The Daoist and the Prime Minister
Liu Qian and Liu Zhan were brothers, yet from childhood their hearts were set on entirely different roads. The younger brother, Liu Zhan, devoted himself to the Confucian classics. He dreamed of passing the imperial examinations, bringing honor to his family, and making a name for himself. His older brother, Liu Qian — affectionately called Yige, “Brother Yi” — studied as well, but his nature was free and unbound. He cared little for fame, rank, or wealth. Instead, he was fascinated by the mysterious arts of Daoist cultivation. Their family was poor, sometimes barely able to afford food. Yet Liu Qian seemed perfectly content.
One day, an old Daoist priest passed by their home. He glanced at Liu Qian and immediately noticed the boy’s unusual bone structure and clear, bright eyes. The priest stopped and asked, “Young man, you have an extraordinary bearing. Do you know anything about Daoist cultivation?” Liu Qian smiled shyly. “I know a little. But I’m still an ordinary mortal, full of worldly habits and shortcomings. My sins have not been cleansed. Is it too late for me to begin learning?” The Daoist burst out laughing. “If that is how you see yourself, then perhaps you and I should learn from each other!” Liu Qian bowed deeply. “Master, you flatter me. How could someone like me dare speak of ‘learning from each other’?”
From that day on, Liu Qian served the Daoist as though he were his own teacher — bringing him tea, tending to his needs, and caring for him with sincerity. Before long, the Daoist decided to retreat into the mountains. If you truly wish to seek the Dao and pursue immortality,” he told Liu Qian, “come live with me in the mountains. Once you arrive, take off your headscarf. Do not let worldly ambitions bind your heart.”
Liu Qian did not hesitate. He removed his headscarf, tied his hair into a simple Daoist topknot, changed into coarse cloth clothing, brushed the dust from his sleeves, and followed the Daoist into the mist‑shrouded mountains of Mount Luofu. When the day came for him to leave, his younger brother went to see him off. At the foot of the mountain, Liu Zhan frowned at his brother’s strange new appearance. Liu Qian patted him on the shoulder.
“My dear brother, I will never sit for the imperial examinations. The mountains and forests are where I belong. You, however, have a passionate temperament. You long for the glory and prosperity of the imperial court. But listen to me. If you pass the examinations and enter officialdom, you will spend your life struggling and worrying. No matter how far you rise, you will never have the freedom I have here. And if fortune smiles upon you and you become wealthy and powerful, remember one word: caution. Forty years from now, look back and see whether what I’ve said today has come true.”
Liu Zhan shook his head. He was young, ambitious, and unconvinced. “Brother, immortals and supernatural beings are nothing but legends. Emperor Qin and Emperor Wu of Han searched the whole realm for the elixir of immortality — what did they find? In my view, becoming an official and earning real power is the sensible path. Look at Ma Zhou and Zhang Jiazhen — both rose from humble origins to great importance. I believe I can do the same. As for your path to immortality, it simply isn’t for me.” The brothers said no more. One turned toward the mountains. The other toward the examination halls.
Forty years later: Reunion in the rain
Forty years passed. Liu Qian devoted himself to Daoist cultivation along the ancient pine‑covered paths of Mount Luofu, and gradually, no further news of him reached the world. Meanwhile, Liu Zhan proved himself. He passed the imperial examination, rose rapidly through the ranks, and eventually became prime minister. He remembered his brother’s warning and conducted himself with caution. But political life is never free of storms. In his old age, Liu Zhan finally met the misfortune his brother had foretold. Political enemies falsely accused him, and an imperial decree banished him to a remote region. With his family and servants, Liu Zhan endured a long, miserable journey south.
It was summer. Torrential rain had swollen the river. Fierce winds whipped the water into waves, forcing his official boat to remain tightly moored along the shore. Inside the cabin, listening to the relentless rain, the old man felt desolation settle over him. Then, while he sat in despair, a young man appeared on the shore. His long hair was tied into a topknot. He wore a simple, worn cloth robe. He walked through the mud toward the boat. But something was strange. The rain poured down as though the heavens had overturned a bucket — yet not a single drop touched the young man. His clothes and shoes were perfectly dry.
The guards stared in astonishment and stopped him. The young man smiled. “Please tell him that Yige has come.” The servants rushed inside. Liu Zhan, reclining in sorrow, sat upright the moment he heard the name. “Describe him to me,” he demanded. When they did, tears streamed down his face. He rushed outside, barely able to put on his shoes. Lifting the curtain, he saw a young man with a healthy complexion and smooth skin — no older than 20. It was Yige, unchanged after 40 years. Liu Zhan, with white hair and a hunched back, burst into tears and grabbed his brother’s hand.
Liu Qian sighed, eyes full of compassion. “We came from the same mother. How could I not feel your pain? Look at us. Remember what we said when we parted? Without realizing it, forty years have passed.” Liu Zhan touched his brother’s youthful face, then looked at his own frail body. Heartbroken, he pleaded: “Brother, I regret my choice. Look at what has become of me. Is it still possible for me to follow you and cultivate the Dao?” Liu Qian gently withdrew his sleeve.
“My brother, you have lived at the highest levels of worldly power. You have enjoyed wealth and honor. Every day you dealt with state affairs, weighed political matters, and exhausted your heart and mind. You have spent your vital energy to the root. How could it be restored now? To cultivate the Dao requires the right affinity and foundation. It is not as simple as saying that because your brother became an immortal, he can pull you up into Heaven. I came through this storm only because you are my brother. I wished to spend a little time with you and say goodbye. I did not come to save your life.” Liu Zhan wept, knowing his brother spoke the truth.
That night, Liu Qian stayed on the boat. The brothers poured wine and talked as they had in their poor childhood home. Liu Qian spoke of pine nuts, mountain springs, and drifting clouds. Liu Zhan spoke of 40 turbulent years in the imperial court — political struggles, dangers, and countless moments beyond his control. Sometime after midnight, Liu Zhan cried himself to sleep.
When he awoke at dawn, the cabin was empty. His brother had vanished without a trace. Not even a drop of water marked the floor. Liu Zhan continued his journey south, carrying regret and the weight of life’s impermanence. Meanwhile, woodcutters and herbal gatherers on Mount Luofu sometimes reported seeing a young man with his hair in a topknot, dressed in simple clothes, quietly watching the clouds from the mountaintop. People said it was Yige — Liu Qian, who had left the world behind and attained the Dao.
Translated by Kary Lu and reviewed by Helen London
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