by Pu Songling
This seemed so odd that Tao asked him about it, commenting to Yu, “Where study’s concerned, should we put it off until the last minute, to start it then, just like someone who waits until he’s thirsty before beginning to dig a well?”
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Beiping: Formerly a prefecture that included modern Beijing.
Shunzhi: The first Qing emperor, ruling 1644-61.
Shuntian: Ancient name for Beijing.
One day, Yu borrowed a book from Tao, shut the door, and began copying it feverishly, till by the end of the day he’d produced over fifty pages, but there was no indication that he intended to fold them into a book. As Tao subtly spied on him, he watched Yu take each page of the manuscript, burn it, and then swallow the ashes. This seemed even stranger than his previous actions.
When Tao asked him why he was doing it, Yu replied, “It’s what I do instead of reading.” He proceeded then to recite from the book he’d copied, and quickly reproduced several pages of it—without a single word in error. Tao, delighted, wanted Yu to teach him how to do it; but Yu told him he couldn’t.
Tao suspected that Yu was just being stingy, so he scolded him for withholding the details of the technique. “Brother, honestly, you’ve misconstrued my intentions,” Yu protested. “I didn’t want to talk about it, but not because I hesitate opening my heart to you; it’s just that if I reveal everything, I’m afraid you’ll find it all too weird. What should I do?”
“You might as well just tell me,” Tao answered.
Yu then explained, “I’m really not a living person, but a ghost. In the underworld, they assign us positions according to our performance in different disciplines, so on July 14th, I attended the qualifying examination to become an examination administrator, then on the 15th, the list of candidates taking the next examinations was announced, and by the end of the month, the list of successful candidates will be released.”
“Why do you have to take such an examination to become an examination administrator?” asked Tao.
“The emperor of heaven is being cautious, so everyone, even the most insignificant officials, have to qualify by passing examinations,” Yu explained. “Those who are literate can be used as examiners, and those who aren’t, won’t be allowed to participate. In the underworld, we have a full range of spirits that match your range of officials in the mortal world. Those gentlemen who’ve already achieved their ambitions no longer even glance at the classics, for when they were young men they were beating at the gates of opportunity with the classics as their bricks, coveting a reputation for talent, but once those gates were opened, they abandoned their books; and once they’ve been overseeing bureaucratic documents for a few decades, even men of proven literary skill have nothing left in their minds to write about! In the world of the living, therefore, the vilest individuals can have the good fortune to advance, while extraordinary individuals never even get a chance—and that’s why there must be an examination like this one.” Tao felt exactly the same way, and consequently his admiration of Yu became even greater.
One day, Yu came in with a worried look on his face, sighing, “When I was alive, I was poor and humble, so I told myself that once I was dead, I’d be free from those conditions; but to my surprise, I find myself just a ghost whose bad luck has followed him into the grave.” Tao asked him why he felt that way, and he replied, “Thanks to his association with influential individuals, Wenchang has been informed that he’s to have the title of prince conferred upon him, and hence the testing of examiners will cease. For several decades, various wandering spirits and idle ghosts have been gaining access to the examiner positions, so what hope can there be for someone like me?”
“So who are all those other spirits and ghosts?” Tao asked.
“Even if I were to identify them, you wouldn’t know them,” Yu replied. “For a couple examples, to give you a general idea: there’s music master Shi Kuang, and warehouseman He Qiao. The way I figure it, if I can’t trust in my destiny, and if I don’t have any writing skill to depend upon, I might as well give up.” As he finished speaking, he began to sulk, on the verge of packing up to leave. Tao pulled him aside and consoled him till he ceased his brooding.
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Wenchang: The local Sichuan deity, Zitong, among a group of deities who “earned reputations for the oracular pronouncements they delivered revealing the fate of examination candidates,” was renamed Wenchang and “received official blessing as patron of examination candidates in 1316” (von Glahn 174).
When the night of the Festival of the Three Daoist Principles arrived, Yu told Tao, “I’m about to join the examination candidates. If you’re bored sometime, at daybreak you can burn some incense for me at the city’s eastern border, call ‘Qu’e’ three times, and I’ll come to you.” Then he left through the gate. Tao bought some wine and prepared some food, then took it and went to wait for Yu.
After it began to grow light in the east, he respectfully did as Yu had requested. Before long, Yu arrived with another young man. Tao inquired about his name, and Yu replied, “This is my good friend Fang Zijin, whom I happened to encounter at the examination site. He’s heard great things about you, so he really wanted to get to know you and pay his respects.”
They went together to the room shared by Tao and Yu, where they ceremoniously exchanged greetings by candlelight. Fang stood as elegantly resplendent as a jade statue, modest and obliging in Tao’s estimation. Feeling extremely fond of the young man, he speculated, “I imagine Zijin composed a fine piece of writing, and hence was quite pleased with his work.”
“Just saying that makes me laugh!” exclaimed Yu. “In the examination hall, he was already halfway through the seven assigned subject criteria; then when he looks closely at the examiner’s name, he wraps up all of his test materials and walks out. What a rare fellow!”
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Music master . . . warehouseman: A music master was a member of the Imperial Music Service/Office in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices (Hucker 598), while the warehouseman was a minor official associated with storehouses supervised by the Ministry of Revenue and the Imperial Household Department (Hucker 449).
Festival of the Three Daoist Principles: Held on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month in celebration of the Three Pure Ones who “taught humans the basic skills of civilization” (Palmer 15).
Tao fanned the fireplace and urged his fellows to drink more wine, then asked, “What were the examination subjects? Qu’e, did you score the top spot?”
“There was one section covering the Four Books and one covering the Five Classics,” answered Yu, “that a housewife could handle. A strategic section went like this: ‘Since ancient times, many evils have persisted until the point that in today’s public morals, indecency and irreverence have become ever more unspeakable, and not even the eighteen hells can punish all of the evils or even contain all of the individuals guilty of committing them. Consequently, is there anything that can be done? Some might say that say that one or two more hells should be added on, although that would conflict with heaven’s love of mortal beings. Regardless of whether the additional hells should be added or not—perhaps there’s some other way to settle the cause of concern, and all of you examination scholars must address this possibility, holding nothing back.’ My approach may not have been very good, but I was really delighted with it.
“There was another proposition that had to be addressed: ‘Heaven intends for evil spirits to be wiped out, and thus it bestows upon all ministers excellent steeds and the finest clothing according to their ranks.’ Next there came ‘A Poem about the Jade Terrace’ and ‘A Prose-Poem on the West Pond’s Peach Blossoms.’ My responses to these three sections, if I do say so, had no equals in the examination hall!” When he was finished speaking, he applauded for himself.
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Four Books . . . Five Classics: See volume four (xi).
Eighteen hells: While this number varies from source to source (see volume three, “Justice After Death: Pu Songling and the Tradition of the Hell King” [xxi-xxix]), evidence of the belief in as many as eighteen “Places of Torment” (Mayers 375) has been found in places like Baodingshan (Precious Crown Mountain) north of Dazu City, Sichuan province (Kucera 81-93).
Jade Terrace: A famous dwelling place of immortals in Chinese folklore (Zhu 3:1169n41).
Fang laughed and remarked, “You’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, so we’ll let you indulge in imagining yourself unrivaled for the moment; but a few days from now, don’t start crying about it, since you’re such a hero.”
At dawn, Fang wanted to take his leave and depart. Tao detained him, trying to convince him to share their room with them, but he said he couldn’t, and promised to return at sunset. Three days later, he still hadn’t returned. Tao wanted to send Yu out to search for him. “There’s no need,” replied Yu. “Zijin’s a staunch fellow, so there’s no reason to worry.”
As the sun began to set in the west, Fang did indeed return. He took out a book and gave it to Tao, explaining, “I failed to return for three days, so I respectfully copied down about a hundred of my old compositions, to prevail upon you to give me your opinion of them.”
Tao read them carefully with great pleasure, finding every phrase worthy of his commendation, till finally, after he’d read a few of the compositions, he tucked the book away with others in a bamboo case. They conversed until it was quite late, so Fang was persuaded to stay the night and share a bed with Yu. This subsequently became a frequent pattern. Every night that Fang happened to show up, he made Tao happy with his presence.
One night, he entered in a flurry, turned to Tao and exclaimed, “The list of successful candidates has been posted, and Fifth Brother Yu failed the examination!” Yu, who’d been lying down, jumped up in shock upon hearing these words, his tears flowing freely. Fang and Tao drew near to console him until he was able to cease his weeping. Still, he remained so disconsolate that the other two couldn’t bear it.
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West Pond’s Peach Blossoms: The Queen Mother of the West, premiere goddess of Daoism, watches over the peaches of immortality; hence many narratives feature someone trying to steal them. See Cahill (143-89).
Fang told him, “I happened to hear that Grand Regional Inspector Zhang Fei, Marquis of Huan, is coming, though maybe that’s just some disgruntled examinees spreading word around; if not, then there’s going to be a significant shake-up in the examination halls.”
When Yu heard this, he looked pleased. Tao asked him why, and he replied, “The virtuous marquis is a hopeful sign, for every thirty years he performs an inspection tour of the underworld, then every thirty-five years he inspects this world, and if there’s injustice in the two places, he’s called upon to deal with it.” Then Yu stood up, took Fang by the arm, and left.
The two returned after two nights with an elated Fang declaring to Tao, “Aren’t you going to congratulate Yu? The marquis arrived last night and tore the list of successful examination candidates to pieces, retaining only about a third of the names. Then he began reviewing the examinations of the candidates who’d failed, and seemed very happy when he came to Fifth Brother Yu’s, so he’s recommended him for the position of Coastal Patrol Official for the South, and thus a carriage should be arriving for him just any time.”
Tao was overjoyed and set out wine so they could celebrate with Yu. Once the wine had gone around several times, Yu asked Tao, “Are there any vacant rooms in your house?”
“What would you want to do with them?” Tao inquired.
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Zhang Fei, Marquis of Huan: The irascible but righteously brave and loyal oath brother of Liu Bei and Guan Yu in The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
Coastal Patrol Official for the South: Specifically for the region including modern Guangdong and Guangxi provinces. The position, originating from the Ming dynasty, required the official “to assist in subjugating coastal piracy,” and was normally “in charge of storing tax grains for sea transport to the north” (Hucker 255).
“Zijin’s alone, without a home to return to,” explained Yu, “but he can’t stand the idea of being a burden to you. That’s why I hoped I could depend on you letting him lodge with you.”
Tao happily replied, “Consider it done—it would be my pleasure. We don’t have all that many rooms, but there’d be no hindrance to him sharing my bed. However, my father’s rather strict about things, so first I’ll have to get his approval.”
“We know your father will be as kind and generous as possible,” Yu commented. “In a few days it’ll be time for you to go to the examination hall, and if Zijin can’t wait around for you, wouldn’t it be alright for him to go to your house ahead of you?” Tao then stayed with his companions rather than traveling on, figuring that afterwards Fang would wait for him there, and then following the examination they could travel together to his home.
The next day, at sunrise, a carriage arrived at the gate of the place they were staying, to convey Yu to his new post. As Yu stood up, he took Tao’s hand and said, “We’ll be separated henceforth. There’s something I wanted to tell you, but I’m afraid it might prove discouraging to you.”
“What did you want to say?” asked Tao.
“You’re fated to be frustrated presently in your aspirations,” Yu replied, “for you were born at the wrong time. In this examination, you have a one-in-ten chance of success; afterwards, in the next examination, the marquis will have entered the mortal world, and justice will begin to manifest, at which time you’ll have a three-in-ten chance; but at the third examination, you’ll finally achieve your hopes.”
When Tao heard this, he wanted to give up on attempting the examination for the present. “You mustn’t,” Yu remarked, “since this is all fated. Even though you know you can’t succeed, you’re still destined to face these severe setbacks, so it’s crucial that you experience all of them.”
Then he turned to Fang and told him, “Don’t waste your time here—since today’s date and time are ideally auspicious for you, you should let the carriage carry you home. I’ll travel on horse to my destination.” Fang then gratefully said goodbye to him. Tao felt bewildered, unable to think of any advice to offer, and hence he just waved to them with tears in his eyes. He watched the carriage and the horse take divergent paths, and in moments they’d both disappeared. He began to regret that he hadn’t sent any word to his family with Zijin as he headed north, but it was too late to do anything about it.
Once he’d finished the three examination sections, filled with a sense of futility about them, he hurried off to return home. As he entered his family’s gate, he inquired about Zijin, but everyone reacted like they didn’t know who he was talking about. Hence when he told his father about what they’d discussed, his father happily replied, “In that case, your guest arrived quite a while ago.”
Some time earlier, Tao’s father had been taking an afternoon nap when he dreamed that a covered carriage stopped at his gate, a handsome young man stepped out of it and climbed the steps up to his hall, then kowtowed to him. Surprised by this, Tao’s father asked why he’d come there, and Fang replied, “Big brother promised me the use of a room, but he’s taking his examination right now, so we couldn’t come here together. I came on ahead.”
When he finished speaking, he asked if he could go inside and pay his respects to Shengyu’s mother. Tao’s father tried politely to send him away, but just then one of the family’s old maidservants entered and announced, “The mistress has given birth to a son.” Suddenly Tao’s father awoke, thinking the dream quite strange.
What his son proceeded to tell him fit exactly with everything in the dream, and they came to realize that the baby, who had indeed been born, was Zijin reincarnated. Father and son were both delighted, and hence they named the infant Xiaojin. Initially, the
baby had been prone to crying through the night, which troubled his mother. Tao Shengyu told her, “If this is Zijin, when he sees me, he’ll stop crying.”
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Xiaojin: That is, “Little Jin.”
The parents had become accustomed not to show the nursery to visitors, which is why they didn’t have Shengyu go take a look at him immediately. Tao’s mother was so traumatized by the wailing that she couldn’t bear it, and she called for Shengyu to come in. Tao entered and called to the baby, “Zijin, don’t cry! I’m here!”
The baby had begun crying more violently upon Tao’s entrance, but as soon as he heard Shengyu’s voice, he stopped, staring at him without blinking, as though carefully studying Tao. Shengyu patted his head and then left. From that point forward, Xiaojin no longer cried.
But after a few months, Tao wasn’t sure that he should go to see him any longer: whenever Xiaojin happened to see him, he’d want Shengyu to bend down and pick him up in his arms; when Tao would walk away, he’d begin wailing inconsolably. Tao was drawn with equal affection to Xiaojin.
When the boy reached the age of four, he was allowed to leave his mother’s side, so he always drew near his elder brother, and if Shengyu happened to go out, Xiaojin would pretend that he was just sleeping in his brother’s bed, waiting for him to return home. His elder brother would then lie down and teach him passages from Mao Chang’s edition of the Book of Odes, the boy reciting them in a bird-like chirping, and in the course of the night he’d have memorized over forty lines.
Shengyu took some of the essays that Zijin had written and showed them to Xiaojin, who joyfully read them, and upon doing so could then recite them successfully from memory; but when he was similarly tested with others’ writing, he couldn’t do it. By the age of eight or nine, his bright, penetrating eyes made him look exactly like Fang Zijin.