“Now that you have this money,” his wife said, “we must take care not to waste it. First of all, we must buy some winter clothes so that we won’t freeze.”
“Yes,” Chang Zhijie said, “I was just going to suggest that. Here are twelve taels. We can buy a few clothes and some furniture. When we get the new house and are ready to move in, we shall look more respectable. I don’t know how to express my appreciation of his Lordship’s kindness. We shall certainly have to send him an invitation when we get into our new house.”
“We will see about that later,” said his wife.
The woman asked him if he had had anything to eat. “Yes,” Chang Zhijie said, “I had something with his Lordship. But, doubtless, you have not. I will take some money and go and buy you some rice.”
“Be careful you don’t lose it, and please come straight back.”
Chang Zhijie took a basket and went down the street. He bought mutton at the butcher’s and rice at the rice shop. He took them home. His wife came to the door to meet him.
“Why did you buy this piece of mutton?” she said.
“You said you had a hard life, and, really, I ought to have killed an ox or two for you. This is but a trifling piece of meat.”
Mistress Chang shook her finger at him. “You hardhearted thief. You still hate me. But I don’t believe there is anything you can do about it.”
“Probably,” said Chang, “I shan’t forgive you though you call me Brother and Darling and ask for forgiveness a thousand times. I will show my authority.”
The woman laughed and went to the well to draw some water. Then she cooked the food, set a piece of mutton on the table and asked him to have some. “I have just had something,” he said. “Eat it all yourself.” The woman ate the food alone. She cleared the table and told him to go and buy some clothes. Chang Zhijie took some silver and went down the street. He went to several shops before he found what he wanted. He bought a black silk gown for his wife, a green silk skirt, a blue jacket and a white silk skirt, five pieces in all. For himself he bought a goose-yellow coat and a clove-colored gown. All this, with a few other things, cost him five taels and six qian.
“The things are not a bargain, but they are worth the money,” his wife said. She put the clothes into a chest and decided to go and buy furniture the next day. She was thoroughly delighted, and all her grumblings vanished in the Eastern Ocean.
When Chang Zhijie had gone, Ximen Qing and Ying Bojue still sat in the great hall. “Though I am only a military officer,” Ximen said, “I have a fairly important position. I have made a number of friends in the Capital, and I am in close relation with the Imperial Tutor. Letters pour in upon me like a stream. I am too busy to attend to my own correspondence, and I must find a scholar who can save me the trouble. Unfortunately, I don’t know any genuinely learned man. If you do, please say so.”
“You have set me a very difficult problem,” Bojue said. “We want a learned man, but he must be honest. He must be a man easy to get on with, yet one who does not talk too much. We must have someone who can keep his own counsel. And we don’t want a man who is a profound scholar in deceit and cunning and a fool at everything else. I have a friend who is a graduate. He has, it is true, several times failed to pass the final examination, but he is a learned man and will stand comparison with Ban and Sima.* He is a follower of Confucius. He and I have been good friends for ages. So far as I remember, ten years ago he went in for the examination and the examiners spoke very highly of his work. Unfortunately, another man was slightly better than he was, and he failed. He has made several other attempts since then and he still reads though his hair is gray now. He owns about a hundred acres of land and three or four houses.”
“If he is in comfortable circumstances, why should he take a job?” Ximen said.
“His land and his houses have been bought by wealthy families, and now his two hands are his only capital.”
“Why did you tell me he had land if he has sold it?”
“Well, if that doesn’t appeal to you, perhaps this will. He has a pretty young wife about twenty years old, an excellent woman. She has two three-year-old babies.”
“If he has a beautiful wife, he certainly won’t come,” Ximen Qing said.
“Fortunately, about a couple of years ago, his wife ran off to the Eastern Capital with another man. The two babies died of smallpox, so he is all alone in the world. I’m sure he will come.”
“You are talking rubbish,” Ximen said, laughing. “What is his name?”
“He is called Shui. His learning is incomparable. If you engage him, I guarantee your letters will be a source of pride to you. He is a very learned man indeed.”
“I don’t believe a word you say,” Ximen said. “It is all a pack of lies. If you can remember anything he has written, tell me, and, if I think it is any good, I’ll engage him and provide him with quarters. Since he is a single man, there will be no difficulty about that.”
“I remember getting a letter from him asking me to help him to find a job,” Bojue said. “I will tell you what I can remember of it.”
A letter this for Brother Ying.
I think of you, but cannot find
Words to express my feelings.
All here are well.
If you should hear of a job for a tutor
Pray get it for me.
I may flatter myself, but it seems to me
My brush is as great as a beam.
I do not write often, but when I do
Look out for clouds and mist.
Ximen Qing roared with laughter. “If he wanted you to get him a job, why didn’t he write a letter instead of sending you doggerel like that? Horrible doggerel too! I’m sure the fellow is both an ignoramus and a rogue.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” said Ying Bojue. “You must not judge him by that. He and I have been friends for three generations. We used to go to school together when we were boys. I remember our teacher saying that Ying and Shui were one as clever as the other. ‘They will turn out well,’ he used to say. We did our exercises and our compositions together and never felt the least bit jealous. You see, we are really good friends. We are never formal with one another. That’s why he wrote me that little ditty. It’s quite entertaining, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps you can tell me what the fifth line means?” Ximen said.
“Ah, Brother,” said Bojue, “don’t you see? That is a very clever piece of character analysis. When you write she [residence] on the left-hand side and guan [official] on the right, and you have the other guan [a mansion]. He is saying to me, perfectly obviously: ‘If you hear of a guan, a position, recommend me for it.’ Not a single unnecessary word. How could he write more plainly what he wants to say?”
Ximen Qing could think of no further objection to make. He said to Ying Bojue: “What kind of man is he?”
“His behavior is even more admirable than his scholarship,” Bojue said. “Two years ago he was tutor in the household of a certain Vice President Li. There were a host of beautiful maids there and several good-looking boys. Master Shui was there for four or five years and an impure thought about them never entered his head. In course of time the maids and boys were so impressed by his wisdom that they all deliberately set to work to seduce him. Master Shui is a soft-hearted man and he yielded. His employer drove him out and the neighbors said he was a scamp. As a matter of fact, even if a girl sits on his knee, he remains perfectly calm. If you engage him, let your maids and your boys go to him and you’ll find out soon enough how he behaves.”
Ximen Qing laughed. “You funny dog, you can never stop joking. The other day, my colleague Xia’s tutor, Master Ni, told me of a friend of his called Wen. When he has been to see me, we will decide.”
Footnote
* Ban Gu and Sima Qian.
CHAPTER 57
Ximen Qing Becomes a Benefactor
The temple stands bare on the mountainside
There are shrines among the towering crag
s
But the Buddhas of days gone by can be discerned no more.
Their stone bodies are covered with moss
The ancient sanctuary stands alone
The image of the world-honored one is shrouded in dust,
As though he heard the mourning of the dragons and the elephants
And the hearts of the faithful are filled with sadness.
If a general goes to war in vain
Let him give freely the four gifts and tarry not.
I know that the fan palm tree
Still grows beside the lotus blossom tower.
Thus will he bring joy to the gods
And the demon host will bear no grudge against him.
In Dongpingfu of the province of Shandong there was a temple called the Temple of Eternal Felicity. It was built in the second year of the Putong reign of the Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty. Its founder was a certain patriarch named Wanhui [Returns-from-afar]. If you ask why the patriarch was so called, I must tell you that, when he was about seven or eight years old, his brother was sent to serve as a soldier in the marches. He did not write to his family, and none knew whether he was alive or dead. So his old mother was unhappy about him and often shed tears. One day the younger boy said to his mother: “Mother, the world is at peace and our life is comfortable. What makes you weep so much? Tell me and I will share your grief.”
“You are only a boy,” his mother said, “and you do not know. When your father died, your elder brother went to the marches. He was an officer in the army. For four or five years no word has come from him, and I do not know whether he is alive or dead. How can I be happy?” She cried again.
“If I had known this before, I would soon have put things right. Mother, tell me where my brother is, and I will go and find him and get a letter from him.”
The old woman laughed before her tears had dried. “You foolish child!” she said, “if it were only a hundred li or so away, we could go. But he is in Manchuria and that is more than ten thousand li away. It would take a strong man five months to get there. You are only a boy, and you would never get there at all.”
“If he is in Manchuria,” said the boy, “Manchuria is not in the skies. I will go, and you shall have me back in no time.” He fastened his shoes, straightened his coat, bowed to his mother, and went off like a streak of smoke. The old woman called him back but he did not answer, and when she ran after him she could not catch him. She was more melancholy than ever. Many of her neighbors came to console her. “The boy cannot possibly go very far,” they said. “He is sure to come back.” The old woman dried her eyes and sat down sadly.
The sun was sinking in the west when the old lady went out to see if she could see anything of him. In the distance was a faint shadow that might have been a boy. She besought Heaven and Earth and the Three Luminosities and said: “May my little son return as a reward for my fastings and my sacrifices.” And indeed, her son suddenly stood before her.
“What, Mother,” he said, “have you not gone to bed yet? Here I am, back from Manchuria, and here is the letter from my brother.”
The old woman laughed. “You did right not to go, but don’t tell me any more lies. You couldn’t possibly go more than a thousand li in one day.”
“So you don’t believe me, Mother?” the boy said. He took a packet from his sleeve. In it was a letter. It had indeed been written by his brother. And he brought a shirt to be washed that was one the old woman remembered making. Everybody heard of this, and so the boy came to be called Wanhui. Afterwards, he became a monk and was known as Abbot Wanhui. He was a man of outstanding virtue and performed a number of striking miracles. Once he swallowed two pints of needles before the stone tiger of the Emperor Zhao, and once he brought three pagodas from his head before the heir apparent of the Emperor Wu of Liang. So the Temple of Eternal Felicity was built expressly for him and immense amounts of money were spent on its construction.
Years and months flew like a weaver’s shuttles. The patriarch Wanhui went back to Paradise, and, one after the other, his pious monks passed away. There were left but a handful of idle scroungers who kept women, drank wine, and did everything that is unbecoming. It was not long before they reached such a pitch that they pawned their religious habits and sold their bells. The tiles and bricks of which the temple was built were sold for wine, and the rain and wind soon affected the sacred images. A place of veneration became the prey of mists and weeds. For forty years nobody troubled to rebuild it. Then there came a monk from India who was impressed with the greatness of China. He crossed the River of Shifting Sands and the Sea of the Zodiac, and, after traveling eight or nine years, came at last to China. Then he came to Shandong and so to the ruined temple. There, for nine years he stayed with his face to the wall and did not speak a single word.
One day, an idea suddenly came into his head and he said to himself: “This temple is utterly in ruins, and these hairless asses care only for eating and drinking. It has become a waste place. This is a sad business. If I do not make up my mind to do something about it, no one else will. I must go out. I hear that his Lordship Ximen, a military officer and a very rich man, one day when he was entertaining his Excellency Cai here, saw the ruin and spoke of restoring this temple. If I can only persuade him to take the initiative, everything will be plain sailing. I must go at once.” He beat the gong, assembled all the monks in the Great Hall, and told them what his purpose was. He bade one of them bring him ink and a brush. Then he wrote an appeal for funds. This veritable Buddha of a monk then left his fellows, put on sandals and a straw hat, and went to see Ximen Qing.
Now to return to Ximen Qing. When Ying Bojue had left him, he went to Wu Yueniang’s room and told his wife about Bojue’s recommendation of Master Shui. Then he said: “When I came back from the Eastern Capital, my friends and relations all gave parties in my honor and we must do something in return. I am not particularly busy today and I think we might do it at once.” He told Daian to see to the preparations, and sent the other boys around with invitations. Then he took Yueniang’s hand and went to see Guan’ge in the rooms of Li Ping’er.
The Sixth Lady welcomed them smilingly, and told the nurse to bring out the baby. He had grown very handsome. The child smiled at them and went readily to Yueniang. She took him in her arms. “My son,” she said, “you are a clever boy and you will do well. When you are grown up, you will be a good son to your mother.”
“When he is grown up and gets a position, the robes of ceremony will be yours,” Li Ping’er said.
“My son,” Ximen Qing said, “don’t follow in your father’s footsteps. When you are a man, be a civil officer, not a military officer like me. Mine is a good post, but it has not the dignity of a civil officer’s; and, though I am rich, I do not enjoy the respect that is paid to the others.”
Pan Jinlian was standing outside and heard all this. She was very angry. “You shameless, boasting, dirty strumpet!” she muttered. “Do you think you are the only woman who can bear a child? He hasn’t passed three yellow plum seasons or four summers yet. He isn’t through smallpox, and his schooldays are not over. He lives still with the God of Hades. What right have you to talk about his getting a government appointment and your being honored as a lady? And that rascal has no shame. Why should the child get a civil position different from his own?”
While she was muttering angrily to herself, Daian came. “Fifth Mother,” he said, “where is Father?”
“You little thief!” Jinlian cried, “how do I know where your father is? Do you expect to find him in my room? Why not with the honored lady to whom he pays so many delicate attentions? Why do you come and ask me?”
Daian saw that there was no purpose in his questioning her any further, and went to Li Ping’er’s room. There he coughed warningly and said: “Uncle Ying is in the great hall.”
“Why! He has only just gone,” Ximen Qing said. “What has brought him back so soon?”
“He will tell you when he sees you,”
the boy said.
Ximen Qing left Yueniang and Li Ping’er and went to the outer court. He was just about to speak to Ying Bojue when the old monk arrived. Outside the gate, he called loudly upon Buddha and asked: “Is this the noble Ximen’s house? Tell him, Master Comptroller, that I am here. Tell him that I will bless his son, send him prosperity and long life. I am a monk from the Eastern Capital come to ask for alms.”
Ximen Qing was a man who never troubled about money. He was delighted to have a son and was only too glad to do anything he could for the child. The servants knew this well and they came and told him without hesitation. “Bring him in,” Ximen said. The old monk came in and made reverence to Ximen Qing.
“I come from India,” he said. “I was at the Eastern Capital for a while, but for nine years I have remained in solemn meditation at the Temple of Eternal Felicity. I have come to know the Sacred Principle. Now the temple is in ruins, and the rooms are falling down and it seemed right to me that, as a humble disciple of Buddha, I should do something for the temple. So I determined. The other day, you, my lord, took leave of some other noble gentlemen at the temple. You were sorry to find it in such disrepair, and it was your kind intention to assist us. At that moment the host of Buddhas were your witnesses. I remember that we read in the sacred scriptures: If the pious men and women of this generation spend their wealth for the glory of the image of Buddha, reward shall come to them; their sons and grandsons shall be fair and strong; they shall pass all their examinations and their wives shall be honored. I have come especially to you. Help me to accomplish this good deed, whether you give me five hundred or a thousand.” He took out a silken cloth and, from it, the subscription list, and handed it with both hands to Ximen Qing.
The Golden Lotus, Volume 2 Page 5