Ch’ien spoke to it: “You and I are no enemies! Why did you serve the wolves as strategist in their attempt to kill me?”
The beast knocked its head against the ground and wailed as if repenting. The men dragged it to a wineshop in the village ahead, cooked it, and had it for dinner.
—Yüan Mei
Monkey Keeper
In the land of Sung there was a monkey keeper who loved monkeys. He raised a whole swarm of them and could understand their thoughts. They were so dear to him that he would take food from the mouths of his own family to satisfy them. But still the time came when he had to reduce their provisions. Fearing that they would stop obeying him, he decided to trick them into accepting short rations. “Here are chestnuts for you,” he told them. “You’ll get three each morning and four each evening. Is that enough?” The monkeys rose up in anger. Then the trainer said, “Very well; four each morning and three each evening. Is that enough?” Delighted, the monkeys agreed.
—Lieh Tzu
Man and Beast
The leader of the T’ien clan was preparing a grand feast for a thousand guests. At the place of honor someone presented an offering of fish and wild geese. The clan leader examined the offering and sighed, “How generous heaven is to the people, growing the five grains and breeding fish and fowl for us to use.” The whole assembly echoed their leader’s voice.
A boy of twelve, a son of the Pao clan who was present in the ranks, stepped forward and said, “Not at all! Heaven and earth and the ten thousand things between are born as one with us, alike in kind to us. There is no high and low among the kinds. It is merely that one kind dominates another by virtue of size or strength or wit. And so one devours the other and is devoured in turn. But heaven did not create things for each other. Man eats whatever he can, but did heaven breed what man eats specifically for man? The mosquito and the gnat bite man’s skin, the tiger and the wolf feed on flesh. Has heaven created man for the mosquito, or flesh for the tiger and the wolf?”
—Lieh Tzu
Man or Beast
Those alike in mind may differ in form. Those alike in form may differ in mind. The sage prefers what is like-minded and ignores what is alike in form. Ordinary men stick close to what is alike in form and keep their distance from what is like-minded. “We cherish and cling to what resembles us,” they say.
That which has a six-foot frame, two hands and two feet, hair on top and teeth in the mouth, and moves upright—ordinary men call human. But it is not impossible for a man to have a beast’s heart. Yet if he does, he will still be treated well because of his human form. What is winged or horned, has spaced teeth and spread claws, and flies or prowls—ordinary men call a beast. But it is not impossible for a beast to have a human heart. Yet if it does, men will still shun it because of its looks.
The great gods of old (Pao Hsi, who tamed wild animals and sacrificed them in fire; Nü Wa, who repaired the skies and molded the race of men; Shen Neng, the divine farmer who founded agriculture and medicine; the Hsia rulers, who established the first dynasty) all had the body of a reptile with a human face, or an ox’s head, or a tiger’s snout. None looked human, though they were sages of great virtue.
But the infamous kings of later times (Chieh, who ruined the first dynasty; Chou, who ruined the second dynasty of Shang; Huan, who destroyed the law of succession in Lu; and King Mu of Ch’u, who rebelled and slew his sovereign) all had ears, eyes, nose, and mouth—the seven apertures of the human face—but the hearts of beasts. Ordinary men cling to a single appearance in search of the highest wisdom and never reach it.
The Yellow God-king of the north fought the southern God-king of Fire in the wilderness of Fanch’uan. In the vanguard the Yellow God-king led bears, grizzlies, leopards, saber-toothed and common tigers. Buzzards, ospreys, falcons, and hawks served as flag and signal bearers. Thus the Yellow God-king had power to make birds and beasts fight for him.
The sage-king Yao put K’uei in charge of music. K’uei struck the chime-stones sharply and softly, and all the animals danced in order. When the ancient royal wind music of Shao was performed, the sacred phoenix presented itself with ceremonial grandeur. Thus the sound of music brought bird and beast under Yao’s influence. How, then, does the mind of these creatures differ from man’s? The difference is one of outer shape and speech only. But man has lost the art of communicating with them. Only the sage, with his wide knowledge and thorough comprehension, is able to lead them into his service.
The natural faculty of self-preservation is common to beasts and to man; beasts do not learn it from man. Male and female pair. Mother and child hug. Beasts avoid the open and keep to rough terrain. They shun cold and seek warmth. When they are settled, they herd; on the move, they form ranks with the weakest on the inside, the strongest on the outside. Whenever one of them finds water, he leads the others to it; whenever one of them finds food, he calls the herd. In the most ancient days the beasts lived and moved alongside man. Only in the reign of emperors and kings did they disperse in fear. And now in our own evil times, they lurk in dark places or scurry for safety lest man slay them.
Today in the eastern land of the Chieh tribe, the people have a special gift for understanding the speech of domesticated animals. But the sacred sages of ancient times knew all there was to know about the natures of things. They understood the cries and calls of different species, gathered them in assembly, and taught them as if they were people. Indeed, first the sages would bring together the spirits of the dead and other demons, next they would gather the peoples of the eight outlying directions, lastly they would assemble the beasts and insects for their lessons. This shows that all species which have blood and breath do not differ much in their hearts and minds. The holy sages knew this well, and that is why they taught all and left none out.
—Lieh Tzu
The Fish Rejoice
Chuang Tzu and his close friend Hui Tzu were out enjoying each other’s company on the shores of the Hao. Chuang Tzu said, “The flashing fish are out enjoying each other, too, swimming gracefully this way and that. Such is their joy!”
“You’re no fish,” said Hui Tzu. “How can you tell they are enjoying themselves?”
“You’re no Chuang Tzu,” said Chuang Tzu. “How can you tell I can’t tell?”
“As surely as ‘I’m no Chuang Tzu’ proves I can’t tell,” said Hui Tzu, “ ‘You’re no fish’ proves you can’t tell. It’s perfectly logical.”
“May we begin at the beginning?” returned Chuang Tzu. “By asking ‘How can you tell the fish are enjoying themselves?’ you acknowledged I could tell you! And what’s more I can do it from up here!”
—Chuang Tzu
Wagging My Tail in the Mud
The hermit poet Chuang Tzu was angling in the River Pu. The king of Ch’u sent two noblemen to invite Chuang to come before him. “We were hoping you would take on certain affairs of state,” they said. Holding his pole steady and without looking at them, Chuang Tzu said, “I hear Ch’u has a sacred tortoise that has been dead three thousand years, and the king has it enshrined in a cushioned box in the ancestral hall. Do you think the tortoise would be happier wagging his tail in the mud than having his shell honored?” “Of course,” replied the two noblemen. “Then begone,” said Chuang Tzu. “I mean to keep wagging mine in the mud.”
—Chuang Tzu
WOMEN AND WIVES
Li Chi Slays the Serpent
In Fukien, in the ancient state of Yüeh, stands the Yung mountain range, whose peaks sometimes reach a height of many miles. To the northwest there is a cleft in the mountains once inhabited by a giant serpent seventy or eighty feet long and wider than the span of ten hands. It kept the local people in a state of constant terror and had already killed many commandants from the capital city and many magistrates and officers of nearby towns. Offerings of oxen and sheep did not appease the monster. By entering men’s dreams and making its wishes known through mediums, it demanded young girls of twelve or thirteen to fea
st on.
Helpless, the commandant and the magistrates selected daughters of bondmaids or criminals and kept them until the appointed dates. One day in the eighth month of every year, they would deliver a girl to the mouth of the monster’s cave, and the serpent would come out and swallow the victim. This continued for nine years until nine girls had been devoured.
In the tenth year the officials had again begun to look for a girl to hold in readiness for the appointed time. A man of Chianglo county, Li Tan, had raised six daughters and no sons. Chi, his youngest girl, responded to the search for a victim by volunteering. Her parents refused to allow it, but she said, “Dear parents, you have no one to depend on, for having brought forth six daughters and not a single son, it is as if you were childless. I could never compare with Ti Jung of the Han Dynasty, who offered herself as a bondmaid to the emperor in exchange for her father’s life. I cannot take care of you in your old age; I only waste your good food and clothes. Since I’m no use to you alive, why shouldn’t I give up my life a little sooner? What could be wrong in selling me to gain a bit of money for yourselves?” But the father and mother loved her too much to consent, so she went in secret.
The volunteer then asked the authorities for a sharp sword and a snake-hunting dog. When the appointed day of the eighth month arrived, she seated herself in the temple, clutching the sword and leading the dog. First she took several pecks of rice balls moistened with malt sugar and placed them at the mouth of the serpent’s cave.
The serpent appeared. Its head was as large as a rice barrel; its eyes were like mirrors two feet across. Smelling the fragrance of the rice balls, it opened its mouth to eat them. Then Li Chi unleashed the snake-hunting dog, which bit hard into the serpent. Li Chi herself came up from behind and scored the serpent with several deep cuts. The wounds hurt so terribly that the monster leaped into the open and died.
Li Chi went into the serpent’s cave and recovered the skulls of the nine victims. She sighed as she brought them out, saying, “For your timidity you were devoured. How pitiful!” Slowly she made her way homeward.
The king of Yüeh learned of these events and made Li Chi his queen. He appointed her father magistrate of Chiang Lo county, and her mother and elder sisters were given riches. From that time forth, the district was free of monsters. Ballads celebrating Li Chi survive to this day.
—Kan Pao
The Black General
Kuo Yüan-chen, who later became the lord of Tai, failed the official examination during the K’ai Yuan era (A.D. 713-742). Afterwards, while traveling, he lost his way in the night. A good while later he saw the rays of a light far, far away, and assuming that it was a dwelling, headed toward it.
He rode some three miles until he reached a tall and imposing structure. In the corridors and the main hall, lanterns and candles were blazing brightly as he entered. Delicacies and sacrificial meats were laid out as in the home of a family whose daughter was to wed. Yet it was silent and deserted.
Kuo tied his horse outside the west corridor and climbed the steps. In the hall he hesitated, not knowing where he was. Presently from the east chamber he heard the sound of a girl sobbing uncontrollably. “Is it human or ghost who cries in this house?” Kuo called. “And why is the hall so splendidly arrayed, with no one here but you alone in tears?”
“There is a temple in my village,” she replied, “for the Black General, who can bring men good fortune or ill. Each year he demands a mate from the villagers, and from the local virgins they select a beauty to be his bride. Though I am ugly, my father stood to gain five hundred strings of cash from the villagers by secretly agreeing to my selection. This evening the young girls of the village, my friends and companions, made me drunk in this room, then locked me in and left, leaving me to wed the demon. My father and mother have abandoned me. Nothing remains for me but death. I am beside myself with grief and terror. Sir, are you a real man? Can you rescue me? For the rest of my life I would be your obedient servant.”
“When do you expect this ‘General’?” asked Kuo, indignant.
“At the second watch.”
“I am a man—if I may say so—and will do all I can to save you. If I fail, I shall sacrifice my life instead. For I would never allow you to suffer death at the hands of this lewd demon!”
The girl’s sobs subsided. Kuo seated himself in the west hallway and moved his horse to the north of the building. He also assigned a servant to stand in front of him and wait like a master of ceremonies receiving guests.
Soon there was a blaze of torches and hubbub of horses and carriage. Two purple-robed servants entered the building and walked out again, saying, “The prime minister is in there!” Then two yellow-robed servants entered timidly and again went out, saying, “The prime minister is in there!” Kuo was inwardly gratified and thought to himself, “If I am destined to become prime minister, I know I will overcome this demon!”
Then the “General” himself slowly descended from his carriage, and the heralds again reported to him. “Enter!” said the General. With that he strode in, surrounded by armed attendants, and went to the foot of the steps leading to the east chamber. Kuo ordered his servant to step forward and announce, “Master Kuo presents himself.” Then Kuo himself made a formal salutation.
“How does Master Kuo come to be here?” asked the General.
“I had heard of the General’s wedding this evening and was hoping to be of assistance in the ceremony,” answered Kuo.
Pleased, the one known as General invited Kuo to take a place at the table. They sat opposite one another, their speech and laughter cordial. Kuo had a sharp knife in his bag which he thought he would use to kill the Black General, so he asked, “Have you ever tasted preserved venison?”
“It would be hard to find in a place like this,” said the General.
“I have a small supply of choice quality,” said Kuo. “It comes from the imperial kitchen. May I slice some for you?”
The General was delighted. Kuo got up, took the venison and his small knife, and began slicing it. He set a plate before the General and asked him to help himself. Unsuspicious, the General reached for the meat. Quickly Kuo threw down the venison, seized the General’s wrist, and cut off his hand.
With a shriek the Black General fled. His followers scattered in terror. Kuo took the severed hand and wrapped it in a piece of his own clothing. Then he sent the servant outside to reconnoiter; the grounds were deserted. He opened the door of the east chamber and said to the tearful young girl, “I have here the hand of the Black General. We will follow the trail of blood, and soon he will be done for. Now that you are safe, come out and help yourself to some food.”
The tearful lass came out. She was only seventeen or eighteen, and most attractive. Bowing to Kuo, she said, “I swore to become your servant.” Kuo consoled and comforted her. As day was about to dawn, he unwrapped the hand and saw that it was a black pig’s foot. Presently they heard sounds of cries and sobs gradually approaching. It was the girl’s kinfolk and the village elders, bearing a coffin to take the girl’s body for burial.
When they saw Kuo with the young maid still alive, they were amazed and questioned him. Then the elders grew angry because he had injured their local divinity. “The Black General is a god that guards this village,” they said, “and we have served him for a long time. Each year we offer him one of our young maids as a mate, and we keep safe and sound by doing so. If the ritual should be delayed, we will suffer storm and hail. By what right does a stranger who has lost his way come to harm our illustrious god and bring down on us his divine violence? What has our village ever done to you to deserve this? You ought to be killed and offered to the Black General, or bound and delivered to our magistrate!”
They were about to order their young men to seize Kuo when he began to admonish them. “You people are old in years but not in experience. I am one who is acquainted with the ways of the world. Listen to what I have to say. When a god receives the mandate of heaven to
protect an area, is it not the same as a territorial lord receiving the mandate of the emperor to govern his domain?”
“Yes, it is,” they agreed.
“Now then, suppose the territorial lord were angling for illicit pleasures in his realm; would not the emperor be angry? And if that lord were cruel to the people, would not the emperor punish him?
“Is he whom you call General a real divinity? Surely no divinity has a pig’s foot! Has heaven ever given its mandate to a lustful demonic beast? Indeed, is not such a beast a criminal in heaven as well as on earth?
“I had the right when I punished the fiend. How could this be wrong? There is no righteous man among you, if you could send your tender girls to a violent death at the hands of a demon year after year! Can you be sure heaven has not sent me to redress these crimes?
“Accept what I say, and I will rid you of the demon so that you will never again have to deliver a bride to it. What do you say?”
The villagers realized that this was the truth and were only too happy to accept Kuo’s leadership. Kuo ordered several hundred men to take bows and arrows, swords and spears, spades and hoes, and to follow him in a group. They pursued the trail of blood left by the Black General, and after about seven miles it led to the burial chamber of a large tomb. They formed a circle and hacked at it. The opening began to widen. When it was as wide as the mouth of a large jar, Kuo ordered bundles of firewood to be kindled and thrown inside so they could see. The interior was like a large chamber. They saw a giant swine missing its left forefoot lying in a pool of blood. Dashing out of the smoke, it was killed by the encircling men.
Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 11