"I am pleased, at the least," said the third, "that I lived long enough to have an answer about the wolf. It was honourable of him to send us word. Unexpected."

"You thought he'd die himself when the wolf died?"

"I did. And now he is sending messages to us. It shows we can be wrong. The need for humility."

The small one looked up at him and laughed. "It shows you you can be wrong," he said. can be wrong," he said.

The others laughed as well. It is entirely possible, the teachings of the Kanlins suggest, to laugh while the heart is breaking for mankind.

They turned and walked away from the view of the battlefield.

THE REBEL GENERAL who'd accepted the offer of amnesty from Xinan might have expected treachery, might even have been resigned to it, but with the empire so desperately spent it was decided by the new advisers of the new emperor that the offered amnesty should be honoured. The general and his soldiers were allowed to live, and resume their posts defending Kitai.

Soldiers were urgently needed on the Long Wall and in the west and south, before all borders collapsed inwards under waves of barbarian incursions.

Weariness, sometimes more than anything else, can bring an end to war.

It was said to be the case that the emperor's favourite wife, regarded by some later historians as dangerously subtle and too influential, played a role in encouraging him to keep that agreement-with a view to securing Kitai's boundaries.

The first treaty negotiated and signed was with the Tagurans.

The second was with the Bogu. Their new kaghan, Hurok's successor, was a man his people called the Wolf. It wasn't clear why, then or later, but how would civilized people understand the names, let alone the rituals, of barbarians?

There were were stories told that the same imperial princess, who was also Shinzu's second wife, understood more than she ought to have about this matter of the Bogu, but the details of this-the documents so vital to a historian-were lost. stories told that the same imperial princess, who was also Shinzu's second wife, understood more than she ought to have about this matter of the Bogu, but the details of this-the documents so vital to a historian-were lost.

Some even said this had been deliberate, but in truth the disruptions of those years, the burnings of cities and market towns, movements of people and armies, emergence of bandits, warlords, disease, and death, were so very great, it was hardly necessary to imagine or assume a purpose on anyone's part if records disappeared.

And it is always difficult, even with the best will in the world, to look back a long way and see anything resembling the truth.

Seasons tumble and pass, so do human lives and ruling dynasties. Men and women live and are remembered-or falsely remembered-for so many different reasons that the recording of these would take seasons of its own.

Every single tale carries within it many others, noted in passing, hinted at, entirely overlooked. Every life has moments when it branches, importantly (even if only for one person), and every one of those branches will have offered a different story.

Even mountains alter given enough time, why should not empires? How should poets and their words not become dust? Does not the true wonder emerge when something actually survives?

At Kuala Nor the seasons turned with sun and stars, and the moon lit green grass or made silver the snow and a frozen lake. For a number of years following the events recounted here (however incompletely, as with all such tellings) two men met there each spring, sharing a cabin by the lake, and labouring together to lay to rest the dead.

Birds cried in the mornings, wheeling above the water, the ghosts cried at night. Sometimes a voice fell silent. Both men knew why that was.

Then there came a spring when only one of the two arrived by the shores of the lake. This one worked alone that season, and the next spring, and then the next, but the following springtime no one came to Kuala Nor.

The ghosts remained. They cried at night under a cold moon or stars, winter, spring, summer, fall.

Time passed, in sweeping arcs of years.

And, finally, because not even the dead can grieve forever, forgotten, there came a moonlit night when there was no lost spirit crying at Kuala Nor, and there was no one by the lake to hear the last one's final cry. It drifted into that night, within the ring of mountains, above the lake, rising there, and gone.

... peace to our children when they fall in small war on the heels of small war-until the end of time ...

-ROBERT LOWELL

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

I find writing these acknowledgements both an opportunity and a challenge. This is true for every book, but perhaps even more so this time, since I've been living with find writing these acknowledgements both an opportunity and a challenge. This is true for every book, but perhaps even more so this time, since I've been living with Under Heaven Under Heaven for so many years. for so many years.

There are individuals who have helped in many different ways, and a number of books and essays played roles in shaping this variation upon themes of the Tang. Too many names listed becomes cumbersome and (I fear) risks seeming over-elaborate or pretentious. Leaving people out feels worse.

I'm going to begin where many of these notes end: this is a work of fiction spun out of and through history. No one named here bears the remotest responsibility for what the author has done with the time, the place, and his story. Other people have sparked my thinking and my imagination, however, and my gratitude is considerable.

On brightweavings.com I have posted essays and speeches that offer (I hope) some clarity as to why I use the prism of the fantastic to treat the matter of history. Those interested will find some answers at that site. I have posted essays and speeches that offer (I hope) some clarity as to why I use the prism of the fantastic to treat the matter of history. Those interested will find some answers at that site.

My gateway to Tang China was by way of the master poets of the dynasty: Du Fu, Li Bai (the "Banished Immortal"), Wang Wei, Bai Juyi, and so many others. I read their works (and biographies) in English in many versions and the first acknowledgement I want to record here is to the poets and their translators. I am indebted to, among others: David Hawkes, Burton Watson, Arthur Waley, David Young, Red Pine, and Arthur Cooper. There are dozens of renderings of Tang poetry that I have read and profited from, but these names need to be cited.

On a much more personal level, my old friend Andy Patton-painter, poet, Tang aficionado-was profoundly important in the emergence of this book, through years of discussion and encouragement.

It is daunting to choose among the historians whose work (and in some cases personal communication) has been vital to me. I'm going to name the following: Susan Whitfield, Edward H. Schafer (his masterful The Golden Peaches of Samarkand The Golden Peaches of Samarkand, in particular), Edwin G. Pulleyblank (on the background to the An-Lushan rebellion), Howard Levy, Patricia Ebrey, Edward Shaughnessy, Jonathan Tucker (a gorgeous book on the Silk Road), Christopher Beckwith (historian of early Tibet), Rene Grousset (on the steppes), Howard J. Wechsler, C. P. Fitzgerald, William Hung.

The invaluable Arthur Waley wrote biographies of both Li Bai and Bai Juyi (under the then-standard anglicized names Li Po and Po Chu-i). The Cambridge multi-volume History of China History of China, in the volumes treating the Tang, was enormously helpful. There's a fair bit written about courtesans and students in the Tang, which is a motif of Under Heaven Under Heaven. I'll mention here Ping Yao's "The Status of Pleasure: Courtesan and Literati Connections in T'ang China (618-907)."

The general reader looking only for a taste would do well to start with Whitfield's Life Along the Silk Road Life Along the Silk Road, or have a look at Charles Benn's China's Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty China's Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty, which is full of detail. Ebrey's illustrated one-volume history of China for Cambridge is nicely done, and so is Shaughnessy's for Oxford. The Tucker book on the Silk Road has evocative photographs.

In terms of art, the Yale University Three Thousand Years of Chinese Painting Three Thousand Years of Chinese Painting (multiple authors), (multiple authors), China: Dawn of a Golden Age China: Dawn of a Golden Age, from the Metropolitan Museum in New York, China: At the Court of the Emperors China: At the Court of the Emperors, from an exhibition in Florence in 2008, The Art of the Horse in Chinese History The Art of the Horse in Chinese History, from an exhibition originating in Kentucky, and Hugh Scott's The Golden Age of Chinese Art The Golden Age of Chinese Art (focusing on the Tang) are among those I consulted with profit. (focusing on the Tang) are among those I consulted with profit.

On cave art, Gregory Curtis and, especially, Jean Clottes gave me compelling ideas to work with. Colin Thubron, writing about China and the Silk Road countries today, conjures landscape and history. His books are treasures. A number of the scholars named above were generous with their time in answering e-mail queries, and so were others too numerous to name. For professional research assistance on a variety of matters I am indebted to Sarah Johnson of Eastern Illinois University.

Turning to the remarkably supportive people in my life, I must acknowledge, once again, Deborah Meghnagi Bailey of bright weavings.com, and her accomplices there now: Alec Lynch, Elizabeth Swainston, and Ilana Teitelbaum. Bright Weavings has been a source of pleasure and aid in ways I never anticipated when I gave Deborah permission to launch it in 2000, one of my more intelligent decisions.

As I type the names of my agents, I am reminded how fortunate I am to be able to draw upon the intelligence and experience of people who have also become friends over the years: Linda McKnight, Jonny Geller, Jerry Kalajian, John Silbersack, and Natasha Daneman. The same applies to my editors: Nicole Winstanley, Susan Allison, Jane Johnson-in Toronto, New York, and London, respectively. When an author writes books that challenge genre, category, convention, he requires editors willing to do that with him, and I am fortunate to have those. Martin Springett, another old friend, assumed the role of cartographer once again, with patience and flair. Catherine Marjoribanks did the copyediting, with care and good humour.

Finally, and with love, my usual suspects: Laura, Sam, Matthew, Rex-and Sybil, who does deserve to be named at beginning and end.