High within the mist-shrouded peaks of Mount Heng in Shanxi province, where the air is thin and the silence is broken only by the cry of a distant crane, there lived an old man whose origins were as mysterious as the mountains themselves. This was Zhang Guo, later known with the respectful suffix 'Lao' as Zhang Guolao, one of the most beloved and enigmatic figures in the Taoist pantheon of the Eight Immortals. While others among the immortals carried swords or lotus flowers, Zhang Guolao was defined by his companion: a sturdy, ethereal white donkey that seemed to walk on air as easily as it did on stone.
Zhang Guolao’s appearance was that of an ancient hermit. He carried a fish drum—a long, bamboo tube with two iron rods that he would rattle to create a rhythmic, haunting sound that echoed through the valleys. But it was not his music that drew the eyes of every traveler; it was the way he sat upon his mount. Zhang Guolao did not face the direction of his travel. Instead, he sat perched upon the donkey's back facing the tail, his back to the horizon. To the uninitiated, this looked like the height of folly. However, in the philosophy of Zhang Guolao, to look forward was to be blinded by the illusions of the future and the vanity of progress. By facing backward, he kept his eyes on where he had been, reflecting on the lessons of history and the cyclical nature of the universe. He believed that the world was moving toward chaos, and by riding backward, he was actually moving toward the source of truth.
The donkey itself was no ordinary beast of burden. It was a creature of pure spiritual energy, capable of traveling thousands of li in a single day without a single drop of sweat or a moment of exhaustion. It could climb the steepest precipices of Mount Heng, where even goats feared to tread, and cross the widest rivers as if the water were solid glass. Yet, the most miraculous aspect of the donkey was not its stamina, but its storage. When Zhang Guolao reached his destination—be it a humble mountain hut or the gates of a bustling city—he did not seek a stable. Instead, he would pat the donkey’s neck, and with a soft incantation, the animal would begin to lose its volume. Its hide would turn to the texture of fine parchment, its bones would soften like silk, and within seconds, the great white donkey would be folded into a small, flat piece of paper no thicker than a leaf. Zhang Guolao would then calmly tuck the paper donkey into his sleeve or his leather wallet, walking away as a simple old man with nothing but a drum.
When he wished to ride again, the process was equally wondrous. He would take the folded paper from his pocket and spray a mouthful of water over it. In a burst of white mist, the paper would expand, its four legs kicking out, its ears popping up, and its eyes sparkling with life once more. This mastery over the physical form was a testament to his high level of cultivation, demonstrating that all things in the material world are but temporary manifestations of the Tao.
Word of Zhang Guolao’s miracles eventually reached the ears of the Tang Dynasty rulers. The Empress Wu Zetian, a woman of immense power and curiosity, sent a messenger to summon him to the imperial court. Zhang Guolao, who preferred the company of clouds to the company of kings, had no desire to leave his mountain. When the messenger arrived, the old man simply fell over dead. His body began to decay rapidly, swarming with worms, a sight so gruesome that the messenger fled in terror to report the immortal’s passing. Yet, as soon as the messenger was gone, Zhang Guolao sat up, shook off the illusion, and went back to his drumming. He had used the 'art of the cicada shedding its skin' to avoid the trap of political life.