In the late spring in the fifth year of Yongyan, this world seemed much like it had twenty six years before, with a hint of unease lingering. Rumours circulated of strange phenomena in the southwest, where mountains crumbled and earth split, though fortunately no greater calamity followed.

　Then on a day beneath the clear sky, all mortals in this world forgot for a fleeting moment’s span. They forgot what they had glimpsed in that instant, and forgot the fleeting desire that had stirred within them.

　Mortals only recalled a heavy downpour. Despite the vastness of the world rain fell everywhere, and after a moment, the clouds dispersed and the rain ceased.

　The downpour ceased with the prolonged toll of a Buddhist bell—ten thousand temples across the land, ten thousand bells, all chimed without being struck in that single instant.

　In that moment, the world heard only that resonant toll. The torrential rain abruptly halted amidst its echo.

　As clouds parted and rain ceased, mortals beheld a rainbow passing through the clear day, spanning the entire expanse of this mortal realm.

　After that day, temples great and small were filled with incense, worshippers seeking divine favour crossed countless thresholds.

　Everyone declared that a true Buddha must have manifested in this world, and so they hurried to the temples to offer incense. Some sought healing and the removal of disasters, others prayed for domestic harmony, some begged for wealth, fame, and good fortune, while others sought a harmonious marriage. And then there were the greediest, kneeling before the Buddha and beseeching the bodhisattva: ‘Bless me with all my wishes to be fulfilled!’

　The green mountains south of the Yangtze River stretch like ink at the southern horizon. At their foot lies a small town called ‘Xiwang[1]’. Though modest in size, it’s surrounded by hills and water, blessed with truly auspicious feng shui. As propitious as its name, generations of its people had known few major illnesses or disasters. While no great fortunes or important figures had emerged from there, daily life was lived with quiet contentment and joy.

　When people live well, their hearts grow kind. One day a fisherman who made his living on the river brought back a living soul he’d found by the water’s edge. This man hadn’t fallen in by accident; the fisherman had found him sitting by the riverbank, lost in thought as he gazed at the rushing currents.

　The fisherman feared the young man might have some inexplicable thoughts and be contemplating suicide, so he quickly moored his boat to offer words of comfort. Upon closer inspection, however, he realised his own misjudgement—the youth appeared utterly serene, a reed between his teeth, quietly observing the river. Though clearly only in his twenties, he possessed features so distinct and handsome it was astonishing. Yet what struck one first upon seeing him was not his youthful vigour or striking good looks, but rather the profound stillness and serenity radiating from his expression.

　“Young man!” The fisherman, a middle-aged man both kind-hearted and warm, saw him sitting alone. However serene the scene, it still felt rather lonely. He called out, “Have you eaten?”

　It was midday, the time for lunch. The fisherman had simmered a pot of assorted fish on his boat, brought the provisions his wife had packed, and even smuggled along a flask of coarse wine. Now, shaking the flask, he warmly invited the stranger: “Haven’t eaten yet? Come share a couple of cups?”

　The youth sat upon a riverside rock, a reed between his teeth, gazing at the fishing boat moored by the shore. Suddenly, he broke into a smile. Without waiting for the vessel to draw near and steady itself, he leapt across the water, landing with a graceful flutter upon the deck, clearly demonstrating his martial arts skills.

　“Aiyoo!” exclaimed the fisherman, who knew nothing of martial arts but could appreciate the youth’s superb footwork. Slapping his thigh, he blurted out a title borrowed from the storytellers: “Young… young hero! What might your name be?”

　“I don’t remember.” The young hero delivered a startling reply, shaking his head with a faint smile. “I don’t remember my name.”

　He couldn’t recall his surname or given name, his age, his home, where he came from, or where he was headed. After several cups of wine, the fisherman finally grasped the truth—this man remembered nothing… He remembered nothing at all. What was to be done?

　Seeing the youth was fit and healthy and showing no signs of illness or head injury, after sharing a few cups the fisherman felt compelled to take charge of the matter. He kindly suggested, “Why not… come stay at my place for now? At least you’ll have somewhere to rest. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, it all comes back to you?”

　The youth accepted without hesitation, nodding decisively. “Alright, thank you.”

　And so this stay lasted more than a day. When he awoke, he still couldn’t recall his name, and he remained in Xiwang Town.

　The townspeople were kind and warm-hearted. They pitied him for being so handsome yet unable to recall anything, and didn’t suspect him of being some infamous criminal avoiding the authorities. They scrambled to find him an empty house in town, brought him bedding and household wares, and gave him a place to settle. Since he had been found by the riverbank, everyone began calling him Jiang-gonzi.[2]

　After several days, Jiang-gonzi became simply Xiao Jiang[3]. Though the young man had forgotten everything and spoke little, he was exceedingly friendly. Because the vacant house he was staying in was with the Qiao family in the town, he helped the madam daily by fetching water, chopping firewood, mending the leaky roof over the thatched house, and even plugging the mouse holes in the west room.

　Auntie Qiao had three daughters and all had married off. Two years ago her husband had passed away. Though neighbours lent a hand, she felt lonely in the evenings. Now, however, joy lit her face daily, and she prepared a special dish for every meal. She could manage frugally by herself, but since Xiao Jiang shared her meals, she would not let him go hungry.

　It wasn’t just Auntie Qiao who took a liking to him; nearly everyone in the town had grown fond of the young man. Newly arrived, he carried himself with an air of distinction and refinement. Rumours circulated that he knew martial arts, yet he never flaunted his skills. Whenever a household needed help with something, he was always willing to lend a hand.

　When a local family was getting married and started building a new house for the marriage, he spotted the work and single-handedly raised the ridge beam. The old carpenter marvelled, astonished both by his strength and his innate grasp of the craft. Even though he’d never built before, he picked up every technique instantly.

　If one were to say that bricklaying and carpentry were simply trades, one might understand his quick grasp of them. But when Auntie Qiao pulled out fabric to make him a new set of clothes, he could observe and grasp the techniques. His stitches were finer and denser than those of ordinary girls. It was quite remarkable.

　Each villager had their own trade. After half a month, hunters took him into the mountains, fishermen took him to the waters, and herbalists took him for gathering herbs. None sought anything in return from him but the power of his words—whatever he asked for was delivered. Whether it was the rarest beast in the wild, the most elusive fish in the river, or the most precious herb in the mountains, taking Xiao Jiang along meant that if he said there was a catch, there was a catch. After several such outings, the fishermen who’d brought him back once laid on his bed before sleep and mutter to his wife: “Could it be I’ve brought home Jiangshen[4]? Xiao Jiang’s life is far too fortunate. He remembers nothing, and might well be a spirit from the river…”

　“There’s no such thing as a god speaking so easily,” his wife chuckled, yet wondered, “I wonder what family this child was born into originally. Such luck must be the result of immense virtue accumulated by his ancestors.”

　Not only did the adults in town favour him, but the children did too—though the town had only a hundred or so households, its children were also remarkably fortunate. Every child in town, from three to thirteen years old, followed this ‘particularly handsome gege’ about daily, clamouring to hear stories. One day, Xiao Jiang visited the more prosperous county town beyond the town and returned with several books. Few in the town could read, so they didn’t know what he was reading. But they heard from an old scholar who had some learning and had even taken the provincial examinations that Xiao Jiang was quite something—he possessed the rare gift of remembering everything he ever saw and read. Had he chosen to pursue scholarly honour, securing an official title would have been but a trifling matter.

　However, observing this young Jiang-gonzi, one saw not the slightest inclination towards scholarly endeavours. His remarkable ability to grasp knowledge at a glance was entirely devoted to telling tales for the children, clearly revealing no interest in scholarly titles.

　Thus it was said that this exceptionally fortunate Jiang-gonzi truly mastered whatever he studied, comprehended whatever he read, and could achieve whatever he set his mind to—be it fame or fortune, he would surely succeed. It truly echoed the fisherman’s wife’s words: such fortune must stem from accumulated virtue, as if blessed by a bodhisattva. One might engrave four words upon him: ‘Your wishes come true’.[5]

　Alas, he sought neither fame nor fortune, preferring instead to live a simple life in the town. Occasionally, Auntie Qiao would spot him sunbathing in his courtyard, quietly lost in thought, clutching two fragments of stone. Judging by the way he held them, they seemed to be two pieces of a whole forming a small stone seal, barely half the size of a palm.

　“Xiao Jiang, have you remembered something?”

　Auntie Qiao had once asked him this, only to see the boy slip the fragments away. His right hand lightly stroked the Buddhist beads on his left wrist as he replied, “Nothing. I can’t recall anything.”

　“…If you can’t remember, then never mind. Stay here as long as you wish. I’ll go and cut you a slice of melon.”

　A woman of over seventy, Auntie Qiao knew well the saying: ‘Old age breeds wisdom, and age breeds strangeness.’ Though she couldn’t read a single character, she understood people. Having asked once, she asked no more. This child remembered nothing, yet his quiet demeanour was so moving it stirred pity in anyone who saw him.

　Having lived to this age, Auntie Qiao knew little else, but she understood that with long life comes the ability to endure anything and forget everything.

　Not remembering painful things is indeed a blessing. Yet, even for someone like her who lived to a ripe old age, weathering every storm until memories faded, there were still moments when she’d wake from a hazy dream in the dead of night, lying on her kang bed, and feel a sharp ache in her chest.

　Old tales of years gone by, the shadows of former friends… All may fade from memory, yet the pain remains.

　Auntie Qiao had often contemplated arranging a match for Xiao Jiang. She doubted she was the only one in town harbouring such thoughts, but no one had ever formally inquired about him—not because they didn’t know his background, but because they felt that in these remote villages, there simply wasn’t a girl worthy of him.

　Besides, who could say when he might suddenly recall something, or when his own relatives might come knocking? The whole town adored Xiao Jiang, yet everyone assumed he’d never truly settle down here, living out his days in quiet obscurity.

　But no one could have foreseen the commotion when Jiang-gonzi finally left them. One day early in the seventh month as households rose and finished their morning washings, the sound of horses’ hooves echoed from beyond the town gates, heralded by the clang of gongs. It was a spectacle unlike any they had ever witnessed: officials of unprecedented rank, accompanied by countless soldiers armed with swords and daggers.

　Yet whether dignitaries or soldiers, all knelt before the gate of Auntie Qiao’s courtyard. Over a hundred men dismounted and prostrated themselves in unison, addressing the young Jiang-gonzi standing at the entrance: “We humbly beseech Your Lordship to return to the capital!”

　“Then let us go.” Jiang-gonzi paused only briefly before strolling past the assembled crowd as though taking a leisurely stroll. With a wave of his hand, he commanded, “Rise, and don’t disturb the peace of others.”

　The tenth day of the seventh month was a moderately auspicious day, clear and bright. Outside Xiexuan[6] Study, the foliage flourished and flowers bloomed in vibrant splendour—the capital was already in the grip of mid-summer. Yet within the imperial study, the air remained unseasonably cool. A basin of ice emitted wisps of white vapour, mingling with the scent of smouldering sandalwood incense. Not a sound of human voice could be heard.

　“Lanlan! Lanlan!”

　The sudden clamour came from Eunuch Chen who tiptoed in, obediently carrying a birdcage to hang beneath the eaves. Within fluttered a parrot raised since childhood by the emperor. Spotting a familiar face, it flapped its wings jubilantly, chattering in imitation speech while pecking at the cage door with its beak, seemingly desperate to escape.

　“Look, even it remembers you,” the emperor remarked, standing in his usual attire beneath the eaves. “When I was young, I called you Lanlan. It heard that name so often it has never learned any other. All these years, nothing has changed.”

　“…………”

　“You say you’ve forgotten, but have you truly forgotten?”

　None dared remain silent before the sovereign, yet this man before the emperor dared to persist in silence. After a long moment, he merely shook his head.

　“Is it that you do not remember? Or that you do not wish to remember?”

　The man offered no reply, neither kneeling nor submitting. The emperor’s tone held not a trace of reproach as he continued gently, “The bond between us… all these years of our connection. Do you not wish to recall it?”

　“…………”

　“If you truly cannot recall, then ponder it here at your leisure,” the sovereign declared, turning towards his study. Without looking back, he added, “Kneel and ponder.”

　“You said…”

　The emperor’s voice held no anger, his face showed none, yet within, genuine fury stirred. So fierce was his rage that despite his usual self-restraint, he poured himself drink after drink in Xiexuan Study that day. He drank for as long as the man knelt outside.

　By the last cup, he seemed truly drunk. Propping his head with one hand and holding his cup with the other, he asked the old eunuch who stood silently by his side, “You said he…” and then fell silent for a long, long time.

　“He doesn’t remember, nor does he wish to stay…” Only after a full stick of incense had burned did the emperor continue, turning to Eunuch Chen, “What do you say? Is it true?”

　“…This humble servant does not know.” Eunuch Chen dared not withhold an answer from the emperor, and so he simply stated his ignorance.

　“…I do not know either. Though I do not know, I do possess a thousand ways to keep him here,” the emperor’s slurred speech remained clear, his voice tinged with a smile. “…But why should I keep him?”

　The old eunuch remained silent, his knees buckling as he fell to the floor.

　With no one to converse with, this solitary sovereign posed and answered his own question: Why keep him? Perhaps to pursue the delusion of eternal life—though the monk of Changgeng Temple was nowhere to be found, rumours suggested his Marquis of Wanjiang knew him well. Keeping him in court might yield clues.

　Why should he keep him? Perhaps to seek companionship through the changing seasons—though emperors throughout the ages lamented their solitude, he had never truly felt it until this day. Since childhood, Yonglan had been his constant companion; keeping him in the palace offered a measure of warmth. Why should he keep him? Perhaps to cherish an unspeakable thought—since words cannot be spoken, even the inner dialogue within one’s heart must be restricted.

　“To stabilise the state, secure the country, and bring peace to the world” the Son of Heaven spoke again, suddenly turning to an old tale. “Yonglan never took to books as a child. I used to tease him, saying, ‘If you won’t even study military strategy, how can I ever trust you to lead troops? What a waste of your martial prowess!’”

　“…………”

　“Do you know how he answered me?” The old eunuch knelt in silent submission, though the emperor did not truly require his words. He merely smiled to himself. “He was only thirteen that year, yet he said to me, ‘Your Highness, in time you shall have scholars to secure your realm, generals to stabilise your state, and me to pacify the world for you’.”

　“Later, I had this Qiulong blade forged for him,” the emperor stroked the precious sword retrieved especially for that man. “On the day I bestowed it, what did I say? Surely you remember?”

　“…This old servant remembers.”

　“Alas…” The emperor set down his wine cup, then picked it up again before suddenly hurling it to the floor. A sharp, clear clang rang out as it shattered into pieces.

　“Your Majesty, please calm your anger.” The old eunuch spoke with no trace of alarm in his voice, though his tone suggested submission. Kneeling forward, he bowed low. “This humble servant dares to recount his humble origins, though they may be unpalatable to Your Majesty.”

　“At six years old, this humble one came to the capital with my family, seeking refuge with relatives.” The emperor gave neither consent nor refusal, so Eunuch Chen continued, prostrate on the floor. “Later, our meagre savings were swindled by those very relatives. My father hanged himself. My mother could not support three children, so I sold myself into the palace to secure a livelihood for my younger siblings. That year, this humble servant was eight years old—already rather advanced in age. Surviving that ordeal gave this servant a new life.”

　“Later, when I sought to make my mark, I implored a guard who held some influence to teach me martial arts. That guard was kind-hearted and told me that the fierce, aggressive techniques he practised were not for me to learn. If I insisted on learning them, sooner or later I would face grave consequences.”

　“But as a castrated eunuch, I had little choice in the matter. Since I truly wished to rise above my station, I had to learn regardless. By sheer luck, I’ve lived to this age, though every joint in my body is worn out. Day after day I merely endure the suffering of existence. Yet in all these years, this old servant has never once regretted a single choice—neither entering the palace nor learning martial arts. For this one’s life, it all boils down to three words: gains and losses.”

　Within the vast palace precincts, certain secrets remained hidden from others, yet Eunuch Chen knew them well. He understood all too well the delusions involved behind that Chang’an Seal, and the price the common folk would pay for it.

　Though he understood, he bowed his head once more, uttering only four words: “The emperor is wise.”

　“…Since your joints are worn, rise,” the emperor chuckled, though what he found amusing was unclear. “Why must you both kneel?”

　He picked up the Qiulong blade from the table and strode towards the door. Though drunk, his steps showed no sign of unsteadiness; he walked with remarkable composure.

　“Do you know…” Just before opening the study door, the emperor halted. Without turning back, he said, “You should know—ten years ago, when that monk opened his hall to preach… I was present that day too.”

　“…………”

　“Do you know what this Emperor saw that day?”

　“…This humble servant does not know.”

　The emperor shook his head and smiled, reaching out to open the door. After all, blessed by the dragon’s qi, he remembered what he had seen in Changgeng Temple ten years prior; he remembered what he had seen in the throne hall ten years later.

　And because he remembered, he could let go.

　The emperor stepped outside with the blade in hand, motioning for The Marquis of Wanjiang to rise. Only when the man stood upright did he present the Qiulong sword: “Do you recognise this blade?”

　“…………”

　“Take it. It was always yours.”

　“Today, I bestow this blade upon you, granting you the authorisation to roam the realm in my stead, to right the wrongs of the common folk. Are you willing?”

　“This servant obeys!”

　Those words still echoed in his mind as the emperor shook his head and smiled again—later, his Marquis of Wanjiang bore a blade stained with blood, yet scarcely a drop was shed for himself. It was shed for the people of the realm.

　All shed for the imperial family, all shed for the throne, all deeds his Marquis of Wanjiang never truly wished to perform.

　“From this day forth, you shall no longer be my Marquis of Wanjiang.” The emperor hurled the blade towards the man before him. Watching him catch it, he smiled faintly. “The blade is yours. Wherever you wish to go, whatever you wish to do: from this day forth, it concerns me no longer.”

　He gazed into the eyes of the man holding the blade, studying the expression there. He refused to believe that everything had been forgotten, but he was finally willing to relinquish the delusion of eternal life, granting this man the boundless expanse of sky and sea.

　Generation after generation of emperors proclaimed themselves solitary and isolated. Once one became the Son of Heaven, one could never escape such conventions.

　But he was willing.

　“Yonglan, should you ever remember…” Though he claimed to be willing, as the other turned to leave, his voice caught him. If you do remember, come back and see me.

　The words fluttered silently through his mind. The Son of Heaven no longer spoke of himself as ‘zhen’, nor did he utter those words aloud.

　In the end, he only said: “Go, then.”

　Zhen’er, do you understand? In a lifetime, what is there not to regret?

　The emperor bore only the single character ‘Zhen’.[7] The old eunuch, who had watched him grow from childhood and served him for thirty years, would occasionally, in the quietest moments, secretly call him Zhen’er in his heart.

　I regret entering the palace, regret learning martial arts. In old age, one cannot help but regret the past. Today I urge you to let go. When my death comes, I shall surely regret it too. Not the crime of deceiving a sovereign, but only how I failed you.

　Eunuch Chen did not obey the imperial command to rise and accompany the sovereign. He remained kneeling in the study, silently kowtowing.

　In this world, there are always regrets and unfulfilled wishes. Yet even knowing this, there are times when words must be spoken, deeds must be done.

　Throughout his life he could not even be considered a whole person. Still, he had spoken human words and performed one human act.

　The old eunuch silently bowed his head once more, speaking for all the people of the realm: Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long may he live!

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[1] 喜旺 happy, prosperous

[2] The Yangtze River is also called Chang Jiang

[3] 小 little, young

[4] River god

[5] Originally 心想事成

[6] 谢喧 sincere gratitude

[7] 甄, different from the pronoun