The Heavenly Master Zhang Prays to End a Plague; Marshal Hong Accidentally Releases the Demons

A poem says:

The dawn herald in his red scarf announces the hour;  
The keeper of robes has just brought the kingfisher-cloud fur.  
The nine palace gates open one by one like the gates of Heaven;  
Envoys from all lands and officials come to pay homage to the emperor.  
The morning sun first touches the imperial fan;  
Incense smoke curls around the dragon robe.  
After court, five-colored edicts must be drafted;  
With jade pendants jingling, officials return to the Secretariat.

Now, during the reign of Emperor Renzong of the Northern Song, on the third day of the third month in the third year of Jiayou, at the third point of the fifth watch, the emperor sat in Zichen Hall and received congratulations from all his civil and military officials. Auspicious clouds covered the Phoenix Pavilion, and lucky air wrapped the Dragon Tower. Imperial willows, veiled in mist, brushed the banners; palace flowers wet with dew greeted the swords and halberds. In the faint heavenly fragrance, officials with jade hairpins and pearl shoes gathered below the red steps. Amid immortal music, attendants in embroidered jackets and brocade robes surrounded the imperial carriage. Pearl curtains rolled up, revealing the golden carriage in the golden hall. Phoenix-tail fans parted, and the imperial palanquin halted before the white jade steps. Three muffled cracks of the court whip sounded, and the officials divided into two neat lines.

The usher at the head of the hall cried loudly, “If anyone has business, step forward and report it. If not, roll up the screen and dismiss the court.” Then from the ranks, Chancellor Zhao Zhe and Assistant Administrator Wen Yanbo stepped forward and said, “Now the plague is raging in the capital. The people can hardly live. Many soldiers and civilians have died. We beg Your Majesty to pardon criminals, show mercy, reduce punishments, and lower taxes, so as to remove this heavenly disaster and save the people.” When Renzong heard this, he at once ordered the Hanlin Academy to draft an edict: on one hand, to grant a general pardon to prisoners throughout the empire and cancel all taxes; on the other, to order the Daoist and Buddhist temples in the capital to perform rites to avert disaster. But that year the plague grew worse instead. When Renzong heard this, he was uneasy and again summoned all officials to discuss the matter. One minister stepped out of rank and spoke. The emperor saw that it was Fan Zhongyan, Assistant Administrator. After bowing, Fan Zhongyan said, “Now heavenly calamity is everywhere. Soldiers and civilians suffer. Day and night they cannot live, and many are trapped in prison. In my humble opinion, to end this disaster, Your Majesty should summon the Hereditary Heavenly Master Zhang to come to the capital at once, and hold in the imperial palace a Grand Luotian Rite with three thousand six hundred seats, praying to Heaven. This will remove the plague and protect the people.” Renzong approved. He immediately ordered the Hanlin academicians to draft an edict. The emperor wrote it himself and sent down one stick of imperial incense. He appointed Marshal Hong Xin of the Palace Front as imperial commissioner and sent him to Dragon-Tiger Mountain in Xinzhou, Jiangxi, to invite the Hereditary Heavenly Master, the Daoist Master Zhang, to come to the capital at once and pray away the plague. The emperor lit the imperial incense in the golden hall, personally handed the edict to Marshal Hong, and told him to set out immediately.

Hong Xin accepted the imperial order, took leave of the emperor, and dared not delay. His attendants carried the edict on their backs, placed the imperial incense in a golden box, and with several dozen men mounted post horses. They left the Eastern Capital and took the road to Guixi County in Xinzhou. Along the way, they saw distant mountains piled green and distant waters clear. Strange flowers bloomed like brocade spread through the woods, and tender willow branches danced like golden threads brushing the ground. The wind was mild and the sun warm as they passed wild inns and mountain villages. The road was straight and the sand level. At night they stayed in post stations and courier inns. Their fine robes fluttered in the red dust, and their horses galloped along the great roads.

Now Marshal Hong, holding the emperor’s handwritten edict, traveled on with his attendants. They lodged in stations by night and traveled by day, sometimes long stages, sometimes short, drinking when thirsty and eating when hungry. After many days, they reached Xinzhou in Jiangxi. Officials great and small came out of the city to welcome him. He immediately sent word to the Daoists of the Palace of Highest Clarity on Dragon-Tiger Mountain to prepare to receive the edict. The next day, the officials accompanied the marshal to the foot of Dragon-Tiger Mountain. Many Daoists from the Palace of Highest Clarity came down the mountain to meet the edict. They rang bells, beat drums, prepared incense, flowers, lamps, candles, banners, and jeweled canopies, and accompanied the procession with immortal music. They escorted the marshal until he dismounted before the palace gate.

Marshal Hong looked at the palace. Truly it was a magnificent Palace of Highest Clarity. Green pines twisted and turned; emerald cypresses cast deep shade. Above the gate hung an imperial plaque in gold characters, and on the doors were carved jade talismans. By the Altar of the Void Emperor, weeping willows and rare flowers could be seen. By the elixir furnace, ancient pines and old junipers half hid the view. On the left were heavenly warriors and strongmen attending the True Lord Taiyi. On the right were jade maidens and golden youths surrounding the Great Emperor of Purple Tenuity. With hair unbound and sword in hand, the Northern Zhenwu trod on tortoise and snake. Wearing shoes and crown, the Old Man of the South Pole subdued dragon and tiger. In front were ranged the star lords of the twenty-eight constellations; behind stood the thirty-two heavenly emperors. Below the steps a stream murmured. Behind the walls, fine mountains encircled the palace. There were red-crowned cranes and green-haired tortoises. Dark apes offered fruit from the treetops, and white deer held magic mushrooms in their mouths among the grass. In the Hall of the Three Pure Ones, golden bells rang as Daoists chanted. Before the Hall of the Four Sages, jade chimes sounded as the Perfected Ones worshipped the stars. On the incense-offering terrace, colored light shone on green glazed tiles. At the altar for summoning spirits, the red sun’s shadow trembled like red agate. Outside the gate, auspicious clouds appeared, as if the Heavenly Master were welcoming Laozi himself.

Then from the abbot and Daoist masters to the boy attendants, all welcomed him and guided him forward. They escorted him to the Hall of the Three Pure Ones and asked him to place the edict in the center for worship. Marshal Hong asked the Daoist master in charge, “Where is the Heavenly Master?” The abbot came forward and reported, “Marshal, you should know that the patriarch of this generation is called the Heavenly Master of Empty Stillness. He is aloof by nature and dislikes greetings and farewells. He lives alone in a thatched hut on the summit of Dragon-Tiger Mountain, cultivating the Dao and nurturing his nature. Therefore he does not live in this palace.” The marshal said, “Since the emperor has sent an edict, how can I see him?” The Daoist master replied, “I report: let the edict be temporarily enshrined in the hall. We dare not open and read it ourselves. Please, Marshal, come to the abbot’s quarters for tea, and we will discuss what to do.” So the edict was enshrined in the Hall of the Three Pure Ones, and the marshal went with the officials to the abbot’s quarters. The marshal sat in the seat of honor. Attendants offered tea and then a full vegetarian feast, with land and water dishes complete. After the meal, the marshal asked again, “Since the Heavenly Master is in a hut on the summit, why not send someone to invite him down to meet me and open the edict?” The Daoist master replied, “Marshal, although this generation’s patriarch lives on the summit, his Daoist powers are extraordinary. He is pure and free, weary of the dusty world. He can ride the mists and summon clouds. His traces are uncertain, and he never comes down the mountain. Even we seldom see him. How could anyone invite him down?” The marshal said, “Then how am I to see him? Now the plague rages in the capital. His Majesty has specially sent me as envoy, carrying the imperial edict and the imperial incense, to invite the Heavenly Master to perform a Grand Luotian Rite with three thousand six hundred seats, to remove the heavenly disaster and save the people. What should be done?” The Daoist master replied, “If the emperor wishes to save the people, then the marshal must show true sincerity. Fast, bathe, change into plain clothes, take no attendants, carry the edict yourself, burn the imperial incense, walk up the mountain on foot, bow, and earnestly beg the Heavenly Master. Only then can you see him. If your heart is not sincere, you will make a wasted trip and still not see him.” When the marshal heard this, he said, “I have eaten vegetarian food all the way from the capital. How could my heart be insincere? Since that is so, I will do as you say and go up the mountain early tomorrow.” That night everyone rested.

At the fifth watch the next day, the Daoists rose and prepared fragrant water and vegetarian food. They asked the marshal to get up. He bathed in fragrant water, put on fresh plain clothes, wore hemp shoes and straw sandals, ate a vegetarian meal, took the edict, wrapped it in yellow silk, and carried it on his back. In his hand he held a silver censer, burning imperial incense as he went. Many Daoists escorted him to the rear mountain and pointed out the path. The Daoist master again said, “Marshal, to save the people, do not give way to regret. Go up with a sincere heart.” The marshal took leave of them, recited the precious name of the Heavenly Worthy, and strode up the mountain.

When he neared the halfway point, he saw the great summit piercing the clouds. Truly it was a mighty mountain. Its roots were planted in the earth, and its peak touched the sky. Seen from afar, it seemed to grind the traces of ragged clouds. Seen nearby, it seemed to swallow the moonlight. High and low, it was called a mountain. Rocks that opened a path were called caves. A lone rugged ridge was called a road. A level height was called a peak. A round top with a thick base was called a range. A place where tigers and leopards hid was called a den. A place where wind and clouds hid was called a cliff. A place where a lofty man withdrew was called a grotto. A place with boundaries was called a domain. A path where woodcutters came and went was called a trail. A road where carts and horses could pass was called a highway. Water with sound was called a ravine. The source of an old ferry was called a brook. Water dripping from cliffs was called a spring. The left wall sheltered; the right wall mirrored. It sent out clouds and took in mist. Needle-sharp peaks seemed small; steep heights seemed sheer; hanging in air seemed dangerous; cut away seemed flat. A thousand peaks competed in beauty; ten thousand valleys raced with streams. Waterfalls flew slantwise; vines hung upside down. When tigers roared, wind rose at the valley mouth. When apes cried, the moon sank to the mountainside. It was like blue-black dye staining a thousand blocks of jade, or green gauze covering ten thousand piles of smoke.

Marshal Hong, all alone, walked on, winding around slopes and turning along paths, grasping vines and climbing creepers. After crossing several hilltops and walking two or three li, his feet ached and his legs grew weak. He could hardly walk. He said nothing, but inside he wavered and thought, “I am a noble official’s son of the court. In the capital I slept on thick cushions and ate from rows of cauldrons, and still felt tired. When have I ever worn straw sandals and walked mountain roads like this? Who knows where the Heavenly Master is, yet I am made to suffer so!” Before he had gone another thirty or fifty steps, he hunched his shoulders and panted. Suddenly a gust of wind rose from a mountain hollow. As it passed, behind a pine tree came a roar like thunder, and a white-browed tiger with bulging eyes and golden stripes burst out. Marshal Hong was startled and cried, “Aiya!” He fell backward. Peeping at the tiger, he saw its fur was a band of gold. Its claws showed like eighteen silver hooks. Its eyes flashed like lightning, its tail was like a whip, its mouth like a blood basin, and its teeth like halberds. It stretched its waist and spread its limbs in a fearsome pose. It swung its tail and shook its head with a peal of thunder. Foxes and rabbits in the mountain all hid. Deer and roe in the ravine all vanished.

The tiger looked at Marshal Hong, circled left and right, roared once, then bounded away down the rear slope. Marshal Hong lay under the tree roots, so frightened that his thirty-six teeth chattered in pairs. His heart sounded like fifteen buckets in a well, seven up and eight down. His whole body felt numb as if struck by a heavy wind, and his legs were like a defeated rooster’s. He moaned again and again. Only after the time it takes to drink a cup of tea did he crawl up. He picked up the censer from the ground, lit the imperial incense again, and went on up the mountain, determined to find the Heavenly Master. After another thirty or fifty steps, he sighed a few times and complained, “The emperor’s order sent me here to suffer this fright.” Before he finished speaking, he felt another wind, blowing poisonous air straight at him. When the marshal looked closely, there was a rustling in the bamboo and vines at the mountainside, and a snake as big as a bucket, white as snow, rushed out. At sight of it he was startled again, dropped the censer, cried, “This time I am dead!” and fell backward beside a flat rock. Opening his eyes a little to look at the snake, he saw it raise its head like a sudden whirlwind, its eyes shoot lightning. When it moved, it could break gorges and topple ridges. When it breathed, it blew clouds and spat mist. Its scales were like a thousand pieces of scattered jade. Its tail curled slantwise like a pile of silver.

The great snake rushed straight to the flat rock, coiled itself into a heap before Marshal Hong, its two eyes shooting golden light. It opened its huge mouth, put out its tongue, and sprayed poison in his face. The marshal was so frightened that his three souls wandered and his seven spirits drifted. The snake looked at him for a while, then slipped down the mountain and disappeared. Only then did the marshal crawl up and say, “What a relief! It frightened me to death!” Looking at his body, his goose bumps were as big as little dumplings. He cursed the Daoists: “Shameless, rude fellows! You made sport of me and gave me such a fright! If I don’t find the Heavenly Master on this mountain, I will have words with you when I go down.” He picked up the silver censer again, straightened the edict and his clothes and cap, and was about to go on up the mountain.

Just as he was about to move, he heard from behind the pine tree the faint sound of a flute, coming closer. When the marshal looked, he saw a Daoist boy riding backward on a yellow ox, playing an iron flute crosswise, coming around the mountain hollow. The marshal looked at the boy: his hair was tied in two buns. He wore a blue robe. His belt was woven of grass. On his feet were straw sandals tied with hemp. Bright eyes and white teeth, floating and unstained by dust. Green hair and ruddy face, shining with no vulgar air.

Long ago Lü Dongbin wrote a poem about a cowherd that says well:

Green grass covers the plain for six or seven li;  
In the evening breeze the flute sounds three or four broken notes.  
He comes back, eats his fill after dusk,  
And lies in the moonlight without taking off his straw cloak.

The Daoist boy, smiling, rode the yellow ox and played the iron flute as he came across the mountain. When Marshal Hong saw him, he called, “Where do you come from? Do you know me?” The boy paid no attention and kept playing. After the marshal asked several times, the boy laughed heartily, held up the iron flute, pointed at Marshal Hong, and said, “You have come here wanting to see the Heavenly Master, haven’t you?” The marshal was greatly startled and said, “You are a cowherd. How do you know?” The boy laughed and said, “This morning I was serving the Heavenly Master in the thatched hut. I heard him say: ‘The emperor in court, Renzong, has sent Marshal Hong with the edict and imperial incense to the mountain to summon me to the Eastern Capital to perform a Grand Luotian Rite with three thousand six hundred seats, to pray away the plague in the world. I am now riding a crane on clouds to go there.’ By now he must be gone and not in the hut. Do not go up. The mountain has many poisonous insects and fierce beasts. I fear they may harm your life.” The marshal asked again, “Are you lying?” The boy gave a laugh, did not answer, and playing the iron flute went around the mountain slope. The marshal thought, “How does this little one know all this? It must be that the Heavenly Master told him. It must be so.” He wanted to go up the mountain again, but the fright he had just suffered had nearly cost him his life. Better to go down.

Marshal Hong took the censer and found the old path, running down the mountain. The Daoists met him and invited him to sit in the abbot’s quarters. The Daoist master asked, “Did you see the Heavenly Master?” The marshal said, “I am a high official of the court. How could you make me walk mountain roads and suffer so much, nearly losing my life? Halfway up, a white-browed tiger with bulging eyes jumped out and frightened my soul out of me. Before I had gone past a mountain spur, a snow-white snake rushed from the bamboo and vines, coiled into a heap, and blocked the road. If not for my great good fortune, how could I have returned alive to the capital? It is all you Daoists making sport of me!” The Daoist master replied, “How would we dare slight a great minister? This was the patriarch testing the marshal’s heart. Although this mountain has snakes and tigers, they do not harm people.” The marshal continued, “I could not walk, and just as I was about to try the slope again, I saw a Daoist boy come around beside the pine, riding a yellow ox and playing an iron flute, crossing the mountain. I asked him, ‘Where are you from? Do you know me?’ He said, ‘I know everything.’ He said the Heavenly Master had instructed him, and that early this morning he had ridden a crane on clouds toward the Eastern Capital. That is why I came back.” The Daoist master said, “What a pity, Marshal, you missed him. That cowherd boy was the Heavenly Master.” The marshal said, “If he was the Heavenly Master, why was he so plain?” The Daoist master answered, “This generation’s Heavenly Master is no small matter. Although young, his Daoist powers are truly extraordinary. He is a man beyond the ordinary, manifesting in all directions, most efficacious. People call him the Patriarch Who Penetrates the Dao.” Marshal Hong said, “I had eyes but did not know the true master, and missed him face to face!” The Daoist master said, “Rest easy, Marshal. Since the patriarch’s decree says he has gone, by the time you return to the capital, the rite will already be completed.” Only then was the marshal reassured. The Daoist master ordered a banquet to entertain him. The edict was placed in the imperial edict box and kept in the Palace of Highest Clarity. The imperial incense was burned in the Hall of the Three Pure Ones. That day a great vegetarian feast was spread in the abbot’s quarters, and they drank and feasted. At night the banquet ended, and they slept until dawn.

After breakfast the next day, the Daoist master, the Daoists, and the supervising stewards invited the marshal to tour the mountain. He was delighted. With many attendants following, he walked out of the abbot’s quarters. Two boy Daoists led the way. They went before and behind the palace, enjoying many sights. The Hall of the Three Pure Ones was rich and noble beyond words. On the left corridor were the Hall of the Nine Heavens, the Hall of Purple Tenuity, and the Hall of the North Pole. On the right were the Hall of Taiyi, the Hall of the Three Officials, and the Hall for Driving Out Evil. After seeing all the halls, they came to a place behind the right corridor. Marshal Hong saw another hall: all around were walls of red mud mixed with pepper. In front were two vermilion lattice doors. The doors were locked with a huge arm-sized lock, and across them were pasted more than a dozen seals, each covered with layer upon layer of red seals. Before the eaves hung a vermilion lacquer plaque with gold characters, four gold words reading: “Hall for Subduing Demons.”

The marshal pointed at the door and said, “What place is this?” The Daoist master answered, “This is the hall where former generations of the patriarch Heavenly Masters locked and subdued the Demon King.” The marshal asked again, “Why are so many seals pasted on it?” The Daoist master answered, “This was where the ancient Tang National Teacher of Penetrating Mystery sealed the Demon King. Each time the title passed to a new Heavenly Master, he added a seal with his own hand, so that his descendants would not dare open it rashly. If the Demon King escapes, the disaster is terrible. Now eight or nine generations of patriarchs have passed, and none dared open it. The lock was cast with molten copper. Who knows what is inside? This poor Daoist has been abbot here for over thirty years and has only heard of it.” When Marshal Hong heard this, he was amazed and thought, “I will just take a look at the Demon King.” So he said to the Daoist master, “Open the door. Let me see what the Demon King looks like.” The Daoist master pleaded, “Marshal, this hall must never be opened. The ancestral Heavenly Masters warned again and again: from now on no one is permitted to open it without cause.” The marshal laughed: “Nonsense! You people want to invent strange tales to stir up and delude good common folk. You deliberately arranged such a place, falsely claiming to lock up a Demon King, to show off your Daoist arts. I have read the books of history—when have I ever seen a method for locking demons? The ways of gods and ghosts belong to the dark realm. I do not believe there is a Demon King inside. Open it at once and let me see what this Demon King is like.” The Daoist master reported three times and five times: “This hall cannot be opened. I fear it will bring disaster and harm people.” The marshal flew into a rage and pointed at the Daoists: “If you do not open it for me, when I return to court I will first report that you Daoists blocked the imperial edict, disobeyed the sacred decree, and prevented me from seeing the Heavenly Master. Then I will report that you privately built this hall, falsely claimed to lock up a Demon King, and deluded soldiers and common people. I will have your ordination certificates revoked and send you in exile to a harsh distant military district to suffer.”

The Daoist master and the others feared the marshal’s power. They had no choice but to call several fire-worker Daoists. First they peeled off the seals and broke the big lock with an iron hammer. The crowd pushed the door open. Looking inside, it was pitch-black, dim and deep beyond measure. For hundreds of years it had not seen sunlight. For millions of years it had not seen moonlight. North and south could not be told. East and west could not be distinguished. Black smoke hung thick and cold. A chilling air crept into the body and made one shiver. It was a place no human footprint reached, a country where spirits came and went. One could open both eyes and be as if blind. One could stretch out both hands and not see them. It was always like the thirtieth night of the month, always like the fifth watch before dawn.

Everyone entered the hall together. It was so dark that nothing could be seen. The marshal ordered his attendants to bring a dozen torches and light them. By their light, there was nothing else on any side, only a stone tablet in the center, about five or six feet high, seated on a stone tortoise, half sunk in mud. When they shone on the front of the tablet, it was covered with dragon scripts and phoenix seals, heavenly writing and talismans that no one could read. When they shone on the back, there were four large characters in plain script, carved into the stone: “When Hong Comes, It Opens.” This was not merely because the Heavenly Spirit stars were fated to appear in the world, nor only because the Song dynasty was destined to show forth loyal and good men, but also because it happened that Hong Xin came. Was it not fate?

When Marshal Hong saw these four characters, he was overjoyed. He said to the Daoist master, “You tried to stop me, but how is it that hundreds of years ago my surname and name were already written here? ‘When Hong Comes, It Opens’—clearly it tells me to open it and look. What harm is there? I think the Demon King must be under this stone tablet. You attendants, call more fire-workers for me, and bring hoes and shovels to dig it open.” The Daoist master hurriedly protested, “Marshal, do not dig! I fear there will be disaster and harm to people. It is not safe.” The marshal shouted angrily, “You Daoists, what do you know? The tablet clearly says that when I come it is to be opened. How dare you stop me! Call the men at once to open it.” The Daoist master again reported three times and five times: “I fear something bad will happen.” But would the marshal listen? They had no choice but to gather the crowd. First they laid the stone tablet down, then all together dug out the stone tortoise. It took half a day to raise it. They dug down about three or four feet and saw a large green stone slab, about a fathom square. Marshal Hong ordered it dug up too. The Daoist master again bitterly protested, “Do not dig!” But would the marshal listen? The crowd had no choice but to lift the slab together. Looking, beneath the slab was a pit ten thousand fathoms deep.

Then from the pit came a loud crack, no small sound. It was like heaven collapsing and earth caving in, like mountains shaking and peaks falling. On the Qiantang River, the tide surged through the sea gate. On Mount Taihua, the giant spirit god split the peak with one blow. Gonggong in his rage took off his helmet and knocked down Mount Buzhou. A mighty warrior displayed his power and shattered Qin Shi Huang’s chariot with a flying hammer. One wind shook and broke a thousand bamboos. It was like midnight thunder in an army of a hundred thousand. After the loud crack, a black cloud rolled up from the pit and knocked down half a corner of the hall. That black cloud shot straight up into the sky, then scattered into a hundred and more golden rays, flying off in every direction. The crowd was startled, cried out, and all ran, abandoning their hoes and shovels, rushing out of the hall, knocking over and trampling countless people. Marshal Hong was so frightened that he stared blankly, not knowing what to do, his face ashen. He ran to the corridor, where the Daoist master came forward wailing without end. The marshal asked, “What demons have escaped?”

The Daoist master said no more than a few sentences, no more than one speech, and told the whole cause. It would bring about this: the emperor of a dynasty would sleep uneasily at night and forget food by day. It would make Wanzi City hide fierce tigers and Liao’er Marsh gather flying dragons. What exactly did the Daoist master of Dragon-Tiger Mountain say? Listen to the next chapter for the answer.