by Pu Songling
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Wooden raft . . . Moon Palace: Chang’e, one of the quintessential lovers of Chinese folklore, is said to live on the moon in the aptly named Moon Palace, and hence the commissioner is condemning the folly of Mao Da pursuing his lust for Wang without either thought of consequences or chance of success.
“Mao Da is the demon and the evil in this love story of men and women! His head shall be severed from his neck and all honest people shall take heart.
“As for Yanzhi—she has not yet been betrothed, though she’s no longer a child. Like a goddess from the Moon Palace, she deserves to have a young man who’s as precious as jade; like a nishang dancer, why should she ever worry about whether she’d lack a beautiful place to live?
“She hoped to find herself a mate, but it turned out to be an empty dream; seeing herself as a ripened plum, she grieved so much that she hadn’t yet married, it made her ill. Her modest dream of marriage invited many devils to converge. To win her, both Su and Mao tried to pretend to be E. Su forcibly took her slipper, but lost it; Mao broke into her house, and almost raped her.
“Like the red dots embedded in dice, the deep yearning between lovers in the end can lead to disaster; just as a tall tree can be felled by an axe, a woman can be the tool of destruction no less devastating than a flood! Due to her vigilance, she was able to protect her chastity; she was able to plead her case when she was kept in the prison, acknowledging her past wrongdoings.
“She’s to be praised for repelling the invader once he’d entered her room, remaining free of taint for her beloved; thus she should be joined with this gentleman she’s thought so much about, a refined person engaged in the life of the mind. I look to the county magistrate to assist her by serving as matchmaker.”
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Nishang dancer: This Tang dynasty (618-907) dance of “rainbow costume” (nishang, 霓裳) was actually choreographed by the emperor Xuanzong (685-762), and later referenced in the famous changheng ge (长恨歌) or “Song of Eternal Sorrow,” by the poet Bai Juyi (772-846).
After the case had been settled, the verdict was spread and recited far and wide. It wasn’t until after governor Wu’s investigation, that Yanzhi realized scholar E had been wrongfully blamed for the theft of her slipper. When they met in court, she felt so abashed that she barely held back her tears and it seemed like there were sentiments of deep regret she wished to speak to him, but couldn’t find the words to express.
E Qiusun was moved by her emotional attachment to him, adoring her ardent devotion; but then he thought about her humble background and how she’d had to appear in court each day while a thousand people came to point and stare, fearing that others might ridicule him for marrying her, thoughts that kept him tangled up day and night without a clear sense of what he should actually do. When commissioner Shi’s verdict reached him, he finally relaxed and felt calm about the matter. The county magistrate arranged for Yanzhi to marry him, then saw them off to the accompaniment of festive music.
The collector of these strange tales remarks, “It’s so true—one can’t be too careful when hearing a judicial case! A judge could conclude that E had been wronged by Su, but would he continue to investigate and discover that Su was also wronged by Mao? Yet even when the facts of a particular case are unclear, there’s almost certainly some opening that can be pursued, so it’s essential to recognize that if investigations aren’t pursued with sufficient care, nothing can come of those openings. Alas! People all respect the wisdom that breaks open a case and brings the truth to light, but they don’t recognize the skill involved, or the diligence required to do so.
“In this world, officials while away the days in their offices doing nothing, taking it easy and napping while the people face hardships, unwilling to do the slightest bit to help them. When the drums are beaten to signal the opening of public sessions and these officials sit majestically presiding over the courts, responding to the complaints of the people by putting them in shackles to silence them, it’s no wonder that so many gross injustices remain hidden in the dark, unredressed!”
Master Shi Yushan was my teacher. At the time of these events here, I was just a boy. I saw him encourage his students conscientiously, as though he was afraid of not treating them well. Whenever they suffered the smallest wrong, he felt obliged to stop the wrongdoer and protect them, remaining uncompromising about his principles and never flattering authority figures.
Truly, the sage Master Shi was absolutely dedicated to the writings of Confucius, not simply an important and respected scholar. And he particularly valued young men’s talent, something concrete that couldn’t be denied by fanciful tales people might make up.
There was once a scholar who entered Master Shi’s hall with an essay on the subject of “disseminating the Buddha’s precious teachings,” but he’d unintentionally included the phrase “the waters below” in it; once he’d finished writing and realized what he’d done, he recognized that there was no way to erase it. Thus he appended some additional sentences to the essay: “The Buddha’s precious teachings were carried up into the mountains, but were unintentionally dropped back down it, to the shore of the waters below. The waters’ crystal palace had once covered the mountain top, with coral growing at its summit and pearls proliferating at its peak; now when something fell from the cliff top as though to certain destruction, it was actually rescued by someone paddling a boat! Oh, I plead to heaven: please save my reputation, so I won’t be too ashamed to face my friends.”
Master Shi read over the essay and when he came to this section, he responded to it by commenting, “The Buddha’s precious teachings were just about to be lavished on the mountain, when suddenly those bearing them looked down at the shore of the waters below. It’s like the woodcutters on the mountain started talking to the fishermen. Although the topic here is bad, the essay is so well-written, I could hardly rank it lower than ones other students have written. The man on the mountain was simply timid, while the man in the water was a hero; what need is there for anyone’s reputation to be saved?”
In this, Master Shi demonstrated his typical demeanor, and his wish to protect a student of intellectual promise.
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Although the topic here is bad: Before cleverly covering for the student, Master Shi gently acknowledges that the scholar had to go rather significantly off-topic in order to cover for his writing error.
402. A-Qian
Xi Shan lived in Gaomi. A trader by profession, he frequently traveled between Mengyin and Yishui. One day, his journey was interrupted by rain, so he decided to stop at an inn where he’d often spent the night, since it was already quite late, but he knocked at a number of doors without receiving any response, so he just kept walking around the perimeters of a number of buildings.
All of a sudden, two adjoining doors pushed open and an old man walked out, inviting the traveler to come inside. Xi happily accepted. He tied up the animal he’d been riding, then entered the main room, which was devoid of any tables or beds.
“I felt sorry for you, since you’re away from home,” said the old man, “which is why I’ve invited you in. But in truth, I don’t sell the meals or rent the rooms here. I have just a small family, my wife and daughter, who’re already asleep. I have some leftovers, but no cook to warm them up, so if you need something to eat, I hope you won’t disparage them.” When he finished speaking, he went off into one of the other rooms.
In a few moments, he dragged a modest bed in and laid it on the floor, urging Xi to have a seat; then he carried in a small table. As he entered, he walked with small, halting steps, as though they cost him a great effort. Xi stood up from where he was sitting, unable just to watch while the old man labored, then took him by the arm and encouraged him to take a little rest.
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Mengyin and Yishui: Counties in south central Shandong province.
Shortly t
hereafter, a young lady came out, carrying some wine for them. The old man consequently turned to Xi: “Permit me to introduce our daughter, A-Qian.” As Xi looked at her, he figured she must be sixteen or seventeen, noting that she appeared graceful, beautiful, and obedient, her bearing distinguished and gracious. Since he had a younger brother who wasn’t married, Xi felt that A-Qian might be just right for him.
Accordingly, Xi asked the old man about his family and where they were from, so he replied, “We’re from Shixu, and our surname is Gu. Except for this daughter, all of my children died when they were young. I couldn’t bear to disturb her while she was sleeping so deeply, so I guess my wife must have called for her to bring you something to eat.”
“What family is A-Qian’s husband from?” asked Xi.
“She’s not married,” answered her father. This news secretly made Xi very happy.
Soon, she set out a variety of dishes as substantial as what one might have expected from an inn. When he was finished eating, Xi respectfully told his host, “I’m just a stranger, yet you’ve received me with such kindness, I’ll remember you for it all my life. Because you’re such a generous person, I’ll dare to make a simple suggestion: I have a younger brother, named Sanlang, who’s seventeen years old. He’s studying hard in school and he’s certainly no dummy. I’d like to seek your permission for him to marry your daughter—you wouldn’t have any reservations about his financial status, would you?”
Quite pleased, old Gu replied, “Though I’m an old fellow, this place is just a temporary residence for us. If our families were to come to an agreement on a wedding, then we’d like to avail ourselves of your home, to move our family and come to live with you, so all of us could be together.” Xi agreed wholeheartedly to the proposal, then stood up and expressed his gratitude to Gu. The old man eagerly bid Xi goodnight and left.
By the time the cock crowed the next morning, old Gu had already had come out from his room and offered Xi the opportunity to wash up. He quickly got up and dressed, then offered some money to pay for his food and drink. Gu firmly refused, explaining “A guest who’s invited to dinner certainly shouldn’t be expected to pay for it; besides, we’re going to be relatives by marriage, right?”
After leaving, Xi traveled on business for more than a month before returning. He went back to the village, where he noticed an old woman walking with a young lady, both of whom were dressed in mourning clothes. Upon approaching, he thought that the young lady looked a lot like A-Qian. She also kept turning around to look at him and since she was holding onto the old woman’s sleeve, she whispered something into her ear, though Xi couldn’t tell what she was saying.
The old woman suddenly stopped in midstep, turned to him and said, “Isn’t your name Xi?” He acknowledged that it was. In great sorrow, the old woman told him, “Unfortunately, a damaged wall fell on my husband, so today we’re going to remember him with a visit to his tomb. There’s no one else at home, but if you’d please wait for us a little while at the side of the road, we’ll soon return.” Then after they walked off into the woods, they reappeared a short while later. It had already become dark along the road, so the three of them approached the village together.
Along the way, the women expressed their feelings of bereavement and vulnerability, weeping in sorrow; Xi Shan shared their distress and grief. “The people around here are really not at all sympathetic,” Gu’s wife told him, “and a widow’s difficulties are more than one can imagine. Since A-Qian is going to become your brother’s wife, I’m afraid of waiting any longer for an auspicious date—it’d be much better to return home with you, the sooner the better.” Xi agreed that this would be best.
They stopped first at the Gu residence, where the old woman hung up a lantern and fixed Xi something to eat, then informed him, “I’d guessed that you were on your way here, so I sold off the bulk of our stored grain in preparation to leave; there’s still about twenty dan that I haven’t disposed of yet, but we can sell it not far from here. In the village some four or five li north of here, at the first gate, there’s a man named Tan Erquan, who’ll buy our grain. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you to ride there with one bag of our grain, knock at his gate, and tell him that in the village to the south, Grandma Gu has several dan of grain that she’d like to sell him, if he’ll agree to trouble himself by bringing his pack animals here.” With this in mind, she gave Xi Shan a bag of the grain.
When he proceeded to the village and knocked at the indicated gate, a man with a very large belly came out to meet him, so Xi explained why he was there, delivered the bag of grain to him, and then went back. Presently, a pair of men arrived with five mules. Gu’s wife led Xi to the place where she stored her grain, which happened to be a cellar.
Xi went down with her to help heft the grain so it could be weighed, with the old woman supervising while A-Qian held the scales, and in no time the grain was handed over to the men, who carried it away with them. In all, it took four trips for them to carry away the last of the grain. Afterwards, Gu’s wife received the expected payment from Tan Erquan. The old lady then made arrangements with him to hire one of his men and two of the mules, to help them move back east with Xi Shan.
They’d covered about twenty li by the time the sun came up. The group came to a marketplace where they hired themselves some horses before sending the man with the two mules back. Upon arriving at home, Xi took A-Qian and her mother in to meet his parents. They were very happy to see them, so they quickly arranged to set up separate housing for them, then determined an auspicious day for Xi Sanlang to marry A-Qian. Old lady Gu also made sure that A-Qian’s dowry was all ready.
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Dan: A measure equal to one hectoliter. Li: A distance equal to 1/3 mile.
A-Qian was a taciturn young lady, and if someone happened to say something to her, her ordinary response was nothing more than a little smile; day and night she worked tirelessly at her weaving. This impressed everyone who knew her. On one occasion, she urged her husband, Sanlang, “Please pass this along to your brother: if he happens to be traveling westward on business, ask him not to make mention of me or my mother to anyone.” By the time they’d been living there for three or four years in the Xi family, the family had managed to increase its wealth, and Sanlang had been admitted into a government school.
One day, while traveling on business, Xi Shan was staying overnight at an old acquaintance’s establishment, when he happened to recall that it was because his host hadn’t been at home a few years earlier that he’d ended up spending the night with Gu and his family. “You must be mistaken,” his host replied. “That place you’re mentioning belonged to my uncle, then about three years ago, people started noticing weird things going on there, which is why it’s been empty and abandoned for a long while now—so what’s this about some old couple allowing you to stay there?” Xi was quite surprised to hear this and wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not.
“That place had previously been empty for the better part of ten years,” his host continued, “and people wouldn’t walk into it. One day, part of the wall behind it collapsed, so my uncle went to take a look, and sitting among the rubble there, he saw an enormous rat, the size of a cat, twitching its tail. He ran home, then called a group of people together to go back there with him, but by then, the creature had already disappeared. The group were worried that the thing might have been some kind of evil spirit. Ten days later, they went back to take a look and found the place completely quiet; then a year went by, and people started living there again.” Xi Shan found these revelations increasingly strange.
When he returned home, he thought over what he’d been told, secretly fearing that perhaps the woman his brother had married wasn’t really human, so he had some words in private with Sanlang; but his brother had such deep affection for A-Qian that he didn’t show any concern about the information Shan had given him.
After some time, family members began discussing
their suspicions with each other. A-Qian sensed what was going on, so one night she told Sanlang, “I’ve been your wife for several years, and have never been anything less than virtuous; I can’t take all the gossip now from your family, so please give me a certificate of divorce, then you can find yourself a better spouse.” With these words, tears began streaming down her cheeks.
“For a long time now, you’ve known how I feel about you,” Sanlang comforted her. “Since you entered our home, our family’s good fortune has increased, all of it accumulating and coinciding with your presence here, so why give credence to any gossip about you being human or not?”
“I know you’re not ambivalent about me,” she replied, “but I don’t know what to make of the others’ comments; for with everyone talking about me, I’m afraid I won’t be safe from being thrown out of the family.” Sanlang continued consoling her until she stopped weeping.
Xi Shan ultimately remained uncertain, so one day he searched for a cat that was particularly adept at catching rats, then took it home to observe A-Qian’s response to it. She didn’t seem at all frightened of it, yet she wrinkled her brow unhappily when noting its presence.
One night, she commented to Sanlang that her mother was feeling slightly ill, then retired to the old lady’s room to look after her. The next morning, when Sanlang went to ask how his mother-in-law was doing, he found her room empty. Startled, he sent servants out to look everywhere for any sign of A-Qian or her mother, yet they found no traces of either one of them.