Hao Qiu Zhuan/en/Chapter 1
Chapter 1: In the Phoenix City, a Chivalrous Heart Pities a Pair of Lovebirds
Modern English translation by Martin Woesler (2025)
A poem says:
How vast the rivers and mountains, how vast the sky! Ten thousand years upon ten thousand years roll by. The ancients pass, their heirs take up the way — Yet among all men, how few are truly wise and great?
And another:
In restless sleep we toss and turn, consumed by longing's art; What soul with feeling would not love a maiden fair of heart? But if you shun the peeping tom's ignoble, furtive game, Then you may walk as man and wife, unburdened and without shame.
In the days of a former dynasty, in the great prefecture of Daming in the northern province of Zhili, there lived a young scholar [xiucai] named Tie Zhongyu, whose courtesy name was Tingsheng. He was a youth of such striking beauty that he might have been taken for a woman, and so the people of his district gave him the nickname "the Iron Beauty." Given his refined appearance, one would have expected a gentle disposition to match. Yet nature had decreed otherwise: despite his handsome face, his temperament was as hard as wrought iron — stubborn in the extreme. He possessed considerable physical strength, and at the slightest provocation was apt to lose his temper and resort to force. One seldom saw him smile or heard him laugh. When obliged to associate with the wealthy and well-connected, his face would grow as cold as if coated with frost, and he would treat them with utter indifference. But strangely enough, when he found himself among poor friends and kindred spirits, drinking wine and discussing literature, he was all warmth and cheer, never tiring of their company from dawn to dusk. He had one further virtue: whenever anyone came to him in distress, regardless of whether they were wise or foolish, noble or humble, he would help them without hesitation. But if anyone approached him with flattery and fawning, angling for some favor, he would act as though he had not heard a word. Thus people were deeply grateful to him, yet none dared approach him without good reason.
His father, Tie Ying, was a jinshi [holder of the highest imperial examination degree] by origin, a man of loyalty and rectitude who held the office of imperial censor and had won a formidable reputation for his forthright remonstrances. His mother, née Shi, accompanied his father at his post. Because young Tie Zhongyu was by nature aloof and uncompromising, and fearless in his actions — qualities that might well invite trouble — his parents had kept him at home. His natural talents were extraordinary and his learning surpassed that of his peers, which only made him more disdainful of others. Each day he would shut himself away with his books; and when reading put him in high spirits, he would pour himself a solitary cup of wine to nourish his soul. Though he could not be called a drunkard, he could scarcely do without his wine morning or evening. When his spirits rose still higher, he would wander among flowers and willows, or ramble through the mountains and along the streams.
When he was fifteen or sixteen, his parents wished to arrange a marriage for him. He replied: "Your son has never cared for commonplace matches. With friends, if we are compatible we stay together; if not, we part — that is simple enough. But marriage is one of the Five Cardinal Relationships. Once husband and wife are joined, they are bound together for life. If the match is made in haste, and the bride proves unworthy, then to endure her company would wound my nature, yet to cast her aside would wound the moral order. How can such a matter be taken lightly? I humbly beg my honored parents to grant me more time, so that a proper choice may be made." His parents, seeing the sense in his words, let the matter rest, and so it was that as he approached twenty he remained unwed — a circumstance that did not trouble him in the least.
One day, while drinking wine and reading at home, he came upon the story of Bi Gan, who remonstrated with his sovereign and was put to death. This set him thinking: "To serve one's lord with loyalty is certainly the righteous path, yet a minister must exercise some measure of tact and prudence. He should be able to enlighten his sovereign above while preserving his own life below — that is what true ability looks like. If one is merely blunt and headstrong, heedless of what may give offense, not only will one's cause go unadvanced, but one will provoke the ruler's wrath, bring disgrace upon the throne, and lose one's life — and what good is loyalty then?" He drank a few more cups and thought further: "My father holds the office of censor, a post on the avenue of remonstrance. He is by nature stiff and unyielding, ignorant of political maneuver — most likely he will come to grief on this account!" Anxiety seized his heart, and he wished he could sprout wings and fly at once to his father's side to dissuade him. Restless and agitated, he paced through the night.
At dawn the next day, as soon as the first pale light appeared, he rose and instructed a trusted old servant to look after the household affairs. He had his baggage packed, his horse saddled, and took with him only one attendant — a young page called Xiao Dan — setting out for the capital to pay his respects to his parents. As the saying goes:
To die for one's lord — that is the loyal minister's resolve; To worry for one's father — that reveals the filial son's heart. However deep the bonds of human kindness, None run deeper than the Five Cardinal Ties.
Tie Zhongyu pressed on toward the capital in haste. After two days of riding, impatience got the better of him: in his eagerness to cover ground, he rode past the last inn without noticing. As dusk gathered and no lodging house appeared, he had no choice but to follow a side road into a village in search of shelter for the night. Looking around, he saw that although the village had many households, they were scattered here and there — one to the east, another to the west — with no proper cluster of dwellings. In his anxiety, he had no time to seek out a substantial household; he simply dismounted at the nearest house by the village entrance and told Xiao Dan to hold the horse. Walking inside, he called out: "Is anyone home?"
An old woman emerged. Seeing that Tie Zhongyu was dressed as a scholar, she asked eagerly: "Could it be, young sir, that you have come from the capital to visit Scholar Wei and have lost your way to his house? Is that why you are asking here?"
Tie Zhongyu replied: "I have not come to see any Scholar Wei. I am traveling to the capital and walked too far, missing the last inn. I am looking for a place to stay the night."
The old woman said: "If it is lodging you need, that is no trouble at all. But ours is a poor household — we have no fine bed to offer, so please do not take offense."
"That is of no consequence," said Tie Zhongyu. "As long as I can get through the night, that will be more than enough. I shall be sure to repay your kindness." He called for Xiao Dan to bring in the baggage. The old woman told him to lead the horse around to the back, to a tumbledown shed by the vegetable garden where it could be fed, and she showed Tie Zhongyu into a small thatched room to sit down. Before long she brought out a pot of freshly brewed tea.
As Tie Zhongyu drank his tea, he asked: "Just now you guessed I had come from the capital to see a Scholar Wei. Who is this Scholar Wei, and why would people come to see him?"
The old woman said: "Ah, sir, you do not know. This place was not always called Wei Village. Years ago, a Secretary Wei rose to high office from here. His clan was the most numerous in the village — six or seven out of every ten households bore the name Wei, and so the place came to be called Wei Village. But fortunes wax and wane: after some years the Wei clan fell into decline. Not only did they grow poor, but their numbers dwindled too. The few families that remained were all farmers or laborers — not a single one who could read. Then, recently, the winds of fortune shifted again, and up sprang a young Scholar Wei — barely sixteen or seventeen — who passed the examinations and became a xiucai. While studying in the capital, he befriended a fellow scholar's family, who took a liking to the boy for his youth and talent and betrothed their daughter to him. But his family was desperately poor, and even after three or four years, he still could not afford to take her as his bride. Then, just days ago, some powerful nobleman spotted his betrothed and, seeing that she was beautiful, determined to take her for himself. When her parents refused, the nobleman flew into a rage, and relying on his official power, sent a mob of men to carry the girl off by force. Word reached Scholar Wei the other day, and in a panic he rushed to the capital to investigate. But not only could he find no trace of his betrothed — her parents had vanished without a trace as well. He wanted to lodge a complaint, but he had no proof and no witnesses; and since his adversary was a great nobleman, how could a poor scholar hope to prevail against him? Today, unable to bear his anguish any longer, he came home and wept bitterly before his mother, then went and threw himself into the Long Brook. His mother was frantic and begged everyone in the village to go after him — my own old husband among them. That is why, when you arrived just now, I assumed you were a friend of his who had heard of his trouble and come to see him."
Before she had finished speaking, a great commotion arose outside the gate. They hurried out to look and saw a crowd of villagers escorting a young man in a dark robe who was covering his face and weeping as he passed. The old woman, spotting her husband among them, called out: "We have a guest — you had better come back!"
One of the old men heard her and came over. "A guest? What guest?" he said, then caught sight of Tie Zhongyu and asked: "Do you mean this young gentleman?"
"Yes," the old woman replied. "He lost his way and needs a place for the night."
"Well, if the young gentleman needs lodging," the old man said, "why haven't you gone to prepare supper? What are you standing about gawking at?"
"I wasn't gawking on my own account," the old woman protested. "This young gentleman was asking about Scholar Wei's affairs, and so we were both watching. But tell me — if Scholar Wei's betrothed was carried off in broad daylight, surely someone must have seen it. How is it that he searched and searched and could find no trace of her?"
The old man said: "Of course there were traces. Of course people saw. But his adversary is a fearsome man — who would dare open his mouth and meddle in such business, only to bring disaster upon himself?"
"So no one dares speak up?" the old woman said.
"Dare?" said the old man. "Even if they spoke up plainly, there is no way to rescue her from a place like that!"
"If that is how things stand," the old woman sighed, "then poor Scholar Wei's life is as good as lost. What a pity! What a pity!" Shaking her head, she went inside to prepare supper.
Tie Zhongyu, who had listened to all of this, gave a cold laugh and said: "You country folk — how timid and spineless you are! I suspect no one actually knows where she is, and these are merely empty words of comfort."
"What do you mean, no one knows?" said the old man. "Never mind other people — I myself know!"
"You know?" said Tie Zhongyu. "Where is she, then?"
"Sir, you are a traveler passing through and surely have no interest in meddling in other people's affairs, so there is no harm in telling you. Where do you suppose he has hidden the girl?"
"In some nobleman's deep inner chambers, behind locked doors, I would imagine," Tie Zhongyu replied.
"If it were merely a nobleman's private quarters," said the old man, "people come and go from such places — it would still be possible to investigate. But listen: his adversary is a hereditary nobleman whose ancestors rendered great military service to the throne. The court awarded him a special estate called the Hall of Leisured Ease, where he might live in comfort — a place that no unauthorized person may enter. The other day, my nephew was in the city selling straw, and with his own eyes he saw the girl being taken inside."
"If someone witnessed it," said Tie Zhongyu, "why not inform Scholar Wei so he can go and look for her?"
"What use would that be?" said the old man. "Even if Scholar Wei knew, there is nothing he could do about it."
"Where is this Hall of Leisured Ease?" asked Tie Zhongyu. "Do you know the way?"
"The Hall of Leisured Ease is just outside the Qihua Gate — only a mile or two from the city. Everyone knows where it is. The question is: who would dare go inside?" Having said this, the old man fell silent, for his wife had finished preparing supper and invited Tie Zhongyu to eat. When the meal was done, Tie Zhongyu had Xiao Dan spread out the bedding, and they settled down for a rough night's sleep.
The next morning, the old couple prepared breakfast and served it to their guest. Tie Zhongyu told Xiao Dan to weigh out five qian of silver as a parting gift for his hosts, and then led his horse out through the gate. As he was about to mount, the old man called after him with a warning: "Sir! What I told you last night — when you reach the capital, you must not breathe a word of it to anyone, lest it bring trouble down upon us."
Tie Zhongyu replied: "What concern is it of mine? Why should I go spreading tales? Rest assured, old fellow." With that, he took his leave and rode out onto the main road. As the verse says:
The cunning schemer boasts of his deep plots in vain, For secrets, once revealed, slip out without design. No need to try to hide your deeds from mortal eyes — Above, the sun of Heaven watches all the time.
Tie Zhongyu had ridden barely two or three li along the highway when he spotted the young man in the dark robe he had seen the evening before, walking ahead with halting steps, pausing with every stride, and crying out between great sobs: "O Heaven! O Heaven! Why have you let me be wronged so cruelly?"
Recognizing him at once, Tie Zhongyu pulled on the reins, spurred his horse forward, leaped down, and clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Brother Wei!" he said. "Do not grieve so. This matter can be set right. Leave everything to me — I guarantee that your precious jade shall be returned to Zhao!" [An allusion to the famous story of Lin Xiangru, who recovered the precious He Shi Bi jade disc and returned it safely to the state of Zhao.]
The young man looked up with a start. Seeing before him a figure of unmistakably noble bearing, yet one he did not recognize, he said in bewilderment: "Sir, you are clearly a man of distinction, yet I am but a poor and lowly scholar. We have never met, and I am deep in misfortune — how do you know my name? Your kind words of consolation speak of a generosity as vast as the sky, but my wrongs have piled so high that even if you possessed the chivalrous heart of Jing Ke or the miraculous skills of a Kunlun swordsman, I fear even you could not save me."
Tie Zhongyu laughed. "If I cannot resolve so trifling a difficulty for you, then the age of heroes is past and there are no more men of valor in the world! Would that not make Guo Jie himself gnash his teeth in shame?" [Guo Jie was a famous knight-errant of the Han dynasty.]
The young man was more astonished than ever. "Sir, you are clearly a man of great virtue and gallantry. Forgive me — in my wretched state, my wits are addled, and I have been unpardonably rude. Pray tell me your honored name and courtesy name, that I may remember your kindness forever."
Tie Zhongyu said: "My humble name is of no consequence for now. What I need to know is your full name, and where you are headed today — then I shall explain my plan."
The young man said: "My name is Wei Pei, and my courtesy name is Roufu. I have had the misfortune to suffer this outrage — my betrothed seized by force. I want to end my life, yet my widowed mother is still living; I try to bear it in silence, yet we live in an age of enlightened rule, here beneath the very walls of the capital — how can some debauched young nobleman be allowed to abduct another man's betrothed and trample upon the bonds of morality and decency? The injustice is more than I can swallow. I lay awake all night deliberating, and finally composed a formal petition. Today I intend to go to the capital and, staking my miserable life upon it, submit my complaint to every office — the Six Ministries, the Six Offices of Scrutiny, the Thirteen Circuits of Censors. I know that the gulf between rich and poor, high and low, is vast, and that I cannot hope to match him in power. But matters have come to a head, and I have no choice." He drew a petition from his sleeve and handed it to Tie Zhongyu. "One look at this, sir, and you will understand the full measure of my suffering." With that, he burst into loud, anguished weeping.
Tie Zhongyu took the petition and read it carefully. He learned that Wei Pei's father-in-law was also a xiucai named Han Yuan, and that the man who had seized his betrothed was the Marquis of Dagua. He said: "This petition is eloquently and movingly written. However, since the case involves a hereditary nobleman, it will be effective only if it reaches the Emperor's own eyes. If you merely submit it to the various offices, the officials will all protect one another — who among them would stick his neck out and take on such a case? If you deliver it yourself, I am afraid you will exhaust yourself for nothing, and it will all come to naught. But if you entrust it to me, I may be able to put it to some special use."
Wei Pei bowed deeply. "To receive such compassion from you, sir, is like a withered tree meeting the spring. But it would be wrong for you to bear all the toil while I sit idle. Let me follow at your horse's heels into the city, so that I may be of some service."
Tie Zhongyu shook his head. "If you accompany me into the city, it will attract attention and arouse suspicion. Go home and wait. Within ten days, I shall send you good news."
"Your kindness, sir, is as high as heaven and as deep as the earth," said Wei Pei. "But I fear that a poor scholar's destiny is too thin, and your noble efforts will be spent in vain." As he spoke, grief overwhelmed him and tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Brother Wei!" said Tie Zhongyu. "You are a young man — there is nothing in this world you cannot accomplish. Stop carrying on like a lovesick maiden. Such behavior is enough to make a hero lose heart!"
Chastened, Wei Pei brightened and thanked him earnestly. "Your words are a lesson I shall take deeply to heart!"
With that, Tie Zhongyu tucked the petition into his sleeve, raised his hands in a parting salute, mounted his horse, and rode off briskly with Xiao Dan at his side.
Wei Pei stood by the roadside watching him go, his heart a tumult of astonishment and doubt, joy and gratitude — as though he had wandered through a spring dream and could neither trust it was real nor quite believe it was false. In a daze he watched until the rider's horse vanished from sight, and only then did he turn and trudge slowly home. As the verse says:
When the heart is in turmoil, nowhere can it find peace; When sorrow is at its peak, one knows only grief. Do not say that tears are shed for maids alone — Even heroes weep when anguish cuts too deep.
Now, from Wei Village to the capital was a distance of no more than forty or fifty li. Tie Zhongyu pressed his horse forward without pause, and by shortly after noon he had reached the city walls. His plan was to show the petition to his father and ask him to first submit a memorial to the throne, so that an imperial warrant could be issued for the arrest of the culprit. But when he arrived at his father's private residence, the gate was deathly quiet — not a single attendant in sight. A chill of foreboding ran through him. He hastily dismounted and strode into the main hall — not a clerk to be seen. Growing more alarmed by the moment, he rushed toward the inner quarters and found the door barred shut. He called out several times, and at last a servant inside recognized his voice, fumbled with the key, and opened the door, crying: "Young master! It is terrible! The other day, the master submitted a memorial that gave offense to the throne, and he has been arrested and thrown into prison! We have been beside ourselves. Your arrival could not be more timely — please, come quickly to the inner chambers to discuss what is to be done!"
Tie Zhongyu was thunderstruck. "What memorial did my father submit that could have led to imprisonment?" he demanded, questioning the servant even as he hurried inside, not waiting for an answer. He reached the inner room to find his mother, Lady Shi, who caught sight of him, seized his sleeve, and burst into tears: "My son! You have come just in time! Your father — today he says he must be a loyal minister, tomorrow he says he must be a loyal minister — morning after morning submitting one memorial after another — and now he has brought a great catastrophe down upon us! I do not know whether he will live or die!"
Tie Zhongyu, already anxious, saw his mother weeping in a heap and knelt before her, doing his best to comfort her: "Mother, please do not distress yourself. No matter how grave the situation, there must be some way to resolve it. First, please tell me: what was the subject of Father's memorial? What did he say that gave offense to the throne?"
Lady Shi helped Tie Zhongyu to his feet and bade him sit, then told him the whole story in detail: "A few days ago, your father was returning home from court when he encountered on the road an elderly couple — a man and wife — beaten bloody, barefoot, their clothes in tatters, who threw themselves before his horse and begged for justice. Your father asked who they were and what wrong they had suffered. The man said he was a xiucai named Han Yuan. He had a daughter who was already betrothed but not yet married. The Marquis of Dagua had learned that the girl was beautiful and sent men to demand her as his concubine. Han Yuan refused, saying she was already pledged to another, and rebuked the marquis's emissaries sharply. The Marquis flew into a rage, mustered his retainers, and without so much as a word of warning, stormed into Han Yuan's house and carried off the girl. Han Yuan had chased after them, trying to stop them, and had been beaten savagely for his trouble.
"When your father heard this, his anger flared, and he immediately submitted a memorial impeaching the Marquis of Dagua. Now, if your father had been more careful, having decided to submit the memorial, he should have detained Han Yuan and his wife as witnesses, so that the marquis would have no room for denial. But in the heat of his fury, your father failed to take this precaution. When the imperial edict came down ordering the Ministry of Justice to investigate, that villainous marquis — cunning beyond measure, with money and power at his command — had already seized Han Yuan and his wife and hidden them away, along with the girl, leaving not a trace. When the Ministry of Justice held its hearing, the plaintiffs had vanished. The Marquis then filed a counter-memorial accusing your father of slandering a meritorious nobleman and deceiving the Emperor. The Ministry officials, having been bribed by the marquis, submitted their own memorial supporting the charge. The Emperor was furious and had your father arrested and thrown into prison to await sentencing. The censors and officials of the Thirteen Circuits would have liked to submit memorials in his defense, but with the original complainants missing, they had nothing to work with. What is to be done? I fear some terrible fate awaits him."
When Tie Zhongyu had heard her out, his mind settled and a look of relief crossed his face. "Mother, please set your heart at ease," he said. "I had feared Father had touched upon some secret affair of the imperial palace — something impossible to prove or disprove. But this business of Han Yuan is merely a case of abduction by the powerful and concealment of evidence — a petty matter for the local authorities. What is so difficult about that?"
Lady Shi said: "Do not underestimate it, my son. The case may be small, but without the missing persons, the charge of deceiving the Emperor stands."
"If Father had fabricated a fictitious name and falsely accused an innocent man, that would indeed constitute deception of the Emperor," Tie Zhongyu replied. "But Han Yuan is a registered xiucai. He, his wife, and his daughter are real, living people. The abduction took place in broad daylight before countless witnesses. A censor, whose office is the avenue of remonstrance, reported what he saw with his own eyes — that is the very definition of fulfilling his duty. How can it be called deception?"
"Everything you say is perfectly reasonable," Lady Shi sighed. "Do you think your father cannot make the same arguments? But as long as those three people cannot be found, his mouth is stopped and he cannot utter a word in his own defense."
"How can they not be found?" said Tie Zhongyu. "Even if they were fugitive criminals who had changed their appearance and fled to the ends of the earth, they would have to be tracked down. And these are three wretched, wronged souls — weeping and helpless, unable to take a single step on their own. They are merely hidden away right here under the shadow of the capital. How hard can it be to find them? What is more, I already know where they are. I guarantee they can be seized at once. Please, Mother, put your mind at rest."
"Is this truly so?" Lady Shi asked.
"How could I dare to lie before my own mother?" Tie Zhongyu said.
Lady Shi's face brightened with joy. "If there is indeed some lead, you must eat quickly and then go at once to the prison to inform your father, so that he may be relieved of his anguish." She immediately ordered the servants to prepare a midday meal for Tie Zhongyu. After he had eaten, she helped him change into a plain dark robe and small cap, and was about to send servants with him to the prison.
"Wait," said Tie Zhongyu. He went to the study, wrote out a memorial, then asked his mother to fetch his father's official seal, the seal of the imperial censor. He wrapped the seal together with Wei Pei's petition, tucked them into his sleeve, and then, accompanied by servants, set out for the Ministry of Justice prison. As the verse says:
In undertaking great affairs, bold courage is not enough; At the decisive moment, all depends upon a careful mind. If hot-blooded bravery alone were counted as true valor, The echo of the hero's name would ring hollow through the ages.
When Tie Zhongyu arrived at the prison, the warden, knowing he was the son of Censor Tie, hastened to receive him and led him to a small private chamber. "Your honorable father is inside," he said. "You may enter and see him. As you may have confidential matters to discuss, I shall not presume to intrude." Tie Zhongyu thanked him and stepped inside. There he found his father, unshackled, sitting bolt upright with perfect composure. He immediately went forward and performed four deep bows, saying: "Your unworthy son Zhongyu has been remiss in his filial duties for far too long. The fault is deeply mine."
Censor Tie looked up in surprise and rose to his feet. "This is a place where I serve my sovereign and my country," he said sternly. "You should be at home attending to your studies. What are you doing here?"
"Father, if you are serving your sovereign and thinking of your country," Tie Zhongyu replied, "then when your son hears that his father is in trouble, how could he not come?"
Censor Tie considered this and said slowly: "Your coming shows filial devotion, I grant you that. But the affairs of state are manifold and complex. I am a censor — forthright speech is my duty. Whether the throne heeds my words or not, whether I live or die, rests with the court. Your presence here can change nothing."
Tie Zhongyu said: "It is true that a censor's duty is to speak his mind. But he should also judge what may be said and what may not, so as to ensure that his words achieve their purpose. If one speaks without regard for consequences, taking blunt outspokenness alone as the measure of diligence, then one is merely a man who does not understand the larger picture and cannot adapt to circumstances — seizing on rumors and clamoring before the sovereign merely to burnish one's own reputation. Surely that was never the court's intention in establishing the office of censor?"
Censor Tie sighed. "When a censor speaks, he naturally hopes to accomplish something. Who could have foreseen the villain's cunning stratagems? In this case of mine, I personally encountered Han Yuan and his wife crying out for justice, and only then did I submit my memorial. How was I to know that when the imperial edict ordered the Ministry to make arrests, the treacherous marquis would have already spirited Han Yuan and his wife away, leaving no trace, so that the charge was turned against me? My intentions were sincere — I was not chasing shadows or deceiving my sovereign. But events took an unforeseen turn. Who could have anticipated it?"
"Even if events cannot be anticipated," said Tie Zhongyu, "one should always take precautions. What is done is done and cannot be undone. But now that disaster has befallen you, every moment counts — there is no time to lose, lest new complications arise. How can you, Father, sit calmly in prison and let that villain frame you at his leisure?"
"Do you think I sit here willingly?" said Censor Tie. "I have no choice. You speak of acting quickly, but the original complainants have been hidden away without a trace. What am I to act upon?"
"What do you mean, without a trace?" said Tie Zhongyu. "It is simply that the Ministry of Justice is in league with the marquis and will not exert itself. Father, you must petition the throne for permission to conduct the search yourself — only then can the matter be resolved."
"Petitioning the throne is easy enough," said Censor Tie, "but if I obtain the warrant and still cannot find them, will that not add another charge to my account?"
"I have already discovered the whereabouts of Han Yuan, his wife, and his daughter," said Tie Zhongyu. "But because the hiding place is a restricted area, an imperial warrant is needed before any action can be taken."
"The Ministry's own searchers came up empty," said Censor Tie, "and I also asked trusted colleagues to send skilled investigators in every direction — all without a single lead. You have only just arrived in the capital. How could you possibly have reliable information? Is this not the reckless talk of a young man?"
"This concerns our family's very survival," said Tie Zhongyu. "How could I speak recklessly?" Seeing that no one was within earshot, he lowered his voice and told his father the whole story — his encounter with Wei Pei, the old villager's account — every detail. Then he produced Wei Pei's petition and handed it to Censor Tie.
Censor Tie read it and his face lit up with joy. "With this petition in hand, even if Han Yuan and his wife and daughter cannot be found, the case is no longer a mere phantom — at the very least, it can mitigate the charge that I spoke without grounds. But I still have one doubt about the alleged hiding place."
"It is a restricted imperial estate," said Tie Zhongyu. "It is the perfect hiding place. What doubt can Father have?"
"My concern," said Censor Tie, "is that the marquis, seeing the noose tighten, may kill all three of them to destroy the evidence."
"The Marquis of Dagua may be villainous," said Tie Zhongyu, "but he is at bottom nothing more than a dissolute pleasure-seeker who relies on his title to bully others. He is unlikely to have the ruthlessness to commit murder. Besides, he covets the girl for her beauty — he cannot bear to part with her. He has his restricted estate to hide her in, the Ministry officials to shield him, and now your imprisonment to reassure him. With no pressing danger, why would he resort to killing? Father, please set your mind at rest."
Censor Tie reflected for a moment. "Your reasoning is sound. Very well — matters have come to a head, and I have no choice but to follow your plan. Let me draft a memorial now. Go home, fetch my official seal, and bring it here so I can affix it and submit the document."
"There is no need for Father to trouble himself," said Tie Zhongyu. "I have already drafted the memorial and brought the seal with me. If Father finds it acceptable as written, it can be submitted at once." He drew the document from his sleeve and handed it over. Censor Tie unfolded it and read:
"Your servant, Tie Ying, Investigating Censor of the Henan Circuit, presently a prisoner under criminal charge, humbly memorializes the Throne. Subject: In the absence of any means to vindicate his solitary loyalty, your servant begs the imperial grace of a decree permitting him to conduct the search himself, so as to clear his name.
"It is commonly held that when the Son of Heaven seeks out the eyes and ears of his realm, this exemplifies the sage virtue of a sovereign; and that when humble subjects offer their counsel, this manifests the devoted heart of a loyal minister. Thus the office of censor has always been permitted to report even upon hearsay — how much less should a censor be punished for reporting verified facts presented in person.
"Your servant's previous impeachment of the Marquis of Dagua, Sha Li, for the brazen daylight abduction of the betrothed daughter of the xiucai Han Yuan to make her his concubine, concerned an act that morality cannot tolerate and the law must punish. When the imperial edict ordered the Ministry of Justice to investigate, your servant believed that morality would be upheld and the law enforced.
"Alas, the treacherous marquis, cunning as a demon, secretly concealed the plaintiffs to deceive Heaven itself. And the Ministry officials, lawless and partial, openly released the criminal to perpetuate his evil and instead cast your servant into chains. Your servant, whose integrity is his only possession, knows not how to dissemble.
"Your servant's loyal heart is known to Heaven alone. In desperation, he can only implore his sagacious Sovereign: may it please Your Majesty, in compassion for an honest minister falsely accused, to issue a decree permitting your servant to conduct the search himself. If by morning your servant has received the decree and by evening has found no one, then your servant will accept ten thousand deaths without complaint. But if the missing persons are found, then right and wrong, truth and falsehood, will be self-evident without further argument.
"Should Your Majesty in your celestial mercy deign to grant this request, your servant humbly begs that the matter be kept in strictest secrecy, lest the treacherous marquis move his captives to another hiding place. Furthermore, your servant begs that the decree authorize searches regardless of whether the premises are restricted imperial property, so that your servant may act with a free hand.
"Prostrate before the Throne, your servant awaits the imperial decision with the utmost urgency and trepidation! Appended hereto: one petition from Wei Pei, submitted for the imperial inspection as corroborating evidence."
When Censor Tie had finished reading, he exclaimed with delight: "This memorial is incisive, thorough, and perfectly captures my meaning. There is nothing to change." He sealed it at once and asked the prison warden to convey it for submission through the Office of Transmission. The warden dared not refuse and took charge of the document. And so it was that because of this one memorial:
The jade cage was shattered, and the golden lock was sprung!
As for Censor Tie's memorial and how the Emperor would respond — that shall be told in the next chapter.