Chapter 15: Viewing Paintings by Wu Daozi

Xingqing Palace, Side Residence.

Li Bi followed Li Fuguo, their steps light and quick as they hurried through the corridor and entered a secluded chamber in the northwest corner. Li Bi sat down on a low couch, head bowed, hands tucked within his sleeves.

Li Fuguo quietly withdrew, his footsteps as silent as a cat.

Time passed—how long, Li Bi could not tell—when footsteps sounded at the door. The newcomer paused at the threshold and cleared his throat softly, “Changyuan, you have returned.”

Li Bi immediately rose, his wide sleeves swirling as if in dance, bowing deeply to the ground. “Your humble subject Li Bi pays respect to Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”

The Crown Prince, Li Heng, was in his forties, of medium stature, with a round face, gentle brows, and eyes that betrayed a trace of weariness. Seeing Li Bi’s formal salute, he waved it away without interest and went straight to the couch opposite, arranging his robes as he spoke, “Father has gone to Hibiscus Garden. I’m not sure when he’ll return. If you have something to say, speak quickly.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Li Bi dared not tarry, and spoke directly, “On this journey to Nanyue, at the Prajna Temple, I encountered a monk who greatly resembled the grass-bundling monk from Bodhi Temple years ago. His disciple, Li Zaixing, is an orphan whom I brought to Chang’an. Just outside the city, he fought alone against Wei Yingwu and thirteen riders—three died, ten were injured, none escaped unscathed.”

Li Heng’s brow furrowed, his previously fatigued gaze sharpening like a blade. “An orphan, skilled in martial arts, journeying thousands of miles to Chang’an—not here to join the army, but to kill, is he?”

Li Bi bowed again. “Your Highness is perceptive; that is precisely my concern. This young man’s murderous intent is fierce, his arrival formidable, and he is backed by a hidden master. I fear his target may not be ordinary.”

Li Heng pondered for a moment, then chuckled, “Are you worried for me?”

Li Bi shook his head. “Your Highness is benevolent, never one to bear grudges. I have no cause for concern. I hurried here for two reasons: first, if the matter escalates and the court is alarmed, His Majesty will surely inquire of Your Highness—I hope you’ll be prepared. Second, this young man is not only decisive in killing and skilled in martial arts, but also gifted in military strategy. When I explained tactics to him, he could extrapolate and innovate—he’s clearly of general’s caliber…”

Li Heng smiled softly, his eyes alight with warmth. He nodded, “I understand, Changyuan. You’ve given it much thought.”

Li Bi breathed a sigh of relief and took a memorial from his sleeve, presenting it with both hands. “Your Highness, this is my account of travels and thoughts in Jing and Xiang. Please forward it to His Majesty for his consideration.”

Li Heng received it, sighing softly. “Changyuan, I’ll submit it to Father soon. You’re no longer young—it’s time to serve the country. Liu Yan, like you, was a prodigy, fond of the mystical, but that didn’t hinder him from handling earthly affairs. Now he’s begun managing state matters, and Father is pleased—he’ll soon be promoted. Shouldn’t you set aside your pursuit of immortality for now?”

Li Bi paused, then replied, “Your Highness, each man’s fate is his own, and cannot be forced. It’s not that I refuse to serve, but the path to office is blocked, and I’ve been maligned—thus I must linger in the world for a while.”

Li Heng shook his head helplessly. “Changyuan, I know your difficulties, so I won’t press you. Take some time to keep an eye on Li Zaixing—don’t let him cause trouble.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Li Bi replied, stepping aside. Li Heng stood, glanced at the memorial in his hand, slipped it into his sleeve, nodded to Li Bi, and departed briskly. Soon after, Li Fuguo entered, smiled at Li Bi, and led him out of the palace.

…

After their meal, Li Zaixing bid farewell to Lady Yang and followed Du Fu out of the west courtyard. The monks had finished supper and were holding evening prayers in the Great Buddha Hall, the wooden fish tapping in rhythm, accompanied by the humming of chanted sutras—a sound reminiscent of a swarm of mosquitoes. Li Zaixing, accustomed to his master’s grand and solemn Buddhist chants, found these recitations hollow and insincere, and followed Du Fu straight to the dining hall.

Inside, two servant monks were cleaning. When they saw Du Fu enter, their faces fell and they blocked his way, saying gruffly, “Du, why are you here again? Sorry, supper is over…”

Du Fu blushed, pointing to the mural-covered walls. “I’ve already eaten. I’m here to accompany Master Shucao’s disciple to admire the murals.”

At that moment, the young monk Zhiyuan, trailing behind Li Zaixing, hurried in ahead, palms pressed together. “Mind your manners! Du is accompanying Master Uncle to appreciate the art. Step aside!”

The monks were startled. Seeing Li Zaixing behind Du Fu, they immediately put on smiles. “So Master Uncle graces us with his presence! Please, sit, please—let me fetch tea for you at once.” With that, one of them dashed inside.

Li Zaixing shrugged, smiling. “Looks like my master’s rank is quite high.”

Du Fu laughed awkwardly. “Master Shucao isn’t formally part of the temple, but he’s displayed miracles. Your second brother has been here for years and holds a status equal to the abbot, so your rank is naturally elevated.” He glanced at the monks’ backs, a hint of sourness in his tone, “I never thought I’d get to enjoy fine tea thanks to your reputation today.”

Recalling Du Fu’s near eviction, Li Zaixing couldn’t help but laugh. He patted Du Fu’s shoulder. “Du, don’t mind their claims of Buddhist devotion—they’re still worldly and petty. Why let them spoil your mood? Come, look at this painting—the strokes are bold, the lines flowing, the garments light as wind—it must be a master’s work… Wait, is this by Wu Daozi?”

Seeing Li Zaixing’s eyes widen in surprise, Du Fu laughed as well. “So you know of Wu Daozi’s fame? Indeed, this ‘Illustrated Verses from the Treatise on Wisdom’ is by Wu Daozi himself. The verses are also his own hand.”

Li Zaixing was speechless. So this Bodhi Temple is extraordinary—a painting by the Sage of Painting, Wu Daozi, displayed in the dining hall? These monks are truly blessed, dining daily before his art. Too bad this masterpiece won’t survive to later generations; it would surely be a national treasure. Wu Daozi, known as the Sage of Painting, left few authentic works, so later admirers could only imagine his genius through copies.

Looking at the vivid figures, the powerful lines, the solemn yet lively Buddhist images—the smiling, compassionate bodhisattvas—Li Zaixing felt a pang of sorrow. He didn’t know when this mural was destroyed—perhaps during the An Lushan Rebellion, perhaps during Huang Chao’s uprising, or some forgotten conflict lost to history. China’s history is rife with wars—who knows how many treasures perished in the flames?

Such a pity. Though China boasts five thousand years of civilization, artifacts surviving over a thousand years are exceedingly rare. People yearn for the glory of Han and Tang, but how many have truly seen their civilization?

Li Zaixing stood before the mural, thoughts surging.

Du Fu, thinking he was absorbed in the art, refrained from disturbing him. Just then, a middle-aged, portly monk hurried over, followed by a delicate, handsome young monk carrying a tray with tea cups and dishes. Behind them, the two servant monks lugged a large copper pot and stove, and a pair of low couches, moving with the urgency of battle.

The fat monk rushed to Li Zaixing’s side, about to speak, but Du Fu waved him off. “Master, Li is admiring Wu Daozi’s work—please don’t disturb him.”

The monk’s face darkened at the sight of Du Fu, but after hearing this, he quickly forced a smile. He gestured for the servants to set down the pot and stove and return to their duties, then directed the young monk to prepare tea. He sidled up to Du Fu, beaming, “Du, does our Master Uncle have an interest in calligraphy and painting?”

“I’ve never heard him say so,” Du Fu replied with a smile. “But during our meal, it seemed he was familiar with poets and painters.”

“Oh, I see.” The monk’s round face oozed a greasy smile. “It seems our young Master Uncle is not only skilled in martial arts, but also appreciates elegance. No wonder he and Du hit it off so well.”

“Not only is he close with me, but he’s also a lifelong friend of the late Imperial Scholar Li Qinglian.”

The monk blinked, saying nothing more, but his demeanor grew noticeably more respectful.

Li Zaixing stared at the mural for a while before returning to himself. “Are there other such masterpieces in the temple?”

“There are.” The fat monk quickly moved closer, his face full of fawning smiles. “Nearby is another mural, ‘The Courtesy-Bone Immortal,’ and in the Buddha Hall, ‘Stories from the Disaster-Relieving Sutra,’ both by Wu Daozi. Master Uncle, shall I show you?”

Li Zaixing was surprised. “And you are…?”

“Oh, please, Master Uncle, just call me Wuneng. How could I deserve the title of master?”

Li Zaixing couldn’t help but laugh aloud. Wuneng? Might as well call yourself Bajie. This temple has a Second Brother, and now a Wuneng appears—how fitting! Compared to the solemn Second Brother, this Wuneng is more like the Guardian of the Altar. Perhaps Tang Sanzang is in this city, though who knows if Journey to the West has yet unfolded.

Seeing Li Zaixing’s hearty laughter, Wuneng’s face bloomed with joy, his eagerness growing. Li Zaixing felt a bit embarrassed and coughed. “Master Wuneng, are you in charge of…?”

Wuneng hurried to answer, “Let me tell you, Master Uncle, I oversee the monks’ daily meals and chores. If you ever need anything, just let me know—I’ll do my utmost to make you satisfied.”

Li Zaixing looked at Wuneng, thinking his master would never take on such disciples—but this warmth likely stems from Second Brother’s high standing in the temple. Clearly, the Buddhist temple is much like the secular world—connections make things easier.

“Thank you, Wuneng.” Li Zaixing smiled. “You must be busy managing the temple’s affairs, so no need to entertain an idle guest like me. When I have time, I’ll visit you—how about that?”

Wuneng, initially disappointed, brightened at the mention of a visit, repeatedly saying he was undeserving, and instructed the young monk to serve carefully before finally leaving, delighted. Once he’d gone, Du Fu visibly relaxed and immediately claimed a couch prepared by the young monk. The couch had been meant for Wuneng and Li Zaixing, but with Wuneng gone, Du Fu took advantage.