The Nine Cloud Dream

by Kim Man-jung

  “She is feeling better,” the servant girl said. “When she heard that you were listening to music today, she got up and washed.”

  Ch’un-yün’s surname was Chia and she was a native of Hsi-shu. Her father had come to the capital as a secretary some time ago and become a loyal servant of Minister Cheng. Ch’un-yün was only ten when her father died of an illness. Cheng and his wife had taken pity on her and brought her up in their own family as their daughter’s playmate.

  The two girls were only a month apart in age. Though Ch’un-yün was not as beautiful as Ch’iung-pei, she was still very pretty and nearly her equal in poetry, calligraphy, and embroidery. Ch’iung-pei treated her like a younger sister and they were always by each other’s side, and though they were, strictly speaking, mistress and servant, they treated each other like close friends.

  Originally, Ch’un-yün’s name had been Ch’u-yün, “the Cloud from Ch’u,” but Ch’iung-pei was so fond of her that she had called her Ch’un-yün, which means “Spring Cloud.” It was an allusion to a line from a poem by Han Yü: Beauty like a cloud in the spring sky. Everyone in the household simply called her “Ch’un,” or “Spring.”

  Ch’un-yün asked her mistress, “The maids all said the priestess who came to play the ch’in in the main hall was like a fairy and that you gave her much praise. I was so eager I forgot my pains and got up to get a look at her. But why did she leave so suddenly?”

  Ch’iung-pei blushed. “I’ve always been careful about my thoughts and actions and observed the strictest rules of propriety and etiquette. I never stray into the outer courts of the house. I never gossip with my friends or relatives. But now I’ve been tricked and disgraced. How will I ever show my face again?”

  “What did she do?” Ch’un-yün asked in alarm.

  “She started by playing ‘The Rainbow-Feathered Robe’ and then went on playing one tune after another until she came to ‘Song of the Southern Breeze.’ I praised her playing and wanted her to stop there, but she said there was one more she wanted to play. It was ‘The Phoenix Seeks a Mate,’ the tune Szu-ma Hsiang-ju used to seduce Cho Wen-chün! That made me suspicious, so I got a close look at her face and it wasn’t a girl’s face at all! Some devious man wanting to look at girls has gotten into this house in disguise.

  “If only you had been well enough, Ch’un, you could have seen him, too, and you would have known at once whether he was a man or a woman. I’m an unmarried girl of the inner quarters, and I have sat for hours talking face-to-face to a strange man! I am so ashamed I cannot tell this even to my mother. You are the only one I can tell about this.”

  Ch’un-yün laughed. “Why can’t an unmarried girl listen to ‘The Phoenix Seeks a Mate’? You are making much of nothing.”

  “That is not so,” said Ch’iung-pei. “He played the tunes in a particular order. If there was no plan, then why did he play ‘The Phoenix Seeks a Mate’ at the very end? I’ve seen women who are delicate in their beauty and others who are homely and robust, but I’ve never seen anyone so handsome and confident.

  “The capital is full of young scholars who have come to take the examinations. I think one of them has heard a false rumor about me and used this sly trick to see my face.”

  “If he is so handsome and well-mannered, and if he is such a wonderful musician, then he must be a truly remarkable man,” said Ch’un-yün. “Perhaps he will be the next Szu-ma Hsiang-ju!”

  “He may be the next Szu-ma Hsiang-ju, but I have no intention of becoming another Cho Wen-chün!”

  “But Cho Wen-chün was a widow and you are a virgin,” said Ch’un-yün. “She followed the general of her own free will, but you have been influenced unintentionally. Why are you comparing yourself to her?”

  The two of them laughed together and continued talking.

  * * *

  One morning, while Ch’iung-pei was sitting with her mother, Minister Cheng came with the list of candidates who had passed the civil examination. He gave it to his wife, saying, “We have not yet arranged a marriage for Ch’iung-pei. I am going to select a bridegroom from among these successful scholars. The top candidate on the exam was Yang Shao-yu, from Huai-nan. He is sixteen years old and everybody is speaking highly of his work. He is certainly of highest caliber. They also say he is very handsome and well-mannered and is headed for greatness. And he is not yet engaged. I would like him for a son-in-law.”

  “The eye perceives more truth than two ears,” said Lady Cheng. “Let us see him in person before we make up our minds.”

  “That won’t be hard to arrange,” said Minister Cheng.

  5

  TRYST WITH A FAIRY AND A GHOST

  When Ch’iung-pei heard what her father had to say, she went to her room and said to Ch’un-yün, “The priestess who came here and played the ch’in said she was from Ch’u and she looked about sixteen. The man with the top score on the civil exam is from Huai-nan, and Huai-nan is in Ch’u. Their ages are the same. Now I am even more suspicious. That man will surely come to see my father. I want you to get a good look at him.”

  “I didn’t see the priestess when she came,” said Ch’un-yün. “I think it would be better for you to peek through the door and get a look for yourself.” They giggled together.

  Meanwhile, Yang Shao-yu had passed both the doctoral and the special examinations and the Emperor had appointed him imperial archivist. His name was everywhere. Every nobleman with a daughter tried to arrange a marriage with him, but he refused them all. Instead, he went to Ch’üan, the senior secretary at the Board of Rites, and requested an introduction to Minister Cheng. Ch’üan immediately wrote him a letter, which Shao-yu put away in his sleeve.

  Shao-yu went straight away to Minister Cheng’s house and presented his card, and Cheng, when he recognized the name, welcomed him and invited him into the guest room. Shao-yu was crowned with the cinnamon flowers that marked him as the top graduate, and official musicians followed behind him. He was handsome and modest, and everyone in the household was there to admire him with openmouthed wonder—except Ch’iung-pei.

  “Come here a moment,” Ch’un-yün said to one of Madame Ts’ui’s attendants. “I heard the mistress say the priestess who came and played the ch’in the other day is the cousin of this man. Did you notice a resemblance?”

  The maid immediately answered, “Yes, it is true. How strange that two cousins could look so much like each other!”

  Hearing this, Ch’un-yün went back to the inner quarters and said to Ch’iung-pei, “You were correct. They look exactly alike.”

  Ch’iung-pei replied, “Go back out and listen carefully to what he says.”

  Ch’un-yün went out again and was gone for a considerable time. “Your father suggested that you should marry Yang,” she said when she returned. “Yang said that he had heard that you were graceful and modest, and that he had presumed to come here today to ask for your hand. He said he asked Secretary Ch’üan at the Board of Rites for a letter of introduction and was given one. But then he said he had not dared present it, seeing that your families are of such different stations, as unlike as bright clouds and muddy water, and your persons like a phoenix and a common crow. He still had it in his sleeve, and when he finally gave it to your father, the minister was so delighted he called for wine and refreshments.”

  Ch’iung-pei was upset, but before she could say anything, her mother sent a maid to fetch her.

  * * *

  “Yang Shao-yu won the top score on the government examination,” said Lady Cheng. “Your father has just arranged your marriage to him, so now we will have someone to take care of us and need not worry any longer.”

  Ch’iung-pei said, “I just learned from a servant that Master Yang looks just like the priestess who came the other day to play the ch’in. Is it true?”

  “Yes,” said her mother. “That priestess was so beautiful I could not get her face out of
my mind. I wanted to send for her again, but I did not have the chance. Come to think of it, Master Yang does look quite a bit like her. So now you will know how handsome he is.”

  Ch’iung-pei hung her head and said, in a small voice, “I know he is very handsome, but I do not like him and will not marry him.”

  “What are you saying?” exclaimed her mother. “You’ve been cooped up in the women’s quarters all your life, while Master Yang has been living in Huai-nan. How can you possibly say you don’t like him?”

  “I have been so ashamed I haven’t been able to speak of it,” Ch’iung-pei replied. “But that priestess who came the other day was Master Yang. He disguised himself as a woman so that he could come into our house and have a look at me. I was fooled by his trick and spent half the day talking to him. Isn’t that reason enough to dislike him?”

  Lady Cheng was speechless.

  Meanwhile, Minister Cheng, having dismissed Yang, came into the inner quarters with a delighted expression. “Ch’iung-pei!” he exclaimed. “Today, you have mounted a dragon!”

  When his wife repeated to him what Ch’iung-pei had just told her, the minister asked his daughter to tell him again about how Yang had played “The Phoenix Seeks a Mate” for her. He laughed loudly and said, “That Yang is brilliant! There’s an old story about Wang Wei dressing up as a musician and playing the lute in the palace for Princess T’ai-p’ing.1 He also went on to win the top score on the government examinations. If Yang went so far as to dress as a woman to win his bride, then he is truly resourceful. For this prank you say you dislike him? In any case, what you saw was a Taoist priestess, not Yang. It’s not your fault that he made a very pretty girl musician!”

  “I was so humiliated, I could die of shame,” said Ch’iung-pei.

  The minister laughed once more. “This is not a matter I can work out for you. You settle it with Yang yourself, later.” When Lady Cheng asked him what date had been set for the wedding, he became serious. “We will exchange gifts at once,” he said. “But the wedding will be held in the autumn. We will pick the date once his mother arrives in Ch’ang-an.”

  So the minister and Lady Cheng picked a day for receiving the betrothal gifts, and when Shao-yu had sent the appropriate presents they invited him to come live in the summer house in the gardens. Yang honored them in all the ways befitting a son-in-law, and they, in return, loved him as if he were their own.

  * * *

  One day late in the spring, Ch’iung-pei was passing by Ch’un-yün’s room and saw that she had been overcome by drowsiness while embroidering a pair of silk shoes. She had used the embroidery frame as a pillow and was fast asleep. Ch’iung-pei tiptoed in to admire the beautiful work, and as she sighed over the exquisite stitchery she noticed a sheet of paper with writing on it under the frame. When she took the paper and unfolded it, she saw that it was a poem about the shoes.

  Oh, you precious companions!

  Constant, with her, step after step—

  But when the lamp’s blown out and the silks slide off

  You’ll be tossed under the ivory couch.

  Ch’iung-pei thought to herself, “Her poetry gets better and better. She is the embroidered shoes and I am the precious one who wears them. She and I have been inseparable, but when I am married I will cast her aside. She must truly love me.” Then she read the poem again and smiled. “She means that she wishes we could share the same bed. That would mean we must marry the same man.”

  Ch’iung-pei left quietly, so as not to wake Ch’un-yün, and went to her mother’s quarters, where she was busy overseeing the maids who were preparing Yang’s dinner.

  “Mother,” said Ch’iung-pei, “you worry yourself so much over Yang’s food and clothes, I’m afraid you are exhausting yourself. It is I who should be doing these things, but there is no precedent in the classics for a girl to serve her husband while still betrothed, so I cannot perform those duties. But Ch’un-yün is grown up now and she is capable of such things. What do you think of sending her to the garden pavilion to let her look after Yang’s needs?”

  “Ch’un-yün’s father was our most faithful attendant,” said Madame Ts’ui. “She is a very beautiful and talented girl. Your father thinks the world of her and he wants to choose a good husband for her. She is not planning to look after you forever.”

  Ch’iung-pei replied, “I don’t think she ever wants to be parted from me.”

  “In the old days she could go with you if you were married, but only as your husband’s concubine,” said Madame Ts’ui. “But Ch’un-yün is no ordinary maid. I do not think she will accompany you.”

  “Master Yang is sixteen and from the provinces, but he has dared to disguise himself as a girl to enter the women’s quarters of an official’s house to play the ch’in and flirt with his unmarried daughter. Can you expect such a man will be satisfied with only one wife? When he is appointed to his high post with a fat salary, how many girls like Ch’un-yün do you think he will have for himself?”

  Minister Cheng came in at this point, and his wife recounted what Ch’iung-pei had just said to her. He nodded and said to his wife, “Ch’un-yün does not want to leave Ch’iung-pei before the marriage, and even afterward, it seems the two of them do not wish to be parted. So why not send Ch’un-yün ahead to Yang now? It is only a matter of time, in any case. Why not send her to comfort and entertain him in his solitude? But it may seem a bit indecorous. Perhaps we should wait until the ceremonies are over. We must be careful to do things properly. Why don’t you find out what the girls think before we decide?” And with that, he left.

  “I have a plan,” Ch’iung-pei said to her mother. “If Ch’un-yün will offer herself to Yang, I can wash away the shame I have suffered and have my revenge on him. If cousin Thirteen will help me, I think we can succeed.”

  * * *

  Thirteen was the nickname of one of Minister Cheng’s nephews. He was a fine young man—clever and full of good humor, with an appreciation for practical jokes. He and Yang Shao-yu had become great friends.

  Ch’iung-pei returned to her room and said to Ch’un-yün, “You’ve been with me ever since the hair grew down on our foreheads. We’ve played together since we pelted each other with flowers. Now that I am about to be married, it is time that you were, too. Have you given any thought to what kind of husband you want?”

  Ch’un-yün answered, “I have lived here happily, owing you gratitude for your great affection and all you have given me until now. What I owe you I could never repay a thousandth part, even if I were to hold your mirror to the end of my days. I shall be happy to stay with you forever.”

  “I have always known this,” said Ch’iung-pei. “And there is something I want to ask of you. You are the only one who can help me erase the shame I have suffered because of Yang’s humiliating trick. Do you know our summer pavilion in that secluded spot on Chung-nan Mountain south of the capital? It’s beautiful there, almost unearthly. We will prepare you a bridal chamber there and get Thirteen to trick Yang into going there so that you can seduce him. Please say that you will do it.”

  “How could I possibly refuse you?” said Ch’un-yün. “But then how could I ever look Master Yang in the face afterward?”

  “It is better to be the trickster than the one being tricked,” said Ch’iung-pei. “Do not worry. The joke will be on him and he will be the one who feels ashamed.”

  “Then I will do it,” said Ch’un-yün.

  * * *

  Yang Shao-yu had many official duties in court, but that still left him with an abundance of free time and many days of leisure,2 which he spent visiting friends or enjoying the flowers and foliage of the countryside in spring.

  One day, his friend Thirteen3 said to him, “There is a quiet and beautiful place south of the city. Let us go there together sometime soon for an outing.”

  “That is just what I wanted,” Shao-y
u replied.

  They had food and wine prepared for them, and, leaving the servants, they rode their donkeys several miles to a place where the mountains were high and the streams were clear. They were alone, far from the world of dust, and the fragrance of myriad flowers and grassy meadows cleared their thoughts. They dismounted on the bank of a stream, countless flowers and trees blooming around them, and sat to compose some verses together to celebrate the onset of summer.

  Suddenly, Shao-yu noticed some fallen petals drifting toward them on the water. “‘Spring, fully come, peach petals floating,’” he said, reciting the lines from Wang Wei.4 “There must be a place like the Peach Blossom Paradise5 of Wu Ling6 upstream.”

  “This stream flows down from Tzu-ko Peak,”7 said Thirteen. “They say, ‘When the flowers bloom and the moon is full, one hears the music of the immortals among the clouds.’ I myself have no affinity for the world of fairies, and I have never been among them. But today, with you, I have entered that world and I would like just once to drink their wine and taste their enchanted food.”

  Shao-yu was delighted. “If there are such things as fairies in this world,” he said, “then surely they must be here on this mountain.”

  Just then one of Thirteen’s servants came running. Streaming with sweat and panting for breath, he said, “I’ve come to tell you that the lady has suddenly taken sick.”

  Thirteen quickly stood up. “Hearing now that my wife is ill is just another reminder that I have no affinity for the world of fairies,” he said. He mounted his donkey and rode away.

  * * *

  Shao-yu grew bored after Thirteen’s departure. He followed the stream up the valley, looking for something more to see. The waters were crystal clear over the rocks, with no speck of dust, and his mind was tranquil as he continued slowly on.