The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Chin P'ing Mei
Page 50
Throughout your eighth, eighteenth, and
twenty-eighth years,
It will show from the bridge of your nose
to the top of your hair.
Whether you make a living or not, you
will lose at both ends;
At thirty, you can’t allow evil forces
to besiege your brow.12
Your glance may be captivating and your
brain be quick-witted;
You may attract people, though ignorant
of poetry and history.
Whatever you do, other people may find
you to be charming,
Since the falsehoods you manipulate are
made to seem true.13
Don’t take offense at what I say, but during your entire life:
Your quick-wittedness and artfulness,
will induce women to help you succeed. How old are you this year?”
“I am twenty-three years old,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi.
“It is amazing that you survived the events of the year before last,” said Adept Yeh. “The fact is that:
If the room between your eyebrows is too narrow,
Your progeny will perish and your wife will die;
If the facial area under your earlobes is murky,
Your kinfolk will die and your household perish.14
If your lips do not cover your teeth,15
You will always provoke altercations.
If your nose looks like a stove-door,
Your family wealth will be dispersed.16
During that year did you experience:
The verbal interchanges of a trial; and
The loss of your family and wealth?”
“I experienced all those things,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi.
“There is another thing,” said Yeh the Ascetic. “The bridge of your nose ought not to be abbreviated. The Hemp-robed Master has two lines that state it very well:
If the bridge of your nose is abbreviated
you will soon be wiped out;
The wealth of your ancestors will be lost
and your family destroyed.17
During your early years, no matter how much wealth you inherited from your ancestors, once it came into your hands, you managed to squander it all.
If the upper segment of your face is short
and the lower segment long,18
it portends that you will have:
Many successes and many failures;19
and that you may spend all your money, and yet get it back.
But in the end:
Though you may manage to find a means
of supporting yourself;
It will end up like ice and frost when
exposed to the hot sun.20
Be so good as to take a couple of steps for me to see.”
Ch’en Ching-chi took a couple of steps, as requested.
Yeh the Ascetic then went on to pronounce:
“If your head extends in front of your feet,
It portends that you may start out well
but end up impoverished.21
If your heels don’t come down on the ground,
You may have to sell off your property
and move to another place;22
since, during your lifetime, you have:
Failed to preserve your ancestral property.
In the future, you may be fated to have three wives. Have you already suffered the loss of a wife, or not?”
“I have already lost a wife,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi.
“You may still be fated to have three wives,” said Yeh the Ascetic. “After all:
Your face is as radiant as a peach blossom.
But you may have difficulty siring a son, since you are so:
Engrossed by the pleasures of wine and sex.23
I fear, however, that there may be:
Misfortune lurking amidst your good fortune.
In their thirties, young men begin to lose their stamina and ought not to venture too often into the world of flowers and willows, but endeavor to moderate their desires.”
At this juncture, one of the workers interrupted him, saying, “Adept Yeh, you’ve got it all wrong. He is already playing the role of a wife to someone himself. What would he do with three wives?”
This had the effect of causing the rest of the company to fall all of a heap with laughter.
They then heard Abbot Hsiao-yüeh sounding his clapper, and the lot of them picked up their spades, shovels, baskets, and carrying poles and went back to work.
Under these conditions, Ch’en Ching-chi continued to work at the Water Moon Monastery for a month or so.
One day, during the middle decade of the third month, Ch’en Ching-chi, along with his fellow workers, had carried up a load of earth and was squatting at the foot of the wall by the door of the monastery, sunning himself, and picking the lice off his body, when he happened to see a man who was wearing a flat-topped cap, held in place with a hammered gold ring that floated at the back of his skull, who was dressed in a close-fitting black gown and a purple cummerbund over the belt around his waist, and whose feet were clad in long-legged boots. He rode astride a brown horse and carried a basket of fresh flowers in his hands.
Upon catching sight of Ch’en Ching-chi, he abruptly jumped off his horse, came forward, and made a deep obeisance, saying, “Uncle Ch’en, we have been searching everywhere for you without success, and it turns out that you are here.”
This gave Ch’en Ching-chi quite a start, and he promptly bowed in return, saying, “Brother, where have you come from?”
“I am Chang Sheng,” he responded, “a servant in the household of His Honor Chou Hsiu. Ever since he released you from the legal difficulties you were in and let you go, my mistress has not been feeling well, right up until the present time. His Honor sent me out to look everywhere for you, but I had no idea you were here. Had my mistress not sent me, this morning, to go to their country estate outside the city and bring her these herbaceous peonies, so that I had occasion to come by here, I would never have discovered your whereabouts. In the first place, this is an instance of your good fortune, venerable sir; and in the second place, it is lucky for me too. There is no reason for you to hesitate. Just get on my horse, and I will escort you to the commandant’s residence.”
When the crowd of workers observed this, they could only:
Gaze at each other in astonishment,
not venturing to utter a word. Ch’en Ching-chi, thereupon, handed the key to the room they had been sharing to Hou Lin, mounted the horse, and set out for the commandant’s residence, with Chang Sheng following closely behind him. Truly:
When one’s lover achieves his desires while
in the prime of his youth;
There is no knowing where he will enjoy the
bright moon on this night.24
There is a poem that testifies to this:
White jade is concealed within
coarse rock;
Yellow gold is buried beneath
filthy mud.
The day a prestigious person
picks one up;
Is like a ladder going to the
heavenly gates.25
If you want to know the outcome of these events,
Pray consult the story related in the following chapter.
Chapter 97
CH’EN CHING-CHI PLAYS A ROLE IN THE COMMANDANT’S HOUSEHOLD;
AUNTIE HSÜEH PEDDLES TRINKETS AND PROPOSES A MARRIAGE MATCH
In this world one has a role to play
for three score years and ten;
What need is there both day and night
to overtax one’s spirits?
The affairs of this world in the end
all eventuate in nothing;
The fleeting luxury that beguiles the eye
is wont to prove unreal.
Poverty and want, wealth and distinction,
are allocated by Heaven;
Success and failure, flourishing and decay,
are but dust in a crack.
So why not let yourself go, enjoying
pleasures as they come;
Rather than waiting for the messenger
of death to seize you?1
THE STORY GOES that when Ch’en Ching-chi arrived at Commandant Chou Hsiu’s headquarters and dismounted, Chang Sheng preceded him inside to report his presence to Ch’un-mei. Ch’un-mei ordered that Ch’en Ching-chi should be taken to a duty room in the front of the compound and given a bath in a tub of fragrant water, so that his body would be washed clean. She also sent one of the wet nurses to take out a bundle of new clothes, a pair of boots, and a cap for him to change into. Chang Sheng took the tattered old garments that he had been wearing, tied them up into a bundle, and hung it up in the duty room, before reporting back to Ch’un-mei. At the time, the commandant had not yet retired from the courtroom.
Ch’un-mei then invited Ch’en Ching-chi into the reception hall at the rear of the compound, where she adorned herself elegantly before coming out to greet him.
Upon entering the door, Ch’en Ching-chi went up to Ch’un-mei and set out to perform:
Four brace makes eight kowtows,
saying, “Sister, pray accept my homage.”
Ch’un-mei only allowed him to perform half an obeisance, after which, they sat down facing each other and proceeded to talk over the weather, and the events that had befallen them since they were separated, which led them both to:
Shed tears from their eyes.2
Ch’un-mei was concerned that the commandant might retire from the courtroom and come in upon them, so, seeing that there was nobody else about, she gave Ch’en Ching-chi a wink and whispered to him, saying, “In the future, if he should raise any questions about yourself, say that you are a younger cousin of mine. I am a year older than you at the age of twenty-five, and I was born at noon on the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month.”
“I understand,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi.
Before long, a maidservant brought in a serving of tea, and the two of them drank it together.
Ch’un-mei then went on to ask, “Why did you ever give up lay life to become a Taoist monk? When you were allowed to go from the yamen here, the commandant did not know that you were related to me. He had you beaten in error and greatly regrets it. I would have detained you here at the time were it not that Sun Hsüeh-o, that worthless creature, was also working here, and it would not have been possible to accommodate you without her making trouble. That’s why I let you go. Afterwards, I got rid of that worthless creature and sent Chang Sheng to look everywhere for you, but he couldn’t find you. Who could have known that you were working as a laborer outside the city and had fallen into such miserable circumstances?”
“I will not deceive you, sister,” said Ch’en Ching-chi:
“It’s a long story.
After the two of us were separated, I planned to marry Sister Six, but my father died in the Eastern Capital, which delayed my return, so I was unable to marry her, and she was killed by Wu Sung. I heard that, out of the kindness of your heart, you had her buried on the grounds of the Temple of Eternal Felicity. I also visited her grave site and burned paper money there on her behalf. At home, my mother also passed away, and it was not long after I had taken care of her funeral that someone made off with my capital. Upon my return home, my wife Hsi-men Ta-chieh also died, and that whore, my mother-in-law, not only took me to court over it but also reclaimed all of my wife’s belongings. After the lawsuit against me, I had to sell my house and was left:
As poor as though I had been utterly cleaned out.
Fortunately, an old friend of my father’s, named Wang Hsüan, and known as the Layman of Apricot Hermitage, came to my rescue and escorted me to the Yen-kung Temple in Lin-ch’ing, where he arranged for me to become a Taoist acolyte. Unexpectedly, however, I was subsequently assaulted by a ‘bare stick’ and ended up being bound and transported to the commandant’s yamen, where I was given ten strokes with the rod, and then released.
If I appeal to my relatives, they only ignore me;
If I appeal to my friends, they pay me no regard.
As a result, I ended up working as a day laborer at the Water Moon Monastery. I am profoundly indebted to my sister for caring enough to send your servant to look for me, with the result that I have been able to see you again.
Your kindness will be amply rewarded,
I will never dare to forget it.”
As he related these pitiable events, the two of them both shed tears.
Whom should they see at this point but Commandant Chou Hsiu, who retired from the courtroom and came back to the rear compound. When his attendants lifted aside the portiere, and he entered the room, Ch’en Ching-chi came forward and knelt down before him.
This threw the commandant into such consternation that he promptly returned the salutation and said, “The other day, I did not know that you were a worthy young cousin of my wife, having been kept in the dark by my subordinates. I hope that you will forgive me for having treated you so offensively.”
“Unworthy as I am,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi, “it is I who am at fault for having failed to keep in touch.
I can only hope that you will forgive me.”3
So saying, he kowtowed once again.
The commandant helped him up with one hand and ushered him to the seat of honor. Ch’en Ching-chi, however, was sensitive enough to object to this and insisted on pulling the chair to one side before consenting to sit down on it. The commandant then assumed the role of host, and Ch’un-mei sat down facing their guest.
Before long, a new serving of tea was brought in, and when they had finished drinking it, Chou Hsiu asked, “Worthy cousin, how old are you? Why is it that I haven’t met you before? And why did you leave lay life to become a Taoist acolyte?”
“I’m twenty-three,” said Ch’en Ching-chi, “while my cousin is one year older than I am, and was born at noon on the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month. A while ago, because both my father and mother passed away, my property became depleted, and my wife died, I left lay life to become a Taoist acolyte in the Yen-kung Temple. I did not know that my cousin had married into your household and have, consequently, been remiss in seeking her out.”
“My worthy cousin,” said the commandant, “ever since you were let go the other day, your cousin has worried about you, both by day and by night, and has been constantly upset, and given to:
Moaning and groaning,
about it, right up until the present time. I have been sending men out to look for you for some time, but without success. Who could have anticipated that today we would get together? It is truly a case of:
An affinity extending to three lives.”4
He then ordered his attendants to set up a table and provide them with wine. In no time at all, they laid out an assortment of cups and platters, containing chicken, pig’s trotters, goose, and duck, which had been stir-fried, roasted, steamed, and deep-fried, along with soup and rice and other dainties, that filled the entire surface of the table.
Within silver flagons and jade goblets,
The wine overflows with golden ripples.
The commandant joined in their conversation and kept them company, feasting until the lanterns and candles were lighted that evening before breaking up.
The commandant ordered his servant Chou Jen to sweep out the library on the west side of the front courtyard, which was already furnished with a bed and bed curtains. Ch’un-mei then brought out two sets of bedding, complete with quilts and pillows, so that Ch’en Ching-chi would have a place to sleep; and also arranged for a page boy named Hsi-erh to wait on him. In addition, she supplied him with two more outfits of silk clothing, so that he would have something to change into when needed. Ch’un-mei also invited him to come into the residential compound for his meals every day. Truly:
At the time one meets with good fortune
,
It owes nothing at all to one’s efforts.5
Light and darkness alternate swiftly;
The sun and moon shoot back and forth like shuttles.
Behold:
No sooner do the plum trees blossom
at winter’s end,
Than one encounters New Year’s day
in the first month.
Before one is aware of the apricots
filling the branches,
It is time for new lotus blossoms
to adhere to the water.6
When Ch’en ching-chi had resided in the commandant’s household for more than a month, the time came for Ch’un-mei’s birthday on the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month. Wu Yüeh-niang prepared an assortment of gifts for her, consisting of a tray of sweetmeats in the shape of birthday peaches, a tray of birthday noodles, two boiled geese, four fresh chickens, two trays of candied fruits, and a jar of southern wine. Tai-an, clad in black livery, delivered them. Commandant Chou Hsiu was sitting in the reception hall when the gate keeper came in to announce his arrival, and the gifts were carried inside. Tai-an handed over the note that accompanied the gifts and then got down on the ground and kowtowed.
When the commandant had read the note with its list of gifts, he said, “I am much obliged to your mistress for taking the trouble to send these presents.”
He then told a servant, “Take these gifts inside, and bring out a serving of tea for this gentleman.”
He also handed the gift card to a page boy, saying, “Deliver this to your uncle, and have him seal up a handkerchief and three mace of silver for this gentleman, and a hundred candareens for the bearer. Have him write a thank-you note as well to express our appreciation.”
When he had finished speaking, Commandant Chou Hsiu donned his formal clothes and went out to make New Year’s calls. Meanwhile, Tai-an waited in front of the reception hall for the return card.
What should he see at this juncture but a young man who was wearing a “tile-ridge” hat, a black silk Taoist robe, and sandals with white socks and came out through the postern gate, carrying the return card and gratuities in his hand, and gave them to the page boy, after which, he went straight back inside.
Strange as it may seem,
he looked just like son-in-law Ch’en Ching-chi, and Tai-an thought to himself, “I wonder what he is doing here?”