A short while later, stepping out of the hostel, Yang abruptly turned and said, his eyes squinting in the sunlight, ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to the temple, Master. The temple is still very much on the outskirts of the capital.’

‘You are worrying too much,’ Judge Dee said, stepping up into the carriage prepared for him.

It was out of the question for him to conduct the investigation openly, but a short stay at the temple for a Buddhist service as well as for the compilation of a poetry collection would sound like a plausible excuse for the judge, who was known among his colleagues for his passion for poetry, though hardly known as a poet compared with Xuanji.

As an integrated part of the civil service examination, poetry-writing in the Tang Empire was more than a fashion among men of letters. Success in the examination spelled a promising official career for the candidates. Successful or not in the examination, however, excellent poems alone could also bring the poets a sort of recognizable social status, and made their names remembered for ‘thousands of autumns.’ For those less talented writers of poetry, the compilation of a poetry collection would therefore make a considerable alternative.

‘What’s up …’ Yang did not finish the question – perhaps with the words ‘your sleeve?’ He had encountered unexpected changes of plan on Judge Dee’s part numerous times. ‘Whatever you decide to do, you don’t have to stay at a temple for that, Master. It’s not difficult to find a better hostel nearby.’

‘Like hostels, Dingguo Temple provides room and board for its visitors. For men of letters, a stay in the temple is also considered far more desirable, and fashionable, too. You may not know that well-known poets like Meng Haoran or Wang Zhihuan wrote poems on the temple walls, and then people came to the temple for the purpose of reading and copying the poems.’

‘Yes, you may well write a couple of poems on the temple wall, too, Master.’

‘No, I know better. I’ve not written a good line for years. My poems on the temple wall would be a joke for thousands of years. But I’ve heard that a poet monk named Han Shan happens to be staying there at the moment. A real celebrity in the circle of poets, he should be able to tell me something more about the poetess. The biographical details could be valuable for the collection, you know.’

‘But you don’t have to compile a poetry collection of hers at this critical juncture, Master.’

‘Well, a man has to try his hand at the impossible mission.’

‘You have quoted this Confucianist epigram so many times. Possible or impossible, as long as it’s the right mission for you to accomplish.’

‘You know me, Yang.’