Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library)

by Roberts, Moss

  Next came ferocious tigers, poisonous serpents, wildcats, roaring lions, and scorpions, all striving to seize and devour him. Some of the beasts even leaped over him. But Tzu-ch’un remained unmoved in spirit and expression, and in a short time the nightmare melted away.

  Suddenly a storm blew up, pelting and soaking, with lightning that made the gloom visible. Reels of fire circled past him left and right. Electric bolts struck before and behind him. Tzu-ch’un could not open his eyes. In moments the waters around the area were ten feet deep, and with the streaming lightning and booming thunder it seemed as if nothing could stop the very rivers and mountains of earth from coming apart. Waves reached his seat, but Tzu-ch’un sat upright and took no notice. Soon everything vanished.

  The General returned, this time leading an ox-headed sergeant and his soldiers of hell, together with other weird-faced ghosts. They placed a huge cauldron of boiling water before Tzu-ch’un and closed in on him with spears, swords, and pitchforks. “Identify yourself,” they charged, “and we will free you at once. Otherwise beware! We shall pitch you into the cauldron.” Tzu-ch’un made no reply.

  Thereupon his wife was brought in and thrown onto the stairs before him. “Speak, and we will spare her,” they said. They whipped her till her blood flowed freely, some shooting her, some hacking her, some scalding her, some burning her. Unable to bear it, she cried out, “Truly I am but a poor and simple woman, unworthy of a gentleman like yourself. Yet fortune has enabled me to serve you as a wife for over ten years. Now their honors, these ghosts, have taken me, and the pain is more than I can endure. I would never dream of having you crawl on hands and knees to beg for me, but a single word will save my life! Who among men should be considered more heartless if you would deny me that?” She wept, cursed, and scolded, but Tzu-ch’un would not glance at her.

  “You think we won’t put her to death?” The General said. He ordered a chopping block brought, and they began to cut her up inch by inch, beginning with the feet. She shrieked frantically. But to the end Tzu-ch’un took no notice of her. “This villain is a master of the black arts,” said the General, “and must not remain among the living.” He ordered his men to cut off Tzu-ch’un’s head.

  When Tzu-ch’un’s head was struck off, his soul was brought before the king of the dead. “Isn’t this the heretic of Cloud Pavilion Peak? Throw him in hell!” Tzu-ch’un tasted the torments of hell to the fullest—molten bronze, the iron rod, pounding, grinding, the fire pit, the boiling cauldron, the hill of knives, the forest of swords. But he kept the wizard’s words firmly in mind and bore the pain without letting a moan pass his lips. Then the torturers reported to the king that the punishments were completed.

  “So devious a villain does not deserve to be reborn a male,” decreed the king of the dead. “Let him go back as a female, in the home of Wang Ch’üan, the deputy magistrate in Shanfu county, Sungchou.”

  After her birth the child suffered many ailments. Hardly a day went by that she was spared acupuncture, cauterization, and harsh medicines. Once she fell into a fire and could get no relief from the pain. Yet not a sound escaped her. She matured into an exceptional beauty, but she never used her voice, and the family regarded her as mute. She never responded to the liberties relatives took with her or the innumerable little insults she suffered.

  In the same locality lived an advanced degree holder, one Lu Kuei, who became fascinated by the reports of her beauty and sought her hand through a matchmaker. The offer was declined by the family on account of the woman’s muteness, but Lu Kuei argued, “So long as she is worthy as a wife, what need for speech? Rather, she may discourage women who talk too much!” And so the wedding came to be allowed. The young man welcomed his new bride with full ceremony.

  For several years the young couple shared a tender, deepening love. They had a son, who showed exceptional intelligence at the age of two. Lu Kuei would cuddle the babe and speak to his wife, though she never replied. He tried many tricks to lure her into speaking, but she remained silent. Then in anger he said to her, “In olden times Lord Chia’s wife held him in such contempt that she would not spare him even a smile. However, Lord Chia humored his wife out of her vow of silence by shooting a pheasant. I am not so ugly as Lord Chia, and I have more culture than skill in archery. Yet you do not speak. If a man’s wife scorns him, what use has he for the son?”

  Lu Kuei grasped the babe’s feet and smashed its head against a rock. The babe’s head cracked at once, and blood spurted several paces. Tzu-ch’un felt a sharp pang of love surge in her heart. Her vow of silence slipped from her mind, and a cry of anguish slipped from her lips. And even as the brief cry was escaping her, Tzu-ch’un was sitting where he had been once before. The wizard stood before him. The last watch of night had just begun. Tzu-ch’un saw purple flames coming up from the roof and leaping into the sky. Then the fire closed in on them and burned building and interior.

  “Wretched scholar, how you have wronged me!” said the wizard as he lifted Tzu-ch’un by his coiffed hair and threw him into the cistern of water. At once the fires went out and the wizard said, “Your mind had rid itself of joy, anger, sorrow, fear, loathing and desire—all forgotten. Only love remained. Had you not cried out just then, my medicine would have worked and you would have risen beyond your human state to become an immortal. Alas, such men are all too rare. I shall have to make this medicine over again, and you shall have to find your place in the world of men.” Then the wizard gestured toward the faraway home. Tzu-ch’un climbed onto the pavilion and looked: the furnace was ruined. Inside was an iron rod as thick as a man’s arm. Stripped to the waist, the wizard was hacking it with a knife and demolishing what remained.

  After Tzu-ch’un returned home, he was ashamed of forgetting his vow of silence. He took himself to task for his mistake and traveled to the Cloud Pavilion Peak. But he found no human sign and, sighing ruefully, returned home.

  —Li Fu-yen

  The Priest of Hardwork Mountains

  Young Wang, seventh son of an established family, lived in town among town comforts. Since childhood he had been fascinated with the occult, and hearing that many immortals could be found on Hardwork Mountains, he traveled there with his book bag on his shoulder.

  He made his way to a hilltop where a Taoist temple was secluded. Seated on a mat was a meditating priest. White hair hung down his neck, but he looked brisk and agile in body and mind. Wang paid his respects and spoke with the priest, whose explanation of the powers of the universe seemed wonderfully mysterious. Wang asked to study under him. “I am afraid,” the priest replied, “that one who has been so indulged as you may not be able to withstand the hardships.” “I’m sure I can,” said Wang.

  The priest’s many disciples gathered as dusk approached. Wang paid his respects to all and remained in the temple. At the crack of dawn the priest summoned Wang, gave him an axe, and told him to join the disciples in searching for firewood. Wang followed his instructions earnestly.

  More than a month went by. Wang’s hands and feet grew thick with calluses. And as the priest had predicted, he felt that he could not bear the hardships and inwardly resolved to go home.

  Returning to the temple one evening, he saw two men having dinner with the master. The sun had already set, but the lamps had not been lit. The master cut a piece of paper into the shape of a round mirror and pasted it on the wall. Presently the moon’s light filled the room, and the tiniest thing could be seen.

  The disciples scurried to and fro attending to the master’s wishes. One guest said, “The pleasure of this wonderful night should be shared by one and all.” From the table he took a jar of wine, poured it into the disciples’ bowls, and bade them drink their fill. “How can this one jar of wine serve the seven or eight of us?” Wang wondered. But the disciples surged forward again and again to fill their bowls, yet the wine did not diminish.

  Soon one of the guest said, “We are honored by this gift of moonlight, but what a shame to drink alone! We shoul
d call Ch’ang O, fairy of the moon, to join us.” So saying, he tossed a chopstick neatly into the moon, and a beautiful woman materialized out of the moonbeams. Hardly a foot high when she first appeared, she attained human size upon reaching the ground. Her waist was slender, her neck ample. With ethereal grace she performed the Dance of the Rainbow Robe. Then she sang, “Must the Lady of the Moon return to the solitary confinement of her Cold Palace?” Her voice was ringing and resonant, distinct as the flute’s tone. When she ended her song she rose in a circling motion and came to rest on the table. Before their startled eyes she turned back into a chopstick.

  The three men laughed. One said, “I have never passed a more entertaining evening. But the wine is becoming too much for me. I wonder, could we have our last round in the moon palace itself?” Gradually the three, still seated at the table, entered the moon. The throng of disciples saw them sitting and drinking inside the glowing ball. Even the hairs of their beards and eyebrows could be seen, like reflections in the mirror. In a little while the moon began to dim. When the disciples brought lighted candles, they found the priest seated alone; the guests had vanished. Delicacies remained on the table. The moon on the wall was nothing but a round piece of paper.

  “Was there enough to drink?” the priest asked the assembly. “Enough,” came the reply. “Then quickly to bed, for you must not miss the morning’s firewood gathering,” the priest said. Nodding, the disciples retired. Wang was so fascinated by the evening’s events that all thoughts of returning home vanished.

  After another month, however, he again found the hardships more than he could bear. And the master had not told him how to do a single magic trick! Overcome by impatience, Wang went to the priest and said, “Your humble disciple came hundreds of leagues to receive the teaching of an immortal master. Even if I could not have the secret of eternal life, is there not perhaps some minor teaching you might grant me as a consolation? During the several months I have spent here, I have done nothing but rise early, gather firewood, and return late. At home I never went through such an ordeal.”

  “I said you couldn’t endure it.” The priest smiled. “Now I am proved right. Tomorrow evening you shall be sent home.”

  “Your disciple has labored many days,” Wang persisted. “Master, could you not spare me one small trick so that my visit shall not go altogether unrewarded?”

  “What technique do you wish to learn?” asked the priest. “I have often observed,” said Wang, “that wherever you walk, walls pose no obstacle. I would be happy to learn this one technique.”

  The master granted the request with a smile. He told Wang the secret and ordered him to recite the spell himself. “Now pass through!” the priest cried. Wang faced the wall but was afraid to enter. “Try to pass through,” the priest insisted.

  Wang attempted to walk nonchalantly through the wall, but it remained solid and he was blocked. “Lower your head and rush in,” said the priest. “Stop shilly-shallying!” Wang stood a step away from the wall. Then he rushed at it headlong—and found it immaterial, as if nothing were there at all. When he turned to look back, he was already past it. Overjoyed, he reentered and thanked the priest.

  “Keep yourself pure after you leave; otherwise the technique will not work,” the priest warned him. Then he provided Wang with traveling expenses and sent him home.

  Once back in town Wang postured like a peacock, preening himself on having hobnobbed with an immortal and boasting that hard walls posed no obstacle to him. His wife would not believe him, however, and Wang decided to amaze her with his trick. He stood a few feet from the wall and then rushed forward—but he bashed his head against the hard surface and fell down. His wife helped him to his feet and jeered when she saw a giant egg swelling on his forehead. Humiliated and indignant, Wang cursed the old priest for having no conscience.

  —P’u Sung-ling

  White Lotus Magic

  This is a story about a man who belonged to the secret Buddhist sect known as the White Lotus. The sect was often at odds with the royal court, and its members were frequently hunted down. The man came from Shansi province, though his name is now forgotten. Probably he was a follower of the rebel leader Hsu Hung-ju, for both men practiced what the court described as “black arts to delude the common folk.” Many people became fascinated with his magic and served him as disciples.

  One day this magician left the house after placing in his room a basin covered with another basin. He instructed a disciple to keep watch over the basins but not under any circumstances to look inside. The moment his master departed, however, the follower lifted the top basin. He found that the lower one contained water and a tiny reed boat, complete with sail and mast, that floated on the surface. Intrigued, he nudged the boat with his finger, causing it to list. He hastily righted it and put the cover back on.

  Presently the master returned. “Why did you disobey me?” he demanded angrily. The follower protested that nothing had happened, but the master said, “My boat has just capsized on the waves. Don’t think you can fool me!”

  Another evening the master lit a giant candle in his room. Telling his follower to guard the flame carefully and keep the wind from blowing it out, he left and was gone for hours. It was the second watch by the waterclock, and still the master had not returned. Fatigued from guarding the flame, the disciple went to bed for a brief nap. But when he awoke, the candle had gone out. He rushed to relight it.

  The master returned shortly and again took the follower to task. “I never fell asleep,” the disciple protested. “I don’t know how the candle could have gone out.” “You made me walk ten leagues in the dark,” said the magician angrily.

  Some time later the master’s favorite concubine fell in love with one of the followers. The master found out but kept it to himself. Then one day he sent that disciple to feed the pigs, and as the young man entered the pen, he turned into a pig on the spot. The master immediately called for a butcher, had the animal slaughtered, and sold the carcass. No one knew anything about it.

  The victim’s father came to ask after his son, who had not been home in some time. He was told that the disciple must have left, because he had not been seen for a long while. The lad’s kinfolk made a wide search but they found nothing at all.

  Then another disciple discovered the truth and told the dead man’s father. The father reported it to the local magistrate, who decided that a thousand armed men would be needed to make the arrest so that the master could not get away by some trick of magic. The troops surrounded the master’s home. With no trouble they took him and his family into custody, placed them in a pen, and began marching with it to the capital.

  On the way, when they were crossing the T’aihang Mountains, a giant appeared. He was tall as a tree, with eyes like pots, mouth like a basin, teeth a foot long. The soldiers stood aghast, not daring to proceed. The magician, however, said, “This is a demon that my wife should be able to drive away.” The soldiers willingly freed the woman. She shouldered a spear and went up to the giant who swallowed her with one gulp. The soldiers were greatly astonished.

  “Since the demon has taken my wife,” said the master, “my son will have to do the job.” The troops immediately let the son out of the pen, but the demon swallowed him alive as he had the mother. The soldiers gaped at one another; no one knew what to do.

  Gnashing his teeth, the master said, “The demon has killed my wife and now my son. It is more than I can bear. I shall have to go myself to take care of it.”

  Now the soldiers freed the master himself, gave him a weapon, and sent him forth. Full of ire, the giant met him and they tangled. The demon grabbed the master and put him in his mouth, extended his neck, and swallowed the magician down. Perfectly calm and content, the giant then went his way—just like that.

  —P’u Sung-ling

  The Peach Thief

  Once when I was young, I went to the regional capital during the official examinations. It happened to be the time for the festival t
o celebrate the beginning of spring. The day before the festival, according to custom, all the merchants and tradesmen paraded to the governor’s mansion in a grand show complete with drummers, pipers, and decorated floats.

  I went with a friend to watch the parade, which is known as the Presentation of Spring. The masses of tourists and onlookers seemed to form a great wall. Four officials who sat in a hall were dressed in red, the color of celebration, and faced one another east to west. (I was too young then to recognize their ranks.) The hubbub of the crowd and the musicians’ din rang in my ears.

  From nowhere a man who carried a load on his shoulders approached the hall leading a boy with unbound hair. The man was talking to couriers from the officials. In the clamor of myriad voices I could not hear what he said, though I could make out sounds of laughter from the hall. Soon an attendant dressed in black appeared and loudly ordered a performance. The man climbed the steps of the hall and asked what he should perform. The dignitaries conferred briefly among themselves and spoke to an attendant, who turned to the man and asked what his specialty was.

  “We can produce anything out of season!” came the reply. The attendant went to inform the officials, and in a short while came down again to say that the pair should produce a peach.

  The man consented, removed his outer clothes, and placed them atop a bamboo box. Then, pretending to talk to the boy who was with him, he said loudly, “Their excellencies don’t quite comprehend. How can we procure peaches before the thaw has arrived? But I fear their wrath if we fail. What can we do?”

  “Father,” the boy replied equally loudly, “you have given your word. There is no way to get out of it.”