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back in working order. He looked down and saw that he could make out parts of his body, a reminder of the sorry shape he was in. At least he had proof that he was alive. Like waking from a bad dream, he was struck by the thought of how joyful it was to be alive. After briefly examining himself, he turned to look at his camels. They were as sorry-looking as he, and as wonderful. They were molting, pinkish-gray skin showing through in clumps, the sloughed-off hide hanging from parts of their bodies; pulling it off would have required little effort. They looked like big, lumbering beggars. The long necks were the most wretched-looking: long, hairless, curved, un-graceful, stretched out in front like frustrated dragons. But Xiangzi did not find them disgusting, no matter how disreputable they might appear. They were, after all, living creatures. He was, he felt, the luckiest man alive, for the heavens had sent him three treasures that he could swap for a rickshaw. Things like that did not happen every day. He laughed out loud.
    Red streaks appeared in the gray sky, casting shadows over the ground and the distant trees; little by little the reds and grays merged, turning some of the sky a washed-out purple and some of it bright red, but mostly the purplish gray of grapes. A few moments later, gold borders framed the red, creating rays of sunlight that were all the colors of the rainbow. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, things came into view. The morning colors turned dark red, in vivid contrast to the blue sky. The red began breaking up, releasing golden sunbeams—layers of color intersecting with the sun’s rays. Gorgeous spiderlike webs formed in the southeastern corner of the sky, as fields, trees, and wild grass turned from dark green to the color of jade. The trunks of ancient trees were dyed a golden red, sunlight glistened off the wings of passing birds, and everything seemed to be smiling. Xiangzi felt like shouting at the layers of red and gold, for he did not recall seeing the sun even once after being seized by the soldiers; he had spent the days grumbling and cursing inwardly, head hung low. He’d had no thoughts of the sun and the moon; the sky had disappeared from his life. Now he was walking freely, feeling more hopeful with each step. The sun painted the dew on grass and leaves with a coat of gold and had not only brightened his hair and brows but had warmed his heart as well. All his troubles, all the dangers and suffering, were forgotten. His shabby appearance did not matter, for he had not been cast out from the sun’s light and heat. He was once again living in a bright, warm world, and was so happy he could shout.
    He looked down at his threadbare clothes, then at the molting camels behind him, and he laughed. How uncanny, he was thinking, that four such sorry individuals had actually managed to get away safely and walk into the sun. It made no difference who was right and who was wrong, as far as he was concerned, since it was all written in the heavens. With a sense of relief, he walked with slow assurance; with the heavens as his protector, he had nothing to fear. Where were his feet taking him? Men and women were out working in the fields, but he did not care to ask them. Just keep walking. Even the possibility that he’d be unable to sell his camels right away did not concern him. He’d worry about that after he reached Beiping, a city he desperately wanted to see again. No mother and father were waiting for him in a place where nothing belonged to him. But it was his home, all of it, and he’d know what to do when he arrived. He saw a village off in the distance, a fairly large one, with a row of tall, green willows standing guard, bending low over the squat rooftops from which kitchen smoke curled upward. He heard the barking of dogs—music to his ears. He headed for the village, not expecting any sort of windfall but to show that he feared nothing. The villagers posed no threat, since