In the Kangxi reign my grand-uncle Gongtao was vice-prefect of Xi’an, and went to the Zhongnan mountains to pray for rain.
There was an old temple beside the road with a statue of a beautiful young man in gold sable and dragon robes, dressed like a Han dynasty noble. He asked the priest what god it was. The priest said Sun Ce.
Gongtao thought: Sun Ce ran wild over the south-east and never came to Chang’an. And a man of Sun Ce’s martial force should look keen and spirited, whereas this god is pretty as a woman. He suspected a false cult. He happened to be building a temple to the Dragon King on Mount Taibai, and thought he would pull this one down and use its timber and tiles.
That night the god came to him in a dream.
“I am not Sun Ce. I am Dong Shengqing, Grand Marshal of Han. Wang Mang had me killed, and I died horribly.
“God Above pitied me, for I was innocent. Though I held high rank and enormous favour, I never harmed a single officer at court. So he made me the God Da Lang, in charge of fine weather and rain in this region.”
Gongtao realised it was Dong Xian, and remembered the phrase in Dong Xian’s biography — 美丽自喜, “pleased with his own beauty” — and stared at the god. The god looked displeased.
“Do not let Ban Gu deceive you. Ban Gu wrote the annals of Emperor Ai and says the emperor was paralysed and could not beget children. How, then, could he have favoured me? The account contradicts itself.
“That the sovereign and his minister were devoted, that we lay down and rose together — that is true, it happened. Under Emperor Wu the generals Wei Qing and Huo Qubing had the same favour. It will not do to compare me to Anling and Longyang.
“The star of the favoured minister is a real star, and answers to a real configuration. I have nothing to deny. But this is a miscarriage of justice two thousand years old, and you must clear my name.”
Before he had finished, two blue-faced, fanged demons dragged in a prisoner — old, bald, his voice gone, holding a scroll. The god pointed at him.
“This is the traitor Mang. God Above found his crimes reaching to heaven and cast him into the Shadow Mountains, where poisonous snakes have been chewing him for a long time. Now he has been pardoned out and sent here to me, to look after the latrines. For a small fault I have him whipped with the iron whip.”
Gongtao asked what book the prisoner was holding. The god laughed.
“This traitor believed in the Rites of Zhou all his life. Even dead, he will not let go of it. When he takes the iron whip, he still uses the Rites to shield his back.”
Gongtao looked. It was indeed the Rites of Zhou. On it was written: respectfully collated by your servant Liu Xin.
He laughed aloud, and woke.
The next day he gave a hundred taels of his salary, repaired the temple, and sacrificed a sheep and a pig. That night the god came again to thank him, and said:
“You have repaired my temple and I am grateful for your generosity. But I have nobody to share the offerings, and it is a lonely kind of worship. My clerk Zhu Xu was a righteous man. He collected my corpse and buried me, and Wang Mang killed him for it. I was grateful, and petitioned God Above, who granted his son Zhu Fu the post of Minister of Works under Emperor Guangwu. You might see to it.”
Gongtao had a statue of Zhu made and set beside Dong Xian, and another statue of a prisoner in the shape of Wang Mang, kneeling below the steps. After that, prayers for rain or for clear weather were answered at once.