Now, Ji Gong was in the courtyard burning incense to summon Weituo1 when a shout came from the roof: “This god is here!”

A word of explanation: the one who had come was not the real Weituo. This Tale of Ji Gong does not really call up gods and ghosts, but it does not deal in marvels for their own sake; even its gods have to make sense. A story has its open strokes2 and hidden strokes, its foreshadowing strokes, straight strokes and reversed strokes, its angry strokes and its startling strokes. The newcomer was the son of a hero who had shaken heaven and earth. That hero’s family came from Danyang County in Zhenjiang Prefecture. His surname was Zhao and his given name Jiuzhou, and people called him the Full Moon (Yilun Mingyue). He was chief escort master3 of all five routes, east, west, south, north and centre. He married a woman of the Mei family, and they had just the one child, a son named Zhao Bin. The boy was born artless and carefree, muddle-headed and stubborn. He trained under his father until he was thoroughly versed in boxing and staff, and so good he could all but go up to heaven. In all his life the old hero taught only two disciples, besides his son. The elder was Yang Ming of Yushan County in Jiangxi, Awe of the Eight Directions (Weizhen Bafang); the second was Yin Shixiong, a hand on the East Road escort line. One day Zhao Jiuzhou lay sick in bed. He called Madam Mei to his side. “When I’m dead,” he said, “whatever you do, don’t let Zhao Bin work as an escort. He looks down on everyone and thinks the world of himself, arrogant and ignorant. Leave me this bit of a name to hand down to later generations.” With that, alas, he breathed his last. Mother and son saw to the funeral and the burial, and after that it was just the two of them, getting by from day to day.

Zhao Bin loafed about with nothing to do. His father had left a little property, enough to live on comfortably. Out and about, he made friends with a few local men. One was Qin Yuanliang, known as the Flying Fire Patriarch (Feitian Huozu); another was Ma Zhaoxiong, called the Plague God on Earth (Lidi Wenshen). Both were greenwood men4, and they got on very well with Zhao Bin. One day the three of them were eating together. “Younger Brother Zhao,” Qin Yuanliang said, “do you know what we do?” “I don’t know what line of business you two elder brothers are in,” said Zhao Bin. “We’re both thieves,” said Qin Yuanliang. “But not the low sort that go after women. We make it our business to rob the rich and help the poor, kill corrupt officials, behead local tyrants, put down the violent and protect the decent, and set right whatever is unjust. It’s because we like the skills you’ve got, my worthy brother, that we want you to join us. This is what’s called acting the knight-errant and upholding justice. I’ve a suit of night clothes5 here for you.” He handed Zhao Bin a bundle. Zhao Bin opened it and looked: the whole outfit was there. From that day on Zhao Bin went with the two of them, and often went out at night to rob the rich and help the poor. One day Zhao Bin left the bundle at home. Madam Mei opened it and saw it was a suit of night clothes. As Zhao Jiuzhou’s wife, she had seen a thing or two; there was nothing she hadn’t seen. She was still looking at them when Zhao Bin came in from outside. At the sight of him she flew into a rage. “Zhao Bin, your father spent his whole life as an escort and made a fine name, and you’ve ruined it all. So you’ve turned thief! Fine son you are! I’ll dash my head against the wall and die. I won’t go on living.” “Mother, don’t be angry,” said Zhao Bin. “If you don’t want me to be a thief, I won’t be a thief.” “Then burn these clothes right now,” said Madam Mei, “and smash the knife.” Then she thought it over. Staying on here would not do. She had to cut him off from this crowd of friends, or else she would always be afraid someone would lead him astray. The old lady decided to follow Mencius’s mother6, who moved house three times. She quickly sold off the house and land, took their valuables, gold and silver, and came with Zhao Bin to the capital, Lin’an, where they rented rooms from Wang Xing, a fruit seller, in Fourth Lane, Qingzhu.

Zhao Bin still had nothing to do. Wang Xing’s mother, old Mrs. Wang, said, “Old Mrs. Zhao, why don’t you have your son take up some trade? If he sits idle at home, you’ll eat through a mountain.” “He never learned any trade when he was small,” said Madam Mei. “He doesn’t know a thing.” “He could go with my son to the fruit market,” said old Mrs. Wang, “and buy a bit of fruit to sell. It would give him some practice.” Madam Mei thought that a good idea and talked it over with Zhao Bin, and he was willing. The next day he took two strings of cash and went with Wang Xing to the fruit market, where he bought some northern fresh fruit7. “You got these cheap,” said Wang Xing. “You’ve got to look for a hundred per cent profit. Don’t sell till you clear two strings. Work out your prices as you go.” After his meal Zhao Bin took his little basket and went out. He did not dare cry his wares when he saw people. He walked through several lanes, and everyone took him for someone delivering a gift, not a man selling anything, so nobody bought. Zhao Bin came to Fengshan Street. On the north side of the road he saw a great gate like that of an official family, with a big bench at the entrance. He set his fruit basket on the ground, sat down at the gate and stared blankly at his fruit. Just then a squire came out from inside, seeing off a guest. This squire was eight feet tall, with a tiger’s back and a bear’s waist. His face was as dark as gold-beater’s black paper, with rounded brows and wide eyes. His surname was Zheng and his given name Xiong; people called him the Iron-Faced Heavenly King (Tiemian Tianwang). He came of an old family and held the degree of military metropolitan graduate8. At home he was always ready to do what was right and glad to do good and give to charity. Coming out today to see off a guest, he saw Zhao Bin sitting there staring, a young man of uncommon looks, and took a great liking to him. “Friend,” Zheng Xiong said, “what are you doing here?” “Selling fruit,” said Zhao Bin. “How much do you want for it?” said Zheng Xiong. “I paid two strings of cash for it,” said Zhao Bin. “I won’t sell for less than four.” Lord Zheng told a servant to tip the basket out into the water bucket inside and bring four strings of cash for him. The servant said yes. “Friend,” said Zheng Xiong, “you’ve never done any trading before, have you?” “Today’s my first time,” said Zhao Bin. He took his basket and the four strings home and told his mother he had made two strings. The next day he went to the market with Wang Xing again and asked for two strings’ worth of northern fruit, same as before. Back home, he ate his meal, picked up his basket and went out. He went nowhere else, but headed straight for Fengshan Street. At the Zheng residence he set his basket down, sat himself down and waited till noon. Zheng Xiong was going out. The moment he stepped outside, Zhao Bin said, “Don’t go. I’ve brought you some fruit.” “Who told you to bring it?” said Zheng Xiong. “You take it in,” said Zhao Bin. “I’m not going anywhere else to sell it.” “You may be willing, but I’m not,” said Zheng Xiong. “Why don’t I just give you two strings for nothing every day? How about that?” “All right,” said Zhao Bin. That made Zheng Xiong laugh too. “I’ll keep it today,” he said, “but don’t bring any tomorrow. I won’t take it.” He had a servant bring four strings of cash. “What rotten luck,” said Zhao Bin when he heard this. “I finally find a customer, and now he’s gone.” He took the money home. From then on he practised at small trading, making money some days and losing it others. One day at West Lake, the Flashy Libertine (Huahua Taisui), Wang Shengxian, carried off a girl who was out enjoying the lake. Zhao Bin saw the wrong done and stepped in, and killed three of the bully’s men. Ji Gong saved him, and he took Ji Gong as his master. Today, as Ji Gong came out of the Li residence, he ran straight into Zhao Bin selling fruit. “Zhao Bin,” the monk said, “come and have a drink with me.” Zhao Bin went with the monk to a wine shop to drink. “Today,” the monk said, “you’re going to play Weituo for once.” “How do I play Weituo?” said Zhao Bin. Ji Gong told him how Li Guoyuan had lost the Celestial Master’s talisman of the Five Thunders and Eight Trigrams, and how it had ended up in Getian Tower, in the garden of Chancellor Qin’s mansion. Zhao Bin was to steal it and bring it back, and to pose as Weituo at the Li residence so that nobody would see what was really going on. “I don’t know where Li Guoyuan lives,” said Zhao Bin. “I’ll take you,” said the monk. When they had finished eating and drinking, he paid and took Zhao Bin straight to the gate of the Li residence. “Come here tonight,” the monk said, “and do thus and so.” Zhao Bin nodded and went home. “My master Ji Gong wants me to go and play Weituo tonight,” he told his mother. “What do you mean, play Weituo?” said Madam Mei. “Master wants me to go to Chancellor Qin’s mansion,” said Zhao Bin, “to find the Celestial Master’s talisman of the Five Thunders and Eight Trigrams for somebody, and pass myself off as the god Weituo.” Madam Mei knew Ji Gong was a good man. Had it not been Ji Gong’s business, she would not have let Zhao Bin go out at night. Zhao Bin changed his clothes and took a kitchen chopper. At the first watch of the night9 he jumped over the wall, to save his mother having to bar the gate after him, and went straight to the Li residence. There he crouched on the roof of the main house and waited in the dark. He heard Ji Gong cry, “Weituo, if you don’t come now, what are you waiting for?” Only then did Zhao Bin answer, “This god is here!” “Old Wei,” the monk said, “go to Getian Tower in the garden of Chancellor Qin’s mansion and fetch the Celestial Master’s talisman of the Five Thunders and Eight Trigrams.” “I obey your holy command,” said Zhao Bin. He turned and was off, leaping over roofs and ridges toward Hehe Ward, until he reached the garden of Chancellor Qin’s mansion. He looked about. The grounds were huge, and he had no idea which building was Getian Tower. Truly, there were water pavilions and cool kiosks, towers, terraces and small trees, flowers that never fade in any of the four seasons and grasses that stay green through all eight festivals of the year.

He jumped down from the wall and searched all over. In the north-east corner he found a courtyard on its own, with a north building five bays wide, three of them showing in front10, and side rooms to the east and west. In the north building lamplight flickered and shadows moved. Zhao Bin went to the window of the inner room, licked a hole in the window paper with the tip of his tongue and peered in. Along the front, under the eaves, stood a bed. Against the north wall was an Eight Immortals table with two chairs. A single-edged saber hung on the wall, a candle stood on the table, and two men sat facing each other in the chairs, drinking tea. The one on the east side was over sixty, pale-faced, with sword-shaped brows, triangular eyes and a grizzled beard. He wore a square-cornered scarf of blue silk and a blue silk robe with a seal-script pattern. The one on the west was about thirty. He wore a warrior’s cap of black satin and an archer’s robe of black satin, a silk cord tied round his waist, and a hero’s cloak of black satin flung over his shoulders. The old man was saying, “My brave friend, I took you in and looked after you so that you would do this job for me. If you really do it well, I’ll give you a hundred taels of silver. Take it, go to the ends of the earth, and I promise no murder charge will ever touch you.” As he spoke, the old man took two packets of silver from inside his robe and set them on the table, gleaming white. “I owe you so much, sir,” said the brave fellow, “for your kindness and your care. To refuse would be disrespectful, and to accept leaves me ashamed, so I make bold to take the blame for disrespect11.” “My brave friend,” said the old man, “better to accept than to stand on ceremony.” The brave fellow tucked the silver inside his robe, reached up and took down the saber that hung on the wall. “Sir,” he said, “whatever goes on outside, don’t you interfere. In a little while a man’s head will come to see you.” With that he went out.

Zhao Bin quickly found a dark spot to hide in. When the man had gone past, Zhao Bin followed behind him, thinking, “Isn’t he off to kill somebody somewhere? I’d better follow and see.” The man went west through two courtyards. On the west side was a gate of four green screen panels, and inside it a north building of three bays, with a faint glow of lamplight and what sounded like someone reading aloud. The man went in with his saber. Zhao Bin wet a hole in the window paper and looked. Inside were an Eight Immortals table and two chairs, and in one of the chairs sat a young gentleman scholar, reading his books, with an old servant waiting on him. The man went in and slapped his saber down on the table. “You two, master and servant, tell me quick who you are. I’ve come specially to put an end to your lives.” The young gentleman and the servant fell to the floor in terror. “Spare us, good sir! If you’re asking, it’s like this, and this, and so.” When Zhao Bin heard it, he was so furious his lungs nearly burst. He drew his kitchen chopper, ready to burst into the room and take a hand in other people’s business.

To learn what lay behind it all, read the next chapter.