Sun Tsʻê could not withstand such a mandate from his mother so, mustering all his strength, he managed to get into a sedan chair and went to the monastery, where the Taoists received him respectfully and begged him to light the incense. He did so, but he returned no thanks. To the surprise of all, the smoke from the brazier, instead of floating upwards and dissipating, collected in a mass that gradually shaped itself into an umbrella and there on the top sat Yü Chi. Sun Tsʻê simply spat abuse and went out of the temple. As he passed the gates, lo! Yü Chi stood there gazing at him with angry eyes. “Do you see that wizard fellow?” said he to those about him. They said they saw nothing. More angry than ever he flung his sword at the figure by the gate. The sword struck one of his escort who fell. When they turned him over they saw it was the executioner who had actually slain the Taoist. The sword had penetrated his brain and his life drained out through the seven channels of perception. Sun Tsʻê told them to bury the man. But as he went out of the courtyard he saw Yü Chi walking in. “This temple is nothing more than a lurking place for sorcerers and wizards and such people,” said he. Whereupon he took a seat in front of the building and sent for half a company of soldiers to pull the place down. When they went up on the roof to strip off the tiles he saw Yü Chi standing on the main beam flicking tiles to the ground. More angry than ever he told them to drive out the priests belonging to the place and burn it. They did so and when the flames rose their highest he saw the dead Taoist Yü Chi standing in the midst of the fire. Sun Tsʻê returned home still in a bad humour, which increased when he saw the form of Yü Chi standing at his gate. He would not enter but mustered his army and went into camp outside the city walls. And there he summoned his officers to meet him and talk over joining Yüan in an attack on Tsʻao. They assembled, but they remonstrated with him and begged him to consider his precious health. That night he slept in the camp and again saw Yü Chi, this time with his hair hanging loose. He raged at the vision without cessation. Next day his mother called him into the city and he went. She was shocked at the change in his appearance; he looked so utterly miserable. Her tears fell. “My son,” said she, “how wasted you are!” He had a mirror brought and looked at himself; he was indeed so gaunt and thin that he was almost frightened and exclaimed, “How do I come to look so haggard?” While he spoke, Yü Chi appeared in the mirror. He struck it and shrieked. Then the half healed wounds re-opened and he fainted. He was raised and borne within. When he recovered consciousness he said, “This is the end; I shall die.”