“But that’s preposterous!”
“And offensive!”
“It might be a preposterous offense if we didn’t have this statement.” Hsi-wei drew a small scroll from the sleeve of his official’s robe. “This is a sworn declaration from the calligrapher Oyuang Xun, former resident of Hsuan. Please note that it is officially stamped by the prefect of police in the capital.”
Hsi-wei handed Xun’s affidavit to the magistrate, who read it and frowned.
“This would appear to be conclusive.”
“I agree, sir. But, that’s not quite all,” said Hsi-wei.
“What? There’s more?”
“Yes, sir. We have now ascertained that Mr. Chin did not give his land to either of his neighbors. But we also know to whom he intended to give it. Indeed, so do these two honorable gentlemen.”
“How’s that?” asked the magistrate.
Hsi-wei nodded to Ko who left the chamber briefly and returned with their star witness.“Sir, this is Shao-sing, loyal senior servant to the late Mr. Chin. He has something to say.”
The old man was shaking and wringing his hands. “It was a dinner, Your Honor,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?” said the magistrate. “Speak up.”
Shao-sing shuddered but pressed bravely on.
“It was a dinner, Your Honor. A good one, with both pork and fish.”
“Never mind the menu. What about this dinner pertains to the case?”
“Well, Your Honor, you see the girl was sick and that’s why I was serving, which usually I wouldn’t do. Mr. Chin had invited Mr. Cao and Mr. Lu. They talked a lot about crops and rents, and the weather too. And they drank a lot of yellow wine.”
“Get to the point, man.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Well, you see, since they were eating and drinking so much, I was always being called to bring in more of this or that, especially more wine. And, because I was in and out of the chamber the whole evening, I couldn’t help overhearing what was said.”
“And what was said that has a bearing on the matter before us?”
“Well, Your Honor, you see, it was at this dinner that Mr. Chin told his neighbors that—being childless—he was going to turn the land over to the peasants when he died. That is to say, his tenants. He said he thought they ought to know.”
Cao and Lu, who had fumed and grumbled with feigned indignation at Hsi-wei’s questioning, scowled at Shao-sing’s testimony and looked at him with disdain and fury. Finally, neither could contain himself.
“He swore he would give it to me!” insisted the one.
“To me!” cried the other.
At this, Hsi-wei turned to the magistrate, smiled, and delivered an eloquent shrug. Shao-sing looked around in distress. Ko barely stifled a laugh.
The judgment was delivered the following morning. Deeds would be drawn up for the peasants and, in accord with a suggestion Hsi-wei made privately to the magistrate, ownership of the villa would now be assigned to the family of Shao-sing. As for Cao and Lu, both were soundly rebuked by the magistrate and required to pay substantial fines.
Ko and Hsi-wei celebrated that night with a large meal and plenty of yellow wine. They were pleased with what they had done and with one another.
After a pleasant week’s stay, Hsi-wei prepared to depart.
“A most satisfactory visit,” said Ko. “It’s been fun. You’re the ideal guest, Hsi-wei.”
“And you, the perfect host. And we managed something good. You can believe the traveler who says that such justice is rare. And I’m excited about your work, the huge new piece in particular.”
“Your praise is a great encouragement to me. And our collaboration on behalf of Chin’s tenants really was a special pleasure.”
“About collaboration.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve had a thought about collaboration.”
“What?”
“If there can be Shan Shui painting, why not Shan Shui verses as well?”
“Why not indeed. That’s a splendid idea!”
“I’m glad you think so,” said Hsi-wei and handed a small scroll to Ko Qing-zhao. On it he had written the poem that is known by the same title as the painting universally acknowledged as Ko Qing-zhao’s masterpiece.
Autumn in the Yellow Mountains
Deep in a golden grove on the riverbank
a slender lady in a silken gown sits with her maid.
Both look out at a drifting sampan; the
inattentive boatman has dropped his oar.
The lady holds her hand to her mouth.
If I were that boatman I too would fail
to see the laughing lady and her maid
among the vivid leaves and twisting boughs.
My gaze too would be fixed higher, on the
waterfall like molten silver, the crooked
Huangshan pines, the rocks upholding all.
Leaves turn and fall. We laugh and drift
and soon are gone. Mountains endure.
Hsi-wei and the Witch of Wei Dung
Note: In the first years of the Tang Dynasty, the minister Fang Xuan-ling visited Chen Hsi-wei at the little house outside Chiangling to which the poet retired at the end of his life. Among Fang’s several accounts of Hsi-wei’s poems is the following narrative.
It was springtime and Master Hsi-wei, finding himself only twenty li from the city of Ch’engta, decided to visit his friend Lin Zhong-yong. He had heard that Lin had been appointed to a good position in the city, responsible for securing and maintaining cavalry horses and overseeing the district’s livestock.
Hsi-wei arrived late in the day and found a boy who showed him to the Lin villa. By then it was dusk, just after the family had finished the evening meal. The women and children had already withdrawn but were summoned back by the overjoyed Lin to bow before their distinguished visitor. Hsi-wei’s appearance was so rough, his clothing so lowly, that the children stared with big eyes and the two wives exchanged puzzled looks.
Lin quickly ordered more food to be brought for the hungry traveler. Lin had befriended the despised peasant-scholar during his student days in the capital and felt for him the affection one does toward those one has helped.
“Do you know how famous your poems have become?” he said, clapping Hsi-wei on the shoulder. “They’re more popular than ever. Just the week before the one called ‘Justice’ reached me. It made me long to see you, and now here you are.”
“It’s a poor poem from a poor poet. But yes, here I am.”
Lin looked his friend up and down and wagged his head. “Poor as any vagabond sandal-maker,” Lin laughed, “but you’re hardly a mean poet. You know, it’s almost as if I called you.”
“Well, they say that friendship is one soul in two bodies.”
“Do they? That’s well said, then. Oh, but I forget myself. I have another guest.” Lin turned and held out his arm. “Here is Pei Duan, son of my colleague Pei Tsai-tung. I’ve known him from a pup.”
The young man, who had been standing discreetly apart, came forward, blushing in a way that pleased Hsi-wei. “He’s been in Daxing for two years, preparing for his examinations. He’s just returned to us,” said Lin.
“It is an honor to meet you, Master. Two of my favorite poems are yours,” he said and bowed.
“I’m flattered,” said Hsi-wei, returning the bow.
“But too modest to ask which two,” Lin chimed in jovially.
“Tell me, Master Pei, do the literary men of Daxing, if they ever condescend to speak of me at all, still call me a freak?”
“They never use your name, Master. You are always just the Peasant-Poet. To me, that is a distinction rather than an insult.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it shows you are unique.”
“An
d yet I would rather not be.”
“Never mind all that,” said Lin. “Duan, tell Hsi-wei how your examination turned out.”
Pei was silent but glowed with pleasure.
“Oh, so you are modest too? Well, he passed with highest honors. An imperial courier arrived yesterday with the news and also that, as a reward, he’s received an important appointment. Yes, at only nineteen, our Duan will be a magistrate.”
“Congratulations,” said Hsi-wei warmly. “And where are you to carry out your new duties, Master Pei?”
“No place very special. It’s a rural district up north, in Hotung. Very poor and lamentably backward, I’m told. Still, it’s a start.”
“I see,” said Hsi-wei.
The evening passed pleasantly. Lin insisted that Hsi-wei stay at least two nights. They reminisced. Pei spoke enthusiastically of the new things he had learned in Daxing and his plans for his magistracy. He asked Hsi-wei why he didn’t settle in some city but persisted leading his vagabond life. He did not ask anything about peasants.
At length and with some reluctance, the young man took his leave, saying his parents would begin to worry about him. “They didn’t know my whereabouts for the last two years, but it’s different when you’re home.”
“That’s true,” said Lin.
“It has been an honor to meet you, Master Chen.”
Hsi-wei thanked Duan then asked if it would be possible to meet the next day. “It would be a pleasure to prolong our conversation,” he said, “especially about your plans. Besides, Master Lin will be at work and I would welcome the company.”
And so it was arranged that Pei would come to the villa at midday.
Before they retired, Lin explained to Hsi-wei that Pei’s two years of study in the capital as well as his appointment were owing not only to the boy’s merits but also to the influence of his wealthy and well-connected family. “I’m fond of the boy. He’s been carefully raised but not spoiled. You didn’t think he was spoiled, did you?”
“No, I hope not spoiled,” said Hsi-wei.
When the young man arrived the following day, Hsi-wei suggested a stroll so that Pei could show him the sights of his native city.
“Very well. I can say my farewell to each of them.”
They visited Kamba Fortress, climbing all the way up to the battlements, and then stopped for refreshment in the market square, after which, by special permission, Pei showed Hsi-wei the extraordinary water garden of the Mengs, family friends.
As they walked, Pei grew more voluble. “If the people of Hotung really are as backward as I’m told, then I regard it as my duty to elevate them. Apparently, the worst of it is that they are steeped in superstition. In Daxing they particularly warned about that.”
“A noble goal,” said Hsi-wei dryly. “To elevate the people.”
As they made their way toward the Jade Dragon Pavilion, Hsi-wei noticed that Pei was skirting a poor quarter and asked if they might walk through it.
Pei was taken aback. “But there’s nothing of interest, only open sewers, shabby buildings, and crowded lanes. The smell!”
“Nevertheless,” said Hsi-wei.
Pei gave in with a good grace.
The quarter was indeed squalid and Hsi-wei pointed out its worst features. There were beggars and sleeping drunks. At the end of a crooked lane, they came on a family gathered around a small brazier. As they watched, the oldest boy handed his parents a pair of paper dolls. The grownups bowed to the child, then laid the dolls in the brazier, briefly mumbling something as the paper went up in flames.
“Master, do you know the meaning of this nonsense?”
“It’s a Zhi Ren ceremony. The child has made two paper dolls, Golden Boy and Jade Girl. These are offerings to the recently deceased. People believe that when the dolls are burned, they pass into the next world where they have to do the bidding of the dead.”
Pei frowned; he shook his head. “This is the sort of thing I expected to deal with in Hotung, but not here in my own city.”
Hsi-wei let that statement stand a few seconds before responding. “The poor,” he said softly, “are everywhere, Master Pei. This service they are doing for their dead is a consolation to them. You see, it’s something for them to do.”
“You don’t mean to say you believe burning paper dolls furnishes the dead with servants in the afterlife?”
Hsi-wei shrugged. “I know nothing about the next world.”
As they resumed their walk Hsi-wei said, “Last night you were gracious enough to ask about my experiences on the road. I’d like to tell you about one of them.”
“Yes. Please do.”
“About year ago I found myself in a tiny western village called Wei Dung. As usual, I set up my sign in the marketplace advertising straw sandals. The place was very poor, even by the standards of that unfortunate district, and I had few customers. Late in the day, an old man, all bent over, shuffled up to me. He was dressed in tatters and was barefoot.
“He said to me, ‘They say you make sandals.’
“I told him that was indeed my trade.
“He looked down at his swollen, dirty feet. ‘But I have no money.’
“‘Never mind, Uncle,’ I said. ‘I’ll make you a good strong pair tonight. You can come back for them in the morning.’
“It was sad to see the stiff old fellow try to bow, but he did the best he could and then hobbled off. About ten minutes later he was back with a small bundle of fresh straw in his hands.
“In the morning I gave him his sandals. He was so pleased, he clapped his hands and put them on at once.
“A nearby woman selling cabbages and spring onions motioned me over and said, ‘Stranger, this man to whom you’ve done a good turn is so old nobody here is even half his age. And yet I tell you his mother’s still alive.’
“I expressed my astonishment and the woman came closer. She whispered in my ear as if afraid of being overheard, ‘She is a wu and folk say she’s as old as the rocks and river.’
“This interested me and I asked the old man if he would take me to see his mother. He hesitated but agreed, and I followed him to the outskirts of the hamlet.
“I’ve seldom seen a sorrier tumbledown hut. The houses around here are palaces by comparison. An old blanket full of holes served as a door. The old man pulled it aside for me. It was dark inside, and the air was as thick and fetid as mud in summer. The old woman lay against the wall on a sort of pallet made of straw and rags from which all the color had faded. Her body looked like a bundle of twigs, and her face was nothing but wrinkles. The old man bowed to her. To me he spoke peevishly, ‘Mother has not moved for years, though she can pass through all the seven realms. She cannot see you; she’s blind and sees only invisible things. The people here don’t like me because they are afraid of her; yet,’ he added with some pride, ‘there’s nobody in all Wei Dung who hasn’t come to her. They sneak in at night, begging to be healed or for rain or to have a curse lifted.’ I asked about his father, and he said he had no human father. Later, I learned the villagers believe she is a survivor from the evil days when spirits mingled with men. The ancient creature groaned with every breath. The son could see this distressed me. ‘She’s always being pestered,’ he explained, ‘by earthbound spirits and the hanging ghosts. They come to complain and threaten, many Nu Gui, Shui Gui, and Yuan Gui. But the worst of all,’ he said, ‘are the Jian.’ I had never heard of these Jian and asked what sort of spirits they were. ‘The ghosts of ghosts,’ he said with a kind of horror. As I have learned not to despise what I cannot believe, I bowed to the old man and, being eager to get away, thanked him for the privilege of being allowed into his mother’s presence. She had a haunting stare but it was never turned on me and didn’t follow me as I left. Once out of the hut, I avidly gulped down fresh air and thought that, if there were such things as the Jian, then they would l
ook like the Wu of Wei Dung.
“I took to the road at dawn the next day. It was refreshing to see the forested mountains and clear blue sky. I can hardly tell you how good it was to exchange the atmosphere of that destitute village for the open road. I felt I had escaped something and recalled the advice of Kong Qiu: ‘Respect ghosts and gods, but keep away from them.’”
The young magistrate came to halt. “I can see you mean to tell me something, Master.”
“Only a story, Master Pei. You may certainly think badly of the peasants’ superstitions, but perhaps they deserve some respect. These beliefs run deep and far back, and we should bear in mind that what is new doesn’t replace them so much as it is erected on them.”
“A disturbing notion, Master.”
“I do not wish to disturb you, let alone for you to question those good things you learned in Daxing. But as to your new post, the best thing you can do is to govern justly. Where there is more justice, there are fewer ghosts. Where the people are happy, there is less need for witches. Then someday, perhaps, things will happen as you wish.”
“What do you suppose I wish?”
“For these beliefs to become the ghosts of ghosts.”
As Hsi-wei took his leave of Lin and his household the following day, he thanked his host for his hospitality and handed him a scroll.
“Would you do me the favor of seeing this is delivered to young Master Pei before he leaves for Hotung?”
Lin smiled. “Certainly. If you will promise to visit us again.”
This is the origin of the poem that has become known as “The Wu of Wei Dung.”
The world has mysteries to spare yet the people desire more.
The sages in Daxing deplore the peasants’ obstinacy.
Hsi-wei Tales Page 16