Chapter Twelve: The Purple Aura Rising from the East

After Feng Xiaobao’s departure from his previous life—which had been in a most inconceivable manner—the events unfolding in Chang’an since his arrival seemed to border on the fantastic, even to him. He was a stranger in this grand city, an unfamiliar face among the masses, and should have passed unnoticed, merely an anonymous passerby. Yet, as he made his way along the road, a young Daoist approached him and greeted, “Young sir, allow me to introduce myself. I am Xuanqing.”

The Daoist was in the flush of youth, perhaps just past twenty, with striking, boyish features and a commanding, upright posture. His complexion was fair as snow, a stark contrast to Feng Xiaobao’s darker skin, roughened by years of toil—like ebony and ivory side by side. The man was also notably tall, even taller than Feng Xiaobao, who had always prided himself on his height.

A warm smile played on the Daoist’s lips, and his eyes were gentle, calm, and composed; encountering such a person, Feng Xiaobao almost felt a pang of inferiority.

Feng Xiaobao returned the courtesy. “Greetings, Master Daoist.”

“You must be weary from your journey. May I ask your esteemed name?”

“I am unworthy of any title. My name is Feng Xiaobao,” he replied straightforwardly. “What guidance does the Daoist have for me?”

“My master observed auspicious purple clouds rising from the east and sent me to receive a traveler from the future,” Xuanqing said serenely.

The words struck Feng Xiaobao like thunder. To hear someone lay bare his hidden truth so casually made him draw a sharp breath. If they had been somewhere deserted, he might have considered drastic measures to protect his secret. He steadied himself with effort, drew in a deep breath, and forced his mind to remain calm before asking, “Who is your master?”

“My master is Li Chunfeng.”

Feng Xiaobao was rendered speechless.

Li Chunfeng—the legendary Daoist, famed astronomer, and mathematician of the Tang dynasty, who rose to the office of Grand Historian and was a master of divination and the I Ching. He was the first scientist to classify wind strength, and his annotated mathematical treatises became some of the earliest math textbooks in the world. Two legendary tales elevated him to the status of a near-immortal in the eyes of later generations.

The “Tuibei Diagram” was the foremost prophetic text in Chinese tradition, said to have been commissioned by Emperor Taizong for insights into the Tang dynasty’s fate. Li Chunfeng and Yuan Tiangang, both renowned astrologers, collaborated on it. Using the I Ching, Li Chunfeng became so engrossed in his calculations that he prophesied two thousand years of China’s future, until Yuan Tiangang nudged him on the back and admonished, “The secrets of heaven must not be divulged further—best to rest now.” Thus, the “Tuibei Diagram” was born.

This text accurately predicted the succession of dynasties from Tang through Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing, so much so that later rulers, unsettled by its accuracy, banned it as a forbidden book.

Another legendary tale recounts how Li Chunfeng and Yuan Tiangang, by imperial order, were sent to appraise the geomancy of a certain site. They investigated separately, and upon their return, both claimed to have found the dragon’s vein: one said he had dropped a copper coin at the spot, the other that he had driven a nail into the ground. The emperor’s men found that the nail had pierced the very center hole of the coin, a testament to their unparalleled skill in geomancy.

To Feng Xiaobao, Li Chunfeng’s name was as familiar as thunder in spring. An adviser in his company back home was a master of the I Ching, but Li Chunfeng was a patriarch of that very tradition. Now, hearing Xuanqing claim to have been sent by Li Chunfeng to receive him, Feng Xiaobao could only feel as though a thousand wild horses were stampeding through his mind.

First the company adviser, now this Daoist—did everyone know about his transmigration?

A wild thought crossed Feng Xiaobao’s mind: “Should I start studying the I Ching, or risk always being outmaneuvered by others?”

At least the Daoist’s intentions were friendly—he hadn’t sent constables to arrest him. Otherwise, Feng Xiaobao would have become the most wretched of all time travelers.

...

Half an hour later, Feng Xiaobao and Xuanqing sat by the river in a humble tavern, sharing tea and conversation.

They consumed no wine or meat, only simple vegetarian fare—nothing refined, but sufficient to welcome Feng Xiaobao.

“Come, let me toast you!” Xuanqing raised his cup first.

“Please!” Feng Xiaobao mirrored his gesture.

They drank their tea, and Xuanqing, smiling, introduced himself. He was, it turned out, Li Chunfeng’s final disciple—his master, now aged and frail, had forsworn taking students, but for reasons unknown, had accepted Xuanqing as his last.

Feng Xiaobao took the opportunity to inquire about Li Chunfeng, to which Xuanqing replied with a sigh, “A fortune-teller cannot foresee his own fate. My master is old and infirm, rarely receiving guests, and now rests quietly in the temple.”

He spoke little of his master, and after briefly asking about Feng Xiaobao’s own background, turned to describing the current political climate—precisely the information Feng Xiaobao desperately needed.

It was now the third year of the Qianfeng era, corresponding to 668 AD. The emperor, Li Zhi, was gravely ill, and had appointed the crown prince, Li Hong, as regent. Yet the real power lay in the hands of...the person closest to the emperor.

Xuanqing was vague, but Feng Xiaobao understood.

Xuanqing continued: In the fourth year of the Xianqing era (659 AD), the emperor and his confidante reached an agreement to strip major ministers—Changsun Wuji, Yu Zhining, Han Yuan, Lai Ji—of their positions and exile them, greatly strengthening imperial authority.

But the good fortune did not last. In the fifth year of Xianqing (660 AD), the emperor’s illness returned, leaving him dizzy and unable to govern. The confidante took charge, a woman of extraordinary ability who thwarted the emperor’s attempts to depose her. She co-ruled, and together they were known as the Two Saints.

Later, in the third year of Linde (666 AD), on New Year’s Day, she ascended Mount Tai with the emperor to perform the great Feng and Shan sacrifices, acting as second in offering (normally reserved for nobles after the emperor), and bestowed titles and promotions upon the officials—earning their gratitude, spreading her fame, and solidifying her power.

Witnessing Feng Xiaobao’s composure, Xuanqing thought to himself: He truly must be a man from the future! His master divined the future, while this future man knew history.

He recalled, just two hours earlier, when his master summoned him to the meditation chamber. Li Chunfeng, seated upon his mat, lamented that despite taking Xuanqing as a disciple, he’d had little time to teach him—a misfortune for the student.

Alarmed, Xuanqing had knelt and protested, “Master, you have taught me more than enough! There is no end to what I have learned from you.”

Li Chunfeng chuckled softly. “No end to it? There is nothing in this world that is truly inexhaustible. Yet today, there is indeed something of endless benefit. Come closer and listen.”

Then he revealed a heavenly secret: “This afternoon at the Weishui wharf, you shall see purple clouds rising from the east. A traveler from the future will arrive—go and receive him.”

Purple clouds from the east! A traveler from the future!

Two hours later, as Xuanqing recited these words to Feng Xiaobao, he saw him shudder in astonishment—the same shock he himself had felt when first hearing his master’s prophecy.

The story of purple clouds from the east was most famously associated with Yin Xi, the warden of Hangu Pass during the Eastern Zhou. Upon seeing such clouds, he knew a sage would arrive and waited—eventually meeting Laozi.

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the origin of Heaven and Earth...” These immortal words, from the Dao De Jing, came from Laozi himself—one of the greatest philosophers and founders of Daoism, revered as a sage.

Wherever a sage passes, purple clouds herald the event.

...

If Li Chunfeng spoke of purple clouds from the east, did that not mean a sage was arriving?

The shock Xuanqing had felt when he heard this was no less than Feng Xiaobao’s own astonishment.

A man from the future?

Li Chunfeng had offered no explanation, leaving Xuanqing to interpret for himself: Was this person from a future era, or would he bring the future with him—or perhaps both?

It hardly mattered. What was crucial was to find him and benefit without end.

But who would he be?

Li Chunfeng could observe or divine the appearance of purple clouds, but Xuanqing could not. Sensing his confusion, Li Chunfeng had given a final clue: “He is very young.”

And so, among thousands, Xuanqing had found Feng Xiaobao! His stature and bearing made him stand out, and, of course, Li Chunfeng’s hint was key.

...

After their meal, Xuanqing led Feng Xiaobao into the city of Chang’an.

Tang dynasty Chang’an was composed of three sections: the outer city, the palace city, and the imperial city, totaling over eighty square kilometers. The outer city was rectangular, stretching nearly ten kilometers east to west and almost nine kilometers north to south, its perimeter spanning thirty-seven kilometers. Each side had three gates; only the main southern gate, Mingde Gate, boasted five entrances, while the rest had three each.

Chang’an was laid out with the broad Vermilion Bird Avenue as its central axis. Eleven north-south avenues and fourteen east-west avenues divided the city into more than a hundred neatly organized wards—Chang’an’s famed market districts.

Walking along what was not only the Tang dynasty’s but perhaps the world’s most prosperous avenue, Feng Xiaobao was dazzled by the sights.

The legendary city of Chang’an was true to its reputation: crowds surged like schools of fish, goods were piled as high as walls, and the architecture was grand and imposing, harmonious yet varied. There were palaces glittering with gold, elegant residences, pavilions, towers, and terraces of ancient style and stately air. As someone trained in architecture, Feng Xiaobao was awestruck by the ingenuity of the Tang people, so absorbed in the buildings that he could scarcely take another step.

On and on they walked, until dusk fell. Xuanqing took Feng Xiaobao to a Daoist temple called “Wuwei” for the night.

It was small and unadorned, but clean and orderly. Xuanqing was the abbot; aside from himself, there were no others—now joined by Feng Xiaobao as a guest.

The guest room, built of brick and timber, was sparsely furnished: a desk by the window, atop which sat a tin candlestick worn pale with age, a circle of teacups with a teapot, a bamboo chair before the table, a cloud-shaped bed, and a wooden cabinet—nothing more.

The bedding was a simple grass mat.

“So this is a Tang dynasty business suite,” Feng Xiaobao murmured as he spent his first night in Chang’an, sleeping soundly and at peace.