Chapter One: Warding Off Pestilence

Year Eight of Taishi Era (272 AD), Twelfth Lunar Month, Day of Jiachen, Anle Duke’s Residence.

Nine years had passed since the great fire of that year. Now the sky was gloomy, with rows of black clouds spreading evenly from overhead to the horizon, like ink wash painting the heavens. A biting winter wind sliced through the bare treetops, producing an unsettling sound that stirred the nerves.

“Such strange weather,” Lady Zhang Ximiao of Anle Duke’s household lay on her bed, her head turned to gaze at the swaying branches outside the window. She spoke to her sister-in-law, Fei Xiu, “It looks like thunder might break out.”

Fei Xiu first denied it, “How could there be thunder in winter?” But a sudden gust of cold wind swept into the room, causing her to shiver and reluctantly agree, “Still, this year is the Year of the Dragon. Things might be different.”

Indeed, the eighth year of Taishi was the Renchen Year of the Dragon. Even before the seventh year had ended, rumors spread among the people: the Renchen year was the Year of the True Dragon, when a dormant dragon, sealed for a hundred years, would ascend to the heavens. No one could say where this legend originated. Yet across the Western Jin territories, reports of auspicious omens began to surface frequently—first a stone resembling Maitreya was unearthed in Yecheng, then sightings of a Azure Dragon in Guanzhong, all heralding the coming of a sage who would unify the realm.

But in October, a solar eclipse suddenly darkened the sky, visible everywhere. Eclipses were considered harbingers of disaster, contrary to the earlier prophecies. Folk tales then claimed the sun must be replaced, signaling the death of the old dragon. The rumor spread so rapidly that the court issued an edict forbidding the dissemination of any talk of omens or disasters under penalty of imprisonment.

Now, with the threat of winter thunder and windows rattling under fierce winds, the signs pointed to this so-called Renchen Dragon Year being far from ordinary.

In principle, such a year’s significance should have little to do with a woman. Yet Zhang Ximiao was no ordinary woman; she was a mother-to-be, already ten months pregnant, with childbirth imminent.

Fei Xiu moved to close the window, wary of the strange weather’s influence on the delivery. Zhang Ximiao gently stopped her, caressing her abdomen while pondering the year’s odd occurrences. Then she told her sister-in-law softly, “I have a feeling that, witnessed by Heaven itself, I will give birth to an extraordinary child.”

This was a common premonition among mothers on the cusp of labor. Fei Xiu had once felt it too, though in the end, her own child turned out ordinary—bringing both joy and tears. But before this new mother, Fei Xiu dared not shatter the hopeful vision; she sat back down and tenderly affirmed, “I have the same feeling. It will surely be an extraordinary boy.”

Yet Zhang Ximiao felt no comfort from these words. Instead, a wave of anxiety engulfed her. Throughout her pregnancy, she had contemplated deeply how to raise her child and ensure a bright future. But on this blustery eve, she overturned all those dreams, replaced by doubt and fear.

She thought: she was just a woman. In this era, a woman’s power was limited—she could not choose her parents, her husband, or even her own life. How then could she claim the right to shape her child’s destiny? Even a great man like Chancellor Zhuge could not guarantee his child’s success.

Such thoughts struck terror into the young mother’s heart, recalling the devastating Chengdu fire nine years prior.

Even a great general like Jiang Wei could sometimes be crushed by fate.

At this realization, Zhang Ximiao felt her own smallness: people never control their destiny. They cannot choose their birth or their death. It was as if an immense force in heaven and earth coldly watched, mocking human arrogance. Overwhelmed, she clasped her hands and tears streamed down.

“Ximiao… what’s wrong?” Fei Xiu, confused by her sister-in-law’s turmoil, looked on with concern.

“I suddenly think… it’s alright if the child is ordinary… as long as he lives happily…” Zhang Ximiao whispered, tears now uncontrollable. “But I’m afraid… I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it…”

Though inarticulate, Fei Xiu understood her worries well—this was the sentiment every mother had felt. To live a life of happiness seemed simple, yet the world often dealt hardship before sweetness, sorrow before joy. Like now, at this moment of impending motherhood, pain and sadness were foremost.

Fei Xiu reassured her, “It’s alright. Didn’t you invite a monk from Baima Temple to pray? You’ve always been sincere; Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva will protect you.”

This comfort helped the young mother dry her tears. Recently, a revered monk from the Western Regions had spoken of Avalokitesvara’s protection over children, prompting many nobles and commoners to seek blessings at Baima Temple. Zhang Ximiao had also burned incense there and invited a monk from India to chant sutras at the residence, hoping for a safe and smooth delivery.

Now, she held that hope close, adding a wish for a life free from calamity.

She silently recited the simple ten-line prayer:

“Avalokitesvara, homage to the Buddha, connected to the Buddha, bound by the Buddha, Buddha-Dharma-Sangha ties, always joyful, self-pure, morning thoughts of Avalokitesvara, evening thoughts of Avalokitesvara, mindful thoughts arise from the heart, Buddha recitation never leaves the heart.”

On her tenth repetition, she felt her child stir, followed by a sudden sharp pain that snapped her fully awake—the moment of birth had come!

Without hesitation, Fei Xiu helped her lie down and hurried to summon the old midwife. News of the lady’s labor quickly spread through the household; the men of the residence gathered in the main hall, anxiously awaiting the outcome.

Among them stood the new Anle Duke, Liu Xun. Unlike his anxious wife, he bore a sullen expression, as if haunted by ghosts. Even while waiting, his eyes were red and murky, like a drunken killer’s, instilling fear in his servants.

Yet on this crucial day, he suppressed his impatience and gazed quietly skyward.

At that moment, a fierce wind swept through the courtyard, blowing out several dim yellow oil lamps along the corridor. A metallic, earthy scent filled the air, penetrating the trembling bead curtains and rushing into the darkening hall.

A servant appeared, hanging the swaying bead curtains aside. Only then did everyone notice the sky was shrouded as if by a gray monk’s robe, plunging suddenly into utter darkness. Dead branches and withered leaves fluttered wildly like crows in disarray.

Liu Xun stood at the corridor’s edge, watching as the wind died down just as sharp raindrops began to fall, chasing one another. The sudden downpour pattered loudly against the stones and earth of the courtyard.

People, unaccustomed to such winter rain, murmured among themselves: “We expected snow, but it’s a winter rain instead!”

“Winter rain already—could winter thunder follow?”

No sooner had the words left their lips than a streak of white lightning slashed across the horizon, followed by a deafening thunderclap above the residence, startling all.

The monk chanting sutras beside Anle Duke said, “My lord, with wind, thunder, rain, and lightning, a dragon surely moves here. Hurry and offer incense to the heaven spirits! Pray for a noble birth and safe delivery.”

Liu Xun usually disliked such talk. Yet now, seemingly recalling something, he did not refuse. Instead, he ordered incense to be burned in the corridor sheltered from the rain, humbly greeting the true dragon amidst wind and storm.

Unbeknownst to them, night had fully fallen. Outside, the rain poured like a waterfall, and flickering lamps throughout the estate threatened to plunge into endless darkness. Lightning continued to flash, casting fleeting, long, dim shadows across the clouds—shadows that seemed to dance like dragons in the heavens.

Meanwhile, Zhang Ximiao, enduring the throes of labor, slowly lost consciousness, unaware of the cold wind, the silent night, or the dragonlike shadows in the lightning. Her thoughts centered solely on her child’s happiness—a mother’s heart. She wished Heaven would grant her a brave child, unlike his father and grandfather, who were timid and fearful. She hoped her child would be like his great-grandfather, the embodiment of strength, unyielding to any hardship.

In this dreamlike state, she prayed, and the bliss of prayer ushered her into a wondrous trance—one that defied simple words. It was a profound joy and faith in goodness and righteousness, a deep confidence akin to sudden enlightenment.

As she drifted into this state, she faintly heard a voice promising to help fulfill her wish.

“Madam.”

“Here.”

“You are a good mother. Your wish shall come true.”

“Hmm.”

Just as she was about to reply, all visions vanished. Then came the cry of a newborn, as if drifting from a distant realm. At that moment, sister-in-law Fei Xiu gently tapped her shoulder, awakening her.

Fei Xiu smiled warmly, “Congratulations, sister. The child has been born.”

Relieved, Zhang Ximiao was helped to sit up by the midwife. Taking the still-crying infant from Fei Xiu’s hands, she anxiously asked, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy!”

She hurriedly cradled the baby, swaddled in a wrap, and studied him closely. The infant did not notice his mother’s approach, frowning and closing his eyes tightly, wailing fiercely—hardly the image of cuteness. Yet Zhang Ximiao showed no disdain. She pressed her cheek gently against the child’s damp skin; the bond of blood calmed him instantly, and his black eyes blinked open.

Turning to Fei Xiu, she said, “Sister, please tell the lord that the child’s nickname shall be Bi Ji.”

[1] The term “My Lord” here has multiple meanings in the Han and Jin periods. It does not solely refer to a paternal elder as in the Song dynasty, nor to a superior official as in the Qing dynasty. In the Jin history alone, it can mean emperor, giant, noble, leader, elder, or fatherly figure, among others. The usage was flexible and context-dependent, so no strict interpretation is necessary here.