Chose to consume only plain tea and simple fare,23
Remaining chaste and preserving their widowhood,
as the days and months passed by. One day, as spring expired and the summer began, when the scenery was bright and fresh, and the days grew longer, they became weary of their needlework, and the two of them strolled out to the ornamental pavilion outside the library on the west side of the courtyard, where they saw that:
The many flowers were in full bloom,24
Orioles sang and swallows chattered,25
and they were:
Touched with heartache by the scene.26
Ko Ts’ui-p’ing’s heart remained relatively unperturbed, but Han Ai-chieh could not get the thought of her lover Ch’en Ching-chi out of her mind. With regard to all things, she was:
Bereft of thought or feeling, and
Saddened by whatever she saw.27
The mouth divulges the sprouts of the mind,28
And gives shape to them in poetic language.
They took turns composing some quatrains that testify to this.
Ko Ts’ui-p’ing’s read:
As flowers bloom in the quiet courtyard
the sun begins to shine;
Outside the tightly locked double doors
the white day brightens.
Collapsed against the silver screen I
wake from my spring sleep;
Upon the branch of a green locust tree
I hear an oriole’s cry.
Han Ai-chieh’s read:
The spring season is coming to an end29
as the summer begins;
Meandering in my upturned shoe-tips I
venture out the door.
As evening comes I lean in depression
on my dressing table;
If I were to neatly paint my eyebrows30
for whom would it be?31
Ko Ts’ui-p’ing’s read:
Wiping the mirror with a red cloth by
light from the window;
I paint my mothlike eyebrows so they
slope to either side.
When my lotus feet are lightly animated32
where is there to go?
Smiling beside the stairs I pluck the
pomegranate blossoms.33
Han Ai-chieh’s read:
My countenance looks like snow and my
spirit resembles jade;
I am not yet ready to banish romance
for fear of defilement.
As I gaze at my visage I pity myself
and also feel regret;
Who is left to savor the beauty of my
newly applied makeup?34
Ko Ts’ui-p’ing’s read:
Sedge grass spreads over the ground
as thick as a rug;
Elm pods are strewn everywhere like
scattered coins.
Who could have foreseen that rascal
to be so fickle?
Drunken the whole day long he sleeps
under the flowers.
Han Ai-chieh’s read:
Besetting sorrow continues to cause
my brows to peak;
Why has my face looked so distressed
for the last year?
Ever since we parted all day long my
soul is disturbed;
There is no road to Heaven that might
allow us to meet.
When the two sisters had finished reciting their quatrains, without their knowing it:
Tears trickled down their cheeks.35
Chou Hsüan came upon them at this point and admonished them, saying, “You two sisters ought not to disturb yourselves so. You would do better to stifle your sighs and examine your own conduct. I have had a number of dreams in the last few days that appear to be inauspicious. I dreamed of a bow hanging from a flagstaff, and the flagstaff appeared to be broken. But I don’t know whether this should be interpreted as inauspicious or auspicious.”
On hearing this, Han Ai-chieh remarked, “I fear it may portend that His Honor has suffered some mishap on the frontier.”
As they were wondering about this, all of a sudden they saw their servant Chou Jen, dressed in mourning garments, and in a state of obvious agitation, who came in and reported, “A calamity has occurred. His Honor, thus and so, on the seventh day of the fifth month, was killed in battle at the frontier pass. The First Lady and the Second Lady, along with their dependents, have brought the cart with his bier home with them and have just arrived.”
This threw Chou Hsüan into a state of consternation, and he promptly ordered that the front reception hall should be swept out and straightened up so that Chou Hsiu’s coffin could lie in state there, and the sacrificial offerings could be formally presented. The entire household, both high and low, then proceeded to give voice to grievous lamentations, and Chou Hsüan made arrangements for funeral services to be held on the seven weekly commemorations of Chou Hsiu’s death, and for Buddhist monks and Taoist priests to hold scripture readings on his behalf. His children, Chou Chin-ko and Chou Yü-chieh:
Donned hempen garments and put on mourning apparel;
while visitors came and went to offer their condolences. A day was chosen for the funeral procession, and he was duly buried in his family’s ancestral graveyard. But there is no need to describe this in detail.
To resume our story, on behalf of his nephew the five-year-old Chou Chin-ko, Chou Hsüan submitted a memorial to the throne asking that an officially ordained sacrifice be offered at the site of Chou Hsiu’s burial, and that his son should be allowed to succeed to his father’s official position. An imperial decree was duly issued to the Ministry of War that read as follows:
The deceased Commander-general Chou Hsiu has devoted his life to repaying his country, and died in the course of serving the ruler. His loyalty and courage are worthy of commendation. Officers should be deputed to conduct a sacrificial ceremony at his grave site, and a tablet should be erected at the head of his tomb engraved with his posthumous title as commander-in-chief. His son should be properly nurtured until he reaches the age at which he can succeed to his father’s hereditary position.
As for Ch’un-mei, when she was not caring for her son, her lascivious desires were stronger than ever, and she often kept Chou I in her perfumed boudoir for days at a time. As the mornings and evenings succeeded one another:
She indulged her lust without restraint,
until one day she came down with a hectic fever and other symptoms of consumption. Although she took medication for this every day, her appetite for food and drink diminished, her temperament became depressed, and:
Her body became as thin as a stick of kindling,36
but her lascivious desires did not abate.
One day, sometime after the celebration of her birthday, and during the hottest period of the summer in the sixth month, she was sleeping late when, unexpectedly, as she and Chou I embraced each other on her bed, and he had just ejaculated, a burst of cold air emerged from her nostrils, her vaginal secretions formed a pool on the bedding, and:
Alas and alack,
she expired on top of Chou I’s body. At the time of her death she was only twenty-eight years old.
When Chou I realized that she was no longer breathing, he was reduced to a state of panic, stole some gold and silver and other valuables from her trunk, secreted them in his clothing, and fled from the premises. The maidservants and wet nurses:
Did not dare to conceal these events,37
and reported them to Chou Hsüan, who proceeded to put the family’s senior servant Chou Chung in manacles and force him to help them track down Chou I.
Strange as it may seem,
he had gone to his aunt’s home outside the city to seek refuge and was apprehended there, tied up with a length of rope, and brought back to face the music. Chou Hsüan understood what had happened but was afraid that if the scandal leaked out it might prevent Chou Chin-ko from succeeding to his father’s hereditary
position. He therefore had Chou I taken to the front reception hall where:
Without permitting any further explanation,
he had him beaten forty strokes with the heavy bamboo, which caused him to die on the spot.
Chou Hsüan then entrusted Chou Chin-ko to the care of Sun Erh-niang and undertook to make the funeral arrangements for Ch’un-mei, having her coffin taken to her husband’s ancestral graveyard and buried in the same tomb with the commander-general. He also dismissed the two wet nurses, along with the two concubines Hai-t’ang and Yüeh-kuei, so they could seek employment elsewhere and find husbands for themselves. This left only Ko Ts’ui-p’ing and Han Ai-chieh, who refused to leave, though he urged them to do so.
One day, unexpectedly, the infantry and cavalry forces of the Great Chin regime succeeded in capturing the Eastern Capital of Pien-liang and took the retired Emperor Hui-tsung and his son Emperor Ch’in-tsung into captivity in the northern regions. As a result:
The Central Plain lacked a ruler,38
The four quarters were disrupted,
Military weapons were everywhere,
The masses felt driven to flight.39
The common people faced the calamity
of disruption;40
The populace was forced to suffer in
dire straits.41
A large force of barbarian troops had already slaughtered its way across the borders of Shantung province with the result that among the people:
Husbands fled and wives scattered,
Specters cried and spirits howled.42
Even fathers and sons were no longer able to care for each other. Ko Ts’ui-p’ing was taken back by her mother’s family, while:
Everyone else fled for their lives.43
Only Han Ai-chieh was left:
Without a place to seek protection.
She had no alternative but to pack her luggage, dress herself in plain traveling clothes, leave Ch’ing-ho district, and set out for Lin-ch’ing in order to find her parents. But when she arrived in Lin-ch’ing, she found that the Hsieh Family Tavern had been closed and its owner had fled.
Unexpectedly, she ran into Ch’en the Third, who said to her, “Last year, your parents went to Chiang-nan with Magnate Ho to live with him at his home in Hu-chou.”
Han Ai-chieh, consequently, set out to seek her parents there, supporting herself along the way by singing songs and accompanying herself on the moon guitar.
When hungry she ate, when thirsty she drank;
Stopping by night and traveling by day;
As flustered as a dog who has
lost his way home;
As flurried as a fish who has
escaped the net.
Her bound feet with their upturned toes were small, and she was beset by:
A myriad pains and a thousand hardships.44
After traveling for a few days, she reached the area around Hsü-chou. It was getting late, and she was passing through a solitary village when she came upon an old lady in her seventies.
Her hairdo resembled two strips of snow,
Her chignon was tied into a bag of silk,
and she was busy at the stove, pounding rice and preparing a meal.
Han Ai-chieh went up and bowed to her, saying, “I am a native of Ch’ing-ho district. On account of the current disruption, I am heading to Chiang-nan to seek my parents. I did not realize that it was this late and wonder if you might let me stay overnight at your place. I will leave first thing in the morning and will be sure to pay you for it.”
The old lady contemplated the young woman and thought to herself, “She does not look like the maidservant of an impoverished household.
Her movements are cultivated;
Her demeanor is not ordinary.”45
Behold:
Her raven locks have not been dressed;46
She is thinking only of how well-off
she used to be.
Her brows are knit like distant peaks;
She recalls the wealth and distinction
of former years.
During the autumn night the moon is
hidden by misty clouds;
The peony blossoms have been buried
beneath layers of dirt.47
“If you are seeking a place to spend the night,” the old lady said, “please have a seat on the k’ang while I finish cooking this meal. There is a crew of men engaged in dredging the riverbed who are coming to eat it.”
The old lady was tending a stove on top of the k’ang, and in no time at all she produced a large kettle’s worth of dried rice mixed with beans and other grains. She also chopped up two large platters of fresh vegetables and flavored them with a pinch of salt. What should appear at this point but a crew of men whose hair was disheveled, whose legs were bare, who wore breechcloths around their waists, and whose feet were caked with mud.
Putting down their spades and shovels, they asked, “Old lady, is our food ready or not?”
“Help yourselves, and eat your fill,” the old lady responded.
Thereupon, they proceeded to help themselves to the food and then went their separate ways to consume it.
As they were eating, one of them, who looked thirty-three or thirty-four years old and had a dark complexion and graying hair, asked the old lady, “Who is that person sitting on the k’ang?”
“This woman,” the old lady said, “is a native of Ch’ing-ho district who is on her way to Chiang-nan to look for her parents. Since it is already late in the day, she has asked to spend the night here.”
The man in question then asked her, “Lady, what is your name?”
“My surname is Han,” Ai-chieh replied, “and my father is named Han Tao-kuo.”
The man then came forward and took her by the hand, saying, “Sister, are you not my niece, Han Ai-chieh?”
“You look rather like my uncle, Han the Second,” exclaimed Han Ai-chieh.
The two of them then:
Embraced each other by the neck and wept.
He then went on to ask, “Where are your father and mother? I thought you were all in the Eastern Capital. How do you happen to be here?”
Han Ai-chieh then proceeded from the beginning to tell him in detail what had happened and concluded by saying, “Because I had married into Commandant Chou Hsiu’s household, after the death of my husband I have maintained my chaste widowhood up until now. On learning that my parents accompanied Magnate Ho to his home in Hu-chou, I determined to go in search of them. Because of the current disruption, there was no one available to go with me, and I have chosen to set out alone, supporting myself on the way by singing songs. I could hardly have anticipated that I would encounter my uncle here.”
“Ever since your parents moved to the Eastern Capital,” said Han the Second, “I have lacked any reliable means of livelihood. Being forced to sell my house, I have ended up working as a common laborer here, engaged in dredging the riverbed in order to earn a bowl of rice for myself. Under the circumstances, I might as well join you in going to Hu-chou in search of your parents.”
“Should my uncle decide to go with me,” said Han Ai-chieh, “that would certainly be wonderful.”
He then filled a bowl with rice and gave it to Han Ai-chieh to eat. Han Ai-chieh sampled a mouthful but found it so coarse that she could hardly swallow it and gave up after consuming only half a bowl. Of the events of that evening there is no more to tell.
At dawn the next day, the crew of workers departed to continue their job, but Han the Second, after paying the rent he owed to the old lady, took Han Ai-chieh with him and went out the door, as they set out on their journey together.
Han Ai-chieh was delicate by nature, and her bound feet with their upturned toes were small. She had an assortment of valuables such as hairpins and combs with her, which she sold off piecemeal in order to support them along the way. On reaching Huai-an, they boarded a boat and continued to wend their way toward Hu-chou in Chiang-nan. After some days, they found their way to
Magnate Ho’s home in Hu-chou and were reunited with Han Ai-chieh’s parents.
Han Ai-chieh Encounters Han the Second on the Road
Who could have anticipated that Magnate Ho had already died. He had no wives or concubines in his home other than Wang Liu-erh and left behind merely a daughter who was five years old, and an estate consisting of several acres of paddy fields. In less than a year, Han Tao-kuo also died, and since Wang Liu-erh had already had an affair with Han the Second, she took her brother-in-law as her mate, and they supported themselves by farming on Magnate Ho’s property.
There were numerous affluent young men in Hu-chou who noticed how clever and good-looking Han Ai-chieh appeared to be and sought to marry her. Han the Second also urged her repeatedly to take a husband, but Han Ai-chieh deliberately cut off her hair, defaced her appearance, and became a Buddhist nun, swearing never to marry anyone again. Two years later, at the age of thirty-one, she came down with an illness and died. Truly:
Before her chaste bones have been buried
under three feet of soil;
Her resentful soul first finds its way to
the nine-layered heavens.
Thus it was that Han the Second and Wang Liu-erh ended up as man and wife and inherited Magnate Ho’s estate and landed property. But no more of this.
To resume our story, when the invading infantry and cavalry of the Great Chin regime succeeded in seizing Tung-ch’ang prefecture and threatened to make their way to Ch’ing-ho district, behold:
The officials endeavor to flee;
The city gates are shut by day.48
The masses are moved to flight;
Fathers and sons are separated.
Behold:
Smoke arises in all four quarters;
The sun is hidden by yellow sand.
Rapacious boars and long serpents,49
Attempt to swallow each other up.50
Dragons contend and tigers battle,51
Each contending for its dominance.
Black standards and crimson flags,
Overspread the suburban landscape.
Men shriek aloud and women weep,52
A myriad homes are terror-struck.
Foreign troops and alien generals,
Are like gathering ants or swarming bees;53
Their short swords and long spears,54
Resemble thick forests and dense bamboos.55
In place after place, dead bodies and human bones
The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Chin P'ing Mei Page 59