by Kim Man-jung
Soon he noticed a cinnamon leaf floating on the water, and when he had the servant boy pick it up for him, he saw that two lines of verse had been written on it.
The fairy’s watchdog barks among the clouds,
Knowing that Master Yang is on the way.
Shao-yu was amazed. “How could anyone possibly be living in these mountains?” he said. “And who could possibly have written this verse?”
As he walked on, the servant boy said, “Sir, it will soon be dark and it will be too late to get back into the city before they shut the gates.”
Shao-yu paid no attention and continued for another seven or eight li8 up the steep mountain path, where he could see the moon rising in the east. By its light, he passed through the shadow of the pine woods and crossed the stream. He heard the cries of startled birds and the forlorn howl of monkeys. Stars sparkled beyond the mountain peaks and dewdrops hung from the pine needles. He realized that night had fallen, and he grew uneasy.
At that moment he saw a young girl dressed in green, like a fairy, washing clothes in the stream. “My lady!” she called out, rising up in alarm. “The master is coming!”
Shao-yu was puzzled by what he heard. He continued another dozen steps until the mountain path ended and he saw the small pavilion rising up by the side of the stream. It seemed to be floating above the water.
In the moonlight there appeared a woman dressed in red standing alone under a peach tree. She bowed, saying, “Why are you so late in coming, Master?”
Shao-yu was stunned. He observed her carefully and saw that she was dressed in a light rose-colored silk and wore a long pin of green jade through her hair. Her waist was girdled in white jade, and in her hand she held a fan of phoenix feathers. Hers was not the beauty of a mere human, and Shao-yu was enchanted. “I am of the world of dust,” he said, “and have made no promise to meet you under the moon. How could I possibly be late?”
The woman walked up toward the pavilion and invited him to talk inside. He followed her, and when they had taken their seats as hostess and guest, she called to her maidservant, “The master has come a long way and he is sure to be hungry. Bring some tea and cakes.”
The servant quickly brought him a jeweled table set with delicacies. Into a cup of white jade she poured him the bright twilight wine of the fairies. Its taste was sweet and refreshing, and its bouquet filled the room. A single cup, and Shao-yu was intoxicated. “Though this mountain is high, it is still beneath Heaven. Why is it that you have left the Celestial Palace and all your companions to come down and dwell in a place like this?”
The fairy sighed. “If I tell you of my past, it will only bring back my sorrow. I was one of the ladies-in-waiting for the Queen Mother of the Western Paradise and you, Master, were an officer in the Cinnabar Court of the August Jade Emperor. Once, when the Jade Emperor gave a banquet in honor of the queen mother, and there were many officials and fairies present, you teased me by throwing a Heavenly Peach9 at me.
“Your punishment was to be reincarnated as a human being. My punishment was less severe, and I was simply exiled to this place. You have already been blinded by the dust of the mortal world, and you have forgotten everything about your former life. My exile is nearly over, and soon I must return to the Lake of Jewels. But before leaving, I wanted to see you just once to renew our love. I asked for an extension of my time here, knowing that you would come. I have waited for so long, but now, at last, you are here and we can be together once again.”
The shadow of the cinnamon tree in the moon10 was beginning to show and the Milky Way was fading when Shao-yu embraced the beautiful fairy. Their lovemaking was like that of Liu Ch’en and Yuan Chao11 and the two fairies on T’ien-t’ai-shan12—a dream, and yet not a dream; real, and yet not reality. When their mutual passions peaked, the mountain birds were already twittering in the trees and the east was red with dawn.
The fairy rose first. “I must return to the Heavenly Kingdom today,” she said. “When the Jade Emperor’s officers come with their flags and their orders to fetch me, we shall both be punished again if you are discovered. Please leave now and quickly make your way down the mountain. If you remember our love, we will surely have the chance to meet again.”
Then, on a silk handkerchief, she wrote him this farewell poem:
When we met, the flowers bloomed to Heaven,
Now, as we part, each petal falls into water.
Love in spring is just a passing dream—
The wide water a thousand li between us.
When Shao-yu read the verses he was overcome with regret at the thought of their parting. He tore off a piece of his silk sleeve and wrote these lines in reply:
As Heaven’s wind blows the jade flute,
Why must the white clouds scatter?
On this sacred mountain, the night’s torrential rain
Drenches my robe entirely through.
The fairy took the poem. “This will be my only connection to you when we are separated by all of Heaven. The frost descends on the cinnamon garden and the moon has set behind the Jeweled Tree.”13 Putting the silk into the folds of her robe, she said, urgently, “It is late, Master. Please hurry.”
Shao-yu wiped his tears away with his hands as he said good-bye. When he turned to look back toward the pavilion, there was only the green thicket of trees and flocks of white clouds. He felt as if he had just woken from a dream of the Lake of Jewels.14
Full of regret, he made his way back to Thirteen’s summer villa. “I wish I had hidden somewhere and waited to watch the fairies come to fetch her back to Heaven today,” he thought to himself. “Even then I would not have been very late returning. Why did I have to hurry back?”
After a sleepless night, he rose at dawn and took his servant boy with him in search of the place where he had met the fairy. The blown peach blossoms, the flowing stream, and the empty pavilion were all that remained. The fragrance of the place was gone. He leaned against the railing, looking up into the sky full of gray clouds. “She has ridden away on a cloud to attend to the Jade Emperor. I should like to see her again, but what use is it to gaze up at the sky?”
He came down from the pavilion and stood by the peach tree where he had first met her. “These flowers know the depths of my sorrow,” he said.
And he made his way back home.
* * *
A few days later Thirteen came to Shao-yu and said, “The other day I had to interrupt our outing together because of my wife’s illness. I am still sorry about that. But the shade under the willows is still cool—how about going out together for half a day to hear the orioles sing?”
“‘The green shade is lovelier than spring flowers,’” Shao-yu replied, quoting Wang An-shih.15
They went out of the city gates together and found a thick grove, where they sat on the grass and made tallies of flowers to count the cups of wine each had drunk. They noticed an untended grave just to the side, overgrown with wormwood and covered in high grass that waved sadly in the wind. A few withered flowers moved to and fro beneath the trees.
Shao-yu, made mournful by the wine, pointed to the grave, saying, “Whether a man be high or low, in the end he dies and returns to the dust. In olden times Yung-men accompanied the ch’in by singing, ‘A thousand years from now, cowherds will dance here and sing, “This is the grave of Prince Meng-ch’ang,”’ and Prince Meng-ch’ang16 wept as he listened. Let us get drunk and enjoy ourselves while we are still alive.”
“Brother,” said Thirteen, “do you not know this grave? It is the grave of Chang Li-hua,17 the royal consort who was so beautiful they called her ‘Lovely Flower.’ She died unmarried when she was only twenty, and out of pity, they planted these flowers and willows by her grave to comfort her. Let us pour her spirit a cup of wine and compose some verses worthy of a flower.”
Shao-yu was naturally kindhearted. �
��Yes,” he said, “let us.” So they poured wine at her grave and each composed a poem.18
When they had recited their verses, Thirteen walked around the grave and saw something in the grass where part of the mound had collapsed. It was a piece of white silk with writing on it.
“What sort of man would write such a thing and stick it in Chang Li-hua’s grave?” he said.
Shao-yu picked up the scrap of silk and—lo!—it was the very piece he had torn from his sleeve and written the poem on the previous night. He was both dumbfounded and distressed. “Then, the girl I met the other night was Chang Li-hua’s ghost,” he thought to himself. Cold sweat ran down his back. “Meeting a fairy is governed by one’s karma, but to meet a hungry ghost19 is also karma,” he thought. “So what difference does it make whether she was fairy or ghost?”
Thirteen was getting up just then, so while his back was turned, Shao-yu poured another offering and made a silent prayer. “Though the living and the dead abide in separate worlds, there is no distance in our hearts. I pray that your beautiful spirit will accept my offering and visit me again tonight to renew our love.”
* * *
That night in the pavilion, alone and sleepless, Shao-yu waited for the girl. The room was awash in moonlight and shadows of tree branches fell against the window screens. Everything was silent, until Shao-yu heard a faint voice and the sound of approaching footsteps. He opened the door to look, and there stood the fairy whom he had met on Tzu-ko Peak.
He sprang out of the room in delight and took her pale hands in his. But when he tried to lead her back into his room, she resisted.
“Now that you know what I really am, are you not repulsed?” she said. “I wanted to tell you when we first met, but I did not want to frighten you, so I told you that I was a fairy. That night I was greatly honored to serve you in bed. Your love restored my spirit and brought life back to my decaying flesh. Today you came to my grave to pour me wine and comfort my lonely spirit. When I think of what you have done for me, I have no words deep enough to express my gratitude, and so I have come tonight to give you my thanks. But how could I dare to embrace you again with this rotting corpse?”
Shao-yu tugged at her sleeve, saying, “A man who fears ghosts is a coward. When a man dies he becomes a ghost, and when a ghost reincarnates, it becomes a man. So the man who fears a ghost is a fool, and the ghost who runs away from a living man is a foolish ghost. The two of them come from the same source, so why should we separate the world of the living and the world of the dead? Those are my thoughts, and this is my love. Why do you refuse me?”
The girl replied, “How could I possibly refuse your love? But you love me because of my dark eyebrows and rosy cheeks, and these are false. They are not my true form, but just an illusion to entice living men. If you wish to see my true self, I am just some moss-covered bones. How could you stand to touch such disgusting things?”
“The Buddha said a man’s body is a transitory illusion, like foam on the water or flower petals in a gust of wind,” said Shao-yu. “Who can say, then, what really exists and what does not?”
With that he led her inside and they lay together among the pillows, their love far deeper and more delightful than on the night of their first meeting. “Let us spend every night together,” Shao-yu said afterward. “And let nothing keep us apart.”
“Men and ghosts have different paths, but love can bring them together,” said the girl. “Since your love comes from so deep in your heart, how can I not respond to it?” And then the morning gong sounded, and she disappeared among the flowering trees.
Shao-yu stood at the railing to see her off. “Let us meet again tonight,” he called, but there was no reply.
She was gone.
* * *
After his meetings with the ghost, Shao-yu no longer went out to visit his friends, nor did he receive guests at home. He spent his time quietly in the pavilion. At nightfall he waited for the girl to come, and when daylight came he waited again for the night. When he tried to compel her to come more frequently, she did not, and that made him all the more preoccupied with his thoughts of her.
One day two people arrived to visit him by the side gate. He saw that one of them was his friend Thirteen, but he did not recognize the other man.
Thirteen called out to Shao-yu and introduced the stranger. “This is Master Tu from the T’ai-chi20 Temple,” he said. “He is an expert in reading physiognomy and telling fortunes, just like the ancients Li Ch’un-feng and Yuan T’ien-kang.21 He has come with me to read your face.”
Shao-yu welcomed Master Tu with clasped hands. “I have heard your venerable name, but to meet you this way is an unexpected privilege. I expect you have read Brother Cheng’s face already? What do you see in it?”
Thirteen answered for himself. “I am very pleased,” he said. “Master Tu read my face and told me that within three years I would pass the civil exam and be appointed an imperial inspector of the eight provinces. I think he is very accurate. Why don’t you give it a try, Brother Shao-yu?”
“A virtuous man never asks about future blessings, but only about the troubles that await him,” said Shao-yu. “Please tell me only the truth.”
Master Tu examined Shao-yu for a long time, and said, “Your eyebrows are quite unusual and your eyes are like a phoenix’s eyes, slanting toward the temples—you will surely rise to be a high minister of state. Your complexion is pale, as if you are wearing powder, and the shape of your face is round, like a pearl—your name will be known throughout the world. Your stance is that of a dragon, and you move like a tiger. This means you are destined to be a great general and your fame will span the Four Seas.22 You will be among peers, and your name and reputation will resound as far as ten thousand li. But there is one unexpected flaw, and if you had not met me today, you might have fallen victim to a great danger.”
“A man’s good or bad fortune depends on the man himself,” said Shao-yu. “But it is hard to avoid sickness if it comes. Do you see signs that I will become seriously ill?”
“Yours is not a typical misfortune,” said Master Tu. “There is a blue tinge on your forehead and unhealthy shadows under your eyes.23 Do you have a boy or girl servant in your household whose past is questionable?”
Shao-yu immediately guessed that Chang Li-hua’s ghost was the source of the problem, but he did not let it show. He answered nonchalantly, “There is no such servant.”
“Then have you passed an old grave—or perhaps had sexual relations with a ghost in your dreams?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Master Tu is never wrong,” Thirteen interjected. “Think carefully, Shao-yu.”
Shao-yu said nothing, so Master Tu continued, “A man’s energy is yang and a ghost’s is yin—as immutably different as day and night or fire and water. Looking at your face now, it is obvious to me that some ghost has a hold on your body. In a few days it will get into your bones, and then I am afraid nothing can be done to save your life. When that comes to pass, do not complain or say that I did not warn you.”
Shao-yu thought to himself: “What Tu says is amazingly accurate, but Chang Li-hua and I have promised to be together forever and our love grows deeper every day. How could she possibly hurt me? Men have married fairies and sired children with ghosts in the past. If such things have transpired, why should I be concerned?”24
Shao-yu said to the Taoist, “The length of a man’s life, long or short, is already decided when he is born. If you see proof that I will achieve prominence and fame, how can a ghost harm me?”
“Whether you live or die is up to you. It’s not for me to know,” Master Tu said indignantly. When he shook his sleeves and left, Shao-yu did not try to stop him.
Thirteen comforted Shao-yu, saying, “You were born with good fortune, Brother Shao-yu. Why should you be afraid of a ghost when Heaven favors you? Fortune-tellers often say upsetting
things to trick people.”
So they called for wine and spent the rest of the day getting drunk together.
That night, after Thirteen had left, Shao-yu sat alone, silently burning incense, waiting and waiting for Li-hua to appear. But there was no sign of her. He pounded on the table, saying, “The sun is about to rise and still she has not come!”
Shao-yu had blown out the candles and was trying to sleep when, suddenly, he heard the sound of weeping outside his window.
“Master,” said Li-hua’s voice, “the Taoist has hidden a paper talisman against demons in your topknot. I cannot come near you. I know it was not your intention, but it is done, and now our karmic bond is broken. I pray that you will be safe from harm. I have been cast from you, and I must leave you forever.”
Shao-yu leaped up and opened the door, but he could not see where she had gone.25 He felt his head and found something tied to his topknot—a talisman to repel demons. “That evil sorcerer has ruined everything!” he screamed, crumpling it in his hand. After he tore the talisman to pieces, he thought, “This must be Thirteen’s handiwork from last night when he left me drunk. He has interfered with my karma! I will have some harsh words for him when I see him again!”
The next morning, when Shao-yu went to Thirteen’s house, he had already gone out. He visited again for three successive days, and yet each time Thirteen was not to be seen.
Nor did Shao-yu catch even a glimpse of Chang Li-hua’s shadow. He went again to the pavilion on Tzu-ko Peak to look for her, but it is hard to meet with a ghost and he did not see her again. Pining away, night and day, he lost his appetite and each successive day he ate less and less.
Minister Cheng and his wife did not fail to notice, so they prepared special dishes and invited Shao-yu to dinner. As they were sharing drinks, the minister asked, “Why is it that you are so drawn and pale these days?”