart to the bright moon — who would have thought the bright moon would only fill the ditches? Instead he has put me to shame. I’ll see you ground to powder and your bones smashed; nothing less will ease my hatred!” Daji had no choice but to go to bed beside King Zhou. At daybreak the next morning King Zhou asked her, “Last night, when Bo Yikao taught you the zither, did you master it?” Whispering on the pillow to stir him up, Daji seized her chance: “Your handmaid must tell Your Majesty: last night Bo Yikao had no mind to teach the zither. Instead he conceived wicked designs and made advances to me with his words — he showed none of the courtesy a subject owes. Your handmaid cannot but report it.” At this King Zhou flew into a rage. “How dare the churl!” He rose at once, dressed, took his meal and sent down a command to summon Bo Yikao. Yikao, at the guesthouse, received the command and came at once to the foot of the Star-Plucking Tower to await the royal pleasure. The king commanded, “Summon him up.” Yikao came up into the tower and kowtowed on the floor. The king said, “Yesterday, when you taught the zither, why did you not put your heart into it, but dragged out the time instead? What have you to say?” Yikao said, “In learning the zither, what matters is a steady heart and a sincere mind; only so can it be mastered.” Daji, at the king’s side, said, “There is nothing hard about the zither’s rules. If they are explained carefully and clearly, with proper thought, how could anyone fail to master them? It’s only that your teaching was unclear and your explanations muddled — how could anyone reach the wonders of its music that way?” King Zhou heard what Daji said. What had happened in the night was not a thing he could speak of openly, so he commanded Yikao, “Play another piece for Us to hear in person, and We shall see how it goes.” Yikao received the command and sat down on the floor with his legs folded beneath him. As he played the jasper zither he thought to himself, “Better to slip a veiled admonition into the music.” And he sang a song in praise of King Zhou:

King Zhou listened quietly to the music. It was all loyalty and love for the realm, without a hint of deceit or slander — what could he charge Yikao with? Seeing that King Zhou had no mind to punish him, Daji goaded him with a suggestion: “Bo Yikao presented a white-faced ape that sings beautifully. Has Your Majesty heard it sing?” King Zhou said, “Last night things went amiss with the zither, so the ape never got to perform. Let Us have Yikao bring it up into the tower today to try a song. What do you say?” Yikao received the command, went to the guesthouse and brought the ape up into the Star-Plucking Tower. He opened its red cage and let it out, and handed the white ape a pair of sandalwood clappers. The white ape tapped the clappers lightly and began to sing, its voice winding and turning, sweet as reed pipes, ringing through the whole tower. Its high notes were like the cry of a phoenix, its low notes as lovely as a phoenix’s song. The sorrowful heard it and smoothed their brows; the glad heard it and clapped their hands; those in tears heard it and stopped weeping; the clear-headed heard it and fell into a trance. King Zhou listened, and his heart was turned upside down. Daji listened, and her fair heart grew drunk. The palace women listened and thought it the rarest thing in the world. The ape sang until the immortals were rapt and Chang’e in the moon inclined her ear — and it sang Daji into such a daze, her spirit swaying and her mind lost, her feelings soaring and her heart running wild, drunk and entranced, that she could no longer keep her body in check, and her true form was sung right out of her. This white ape had cultivated the Way for a thousand years. Its cultivation had cleared every crossbone from its twelve-storey tower8, which is why it could sing so well; and through cultivation it had also gained its fiery eyes with their golden pupils, which could see through the demons of the world of men. When Daji’s true form appeared, the white ape saw a fox up there — not knowing that the fox was Daji’s own true shape. For though the white ape had attained the Way, it was a beast after all. It flung its clappers to the floor, and with one bound across the nine-dragon banquet it sprang at Daji to claw her face. She swayed back out of its reach, and King Zhou struck the white ape such a blow with his fist that it fell to the floor and lay there dead. He ordered the palace women to help her up. Daji said, “Bo Yikao brought in the ape openly, but in secret it was meant to murder me. If Your Majesty had not been so good as to save me, your handmaid would be dead!” King Zhou flew into a rage and shouted to his attendants, “Seize Bo Yikao and throw him into the scorpion pit!” The palace attendants on either side seized Yikao, and Yikao cried out at the top of his voice, “Injustice!” again and again. Hearing Yikao cry injustice, King Zhou ordered him brought back for the moment. “You churl!” said King Zhou. “The white ape tried to murder her before all our eyes. Why do you argue, crying ‘Injustice’?” Weeping, Yikao said, “An ape is a beast of the mountains. Though it has learned the speech of men, its wild nature has not left it. Besides, monkeys love fruit by nature and do not eat cooked food. When it saw all kinds of fruit on Your Majesty’s nine-dragon banquet, it was wild to get at the fruit, and so it threw down its clappers and sprang at the table. What is more, the ape had not an inch of blade in its hands — how could it murder anyone? Your servant Bo Yikao’s family has received Your Majesty’s great favour for generations; how would I dare do anything so rash? I beg Your Majesty to look into the truth of the matter. Then, though your servant were cut to pieces inch by inch, he would die with his eyes closed.” King Zhou listened to Yikao and thought it over a long while; then his anger turned to good humour. “My royal wife,” he said, “Yikao is right. An ape is a creature of the mountains and wild by nature after all. Besides, how could it murder anyone without a blade?” So he pardoned Yikao, and Yikao thanked him. Daji said, “Since Yikao is pardoned and guiltless, play us one more rare song in a strange mode on your jasper zither. If the music truly shows a loyal and good heart, well and good. But if there are no words of sunflower9 loyalty in it, there will be no pardon for you.” “Well said, my royal wife,” said King Zhou. Hearing what Daji said, Yikao thought, “This time I surely cannot escape her snare. I will give this wretched body to plain-spoken remonstrance and die beneath ten thousand blades, leaving my name in the annals to show that the house of Ji has been loyal and good for generations and has never failed.” Yikao received the command and sat down on the floor, and with the zither across his knees he played a song. The words went:

When Yikao had finished playing, King Zhou did not grasp what the music meant. But Daji, being a demon, heard words in it that slandered the sovereign. Pointing at Yikao, Daji cursed him: “You insolent churl! How dare you hide slander in your music, insulting your sovereign and reviling your lord! This is hateful beyond words! You are a vicious scoundrel, and death is too good for you!” King Zhou asked Daji, “What slander is there in the music? We still don’t see it.” Daji explained to him in detail what the music meant. King Zhou flew into a rage and shouted to his attendants to seize him. Yikao said, “Your servant still has a closing verse. Let me play it, so that Your Majesty may hear it to the end.” The words went:

When Yikao had finished his song, he turned and swung the zither at her across the banquet table, sending plates and dishes flying. Daji twisted aside and fell to the floor. King Zhou flew into a rage. “Churl!” he said. “When the ape attacked her, you talked your way out of it with clever words. But you struck at the queen with your zither — that is plain, murderous treason, and death is too good for you!” He shouted to the attending officers, “Take Yikao down from the Star-Plucking Tower and throw him into the scorpion pit!” The palace women helped Daji up, and she said, “Let Your Majesty have Yikao taken down from the tower. Your handmaid has her own way of dealing with him.” King Zhou did as Daji said and had Yikao taken down from the tower. Daji ordered her attendants to fetch four nails, nail down Yikao’s hands and feet, and hack him to pieces with knives. Poor Yikao! He was seized, and his hands and feet were nailed down. Yikao shouted and cursed her without stopping: “Bitch! You will bring Cheng Tang’s splendid realm to nothing. My death is no great loss: my name for loyalty will last, and my filial devotion will live for ever. Bitch! Alive, I cannot eat your flesh, but when I am dead I will surely become a vengeful ghost and devour your soul!” Alas, that a dutiful son who came to the Shang court for his father’s sake should have his body hacked apart by ten thousand blades! In no time they had chopped Yikao into mince. King Zhou ordered it thrown into the scorpion pit to feed the snakes and scorpions. “No,” said Daji. “Your handmaid has often heard that Ji Chang is called a sage — that he can foresee good and ill fortune and reads yin and yang with skill. And your handmaid has heard that a sage will not eat his own son’s flesh. Let the cooks season Yikao’s flesh and make it into meat cakes11, and send them to Ji Chang as a royal gift. If Ji Chang does eat this meat, then his fame is empty, wild nonsense, and all his talk of good and ill fortune, of yin and yang, is so much falsehood; then he may be pardoned, to show Your Majesty’s mercy in sparing life. If he does not eat it, Ji Chang must be beheaded at once, or he will leave us trouble later.” King Zhou said, “What you say, my royal wife, is just what We had in mind. Order the cooks at once to make Yikao’s flesh into cakes, and send an officer to take them to Youli as Our gift to Ji Chang.” Would the Lord of the West live or die? To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.