Chang’an (長安). A capital farther west than Luoyang. Here Dong Zhuo had settled. He made men call him “Shangfu” (尙父). He built a house called Meiwu (郿塢), some two hundred fifty li from Chang’an. Its walls rose as high as Chang’an’s walls; within lay twenty years’ grain and eight hundred beauties kept inside.

One day, at a banquet of all the officials, Dong Zhuo had the Minister of Works Zhang Wen (張溫) dragged from his seat and beheaded. Soon after, an attendant offered up Zhang Wen’s head on a red platter. Dong Zhuo laughed and spoke a single line. “Gentlemen, do not be alarmed. You are blameless; fear not.”

That night, Minister over the Masses (司徒) Wang Yun (王允) returned to his own house. He could neither sit nor stand, turning over in his mind the wine-seat of the day. When the moon stood bright in the deep of night, he took up his cane and walked to the rear garden. Beside the trellis of the tumi (荼蘼) blossoms, he stood and wept long toward Heaven.

At that moment, a long sigh came from the Mudan Pavilion (牡丹亭). Wang Yun muted his steps and drew near. The low sigh was the voice of a young woman. Inside the pavilion stood a young woman whom Wang Yun had raised from her childhood and taught song and dance. Her name was Diaochan (貂蟬). Sixteen years of age. A singing-girl of this household.

Wang Yun opened his mouth quietly. “Humble child. Do you perhaps hold a private affection?” Diaochan, startled, knelt. “How should I dare hold a private affection? Only, of late your two brows are often knit with care. Surely it is for a great matter of the state; yet I dared not ask. If you have any use for me, I would not refuse even a thousand deaths.”

Wang Yun struck the ground with his cane. “Who would have known that the fate of the Han’s all-under-heaven hung in the hand of this small child?” He led her to his study, sent away the attendants, and seated her before him. Then he bowed his head deeply. Diaochan, startled, prostrated herself.

“Pity, I beg you, the countless common people of the Han.” Tears poured from Wang Yun’s eyes like a spring. “The traitor-minister Dong Zhuo now seeks to usurp the throne. Dong Zhuo has one adopted son, Lü Bu; both father and son love beauty. I shall use the Lianhuanji (連環計, Chain-Plan). I shall promise you first to Lü Bu, then offer you to Dong Zhuo. Between them, seize the chance to split father and son, and in the end let Lü Bu strike Dong Zhuo down. Then this great evil is cut away.”

Diaochan did not answer for a long while. Through her two eyes passed a single long road she had seen for the first time this night. Then she bowed her head deeply. “I have already said I would not refuse even a thousand deaths. That promise I give again upon this seat. Send this body to those two men in turn. I shall open a road by myself.”

Wang Yun took her hand. His fingertips trembled more than hers. “If the matter leaks, my household is destroyed.” “Sir. Do not fear. If I cannot accomplish this great righteousness, I shall die beneath a thousand blades.”

That night, a single lamp in Wang Yun’s study did not die through the night. The moon was tilting west. Dew settled upon the tumi blossoms of the garden. The sigh beside the Mudan Pavilion was no longer heard. Only a young woman rolled quietly the three syllables of her own name Diaochan inside her mouth. At the end of that name, a small dawn-star rose quietly within her two eyes.

The thirtieth and last evening of Book 1 “Stars Gather” deepened quietly at two seats within the Chang’an rear garden: beside the tumi trellis, and beside the Mudan Pavilion. The three characters Tanjungjong (嘆中種, a seed within a sigh) were planted as a seed: the breath in which one minister’s sigh held one chain-plan seed, and a young woman’s mouth rolled the three syllables of her own name.

Tonight, the thirty seats of Book 1 gathered toward the sky. From the mulberry at the southeast corner (Day 1) through the three cups in the peach garden (Day 4), the deed without a name (Day 5) through the seal hung upon a pillar (Day 7), the court of ten flies (Day 9) through the footsteps from Xiliang (Day 11), the price of Red Hare (Day 13) through the man who changed fathers twice (Day 15), the dagger’s scheme (Day 16) through the seventeen strands of the proclamation (Day 20), the warm cup (Day 21) through the seat of three heroes (Day 23), the burning of the capital (Day 25) through the bridge at Jieqiao (Day 29). Thirty breaths gathered this night inside the seed of a minister’s single sigh. It was the last breath of Book 1, in which the stars had gathered.

From tomorrow, Day 31, the first dawn of Book 2 “The Woman Beneath the Moonlight” would open.

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