by Kim Man-jung
“What you say is all very reasonable,” said Shao-yu. “But by my reckoning, you came here not only for yourself, but because your father told you to wait until I appeared in your life. So our meeting each other today is in keeping with your parents’ wishes. And since your original form was that of a fairy—an ethereal creature—and there is no rule that prohibits relations between humans and spirits, why should I be repulsed by your scales and fins?
“Though I am not very wise, I command tens of thousands of soldiers serving the Emperor’s will. The god of the winds is my vanguard and my rear guard is the god of the sea, so the Dragon Prince to me is naught but a mosquito or an ant. If he cannot see the grave error of his ways and continues to pester you, I will be forced to stain my sword with his blood.
“Our meeting tonight has been so auspicious it would be a shame to let it pass without consummating our beautiful new relationship.” And so saying, he took her to her bedchamber, and their union was so ecstatic they did not know whether it happened in reality or dream.
* * *
Just as the next day was dawning, the Dragon Princess was startled awake by thunderous sounds that shook the Underwater Palace. One of her ladies-in-waiting rushed into her chamber and said, “The Dragon Prince of the Southern Sea has assembled his army at the foot of the mountain! He demands a fight to the finish with Marshal Yang!”
“I was afraid of this,” said the princess to Shao-yu. “This is why I said you had to leave.”
“How bold of that madman to dare come here,” said Shao-yu. He got up without hesitation and rushed to the riverbank to find that Wu-hsien’s soldiers had already surrounded Po-lung Lake.
The earth shook with the sound of their clamor and they exuded their stench into the four directions. The Dragon Prince of the Southern Sea rode forward on his mount and challenged, “How dare you steal my wife! For that I will remove you from the face of the Earth!”
Shao-yu mounted his own horse and laughed in response. “My marriage with the Dragon Princess was the will of Heaven. Chang the Fortune-Teller foresaw it. I obey only the will of Heaven. How can you oppose it, you spawn of a fish?” He called his troops into attack formation.
Wu-hsien, in a rage, called upon every manner of fish.4 His carp general and his turtle commander rushed forward, leading a brave and savage attack, but Shao-yu led the counterattack wielding his whip of white jade, killing them by the thousands until the ground was littered with their crushed fish scales and shattered turtle shells.
Wu-hsien himself was wounded several times by spear thrusts and could not transform himself.5 He was captured and bound by Shao-yu’s soldiers.
Shao-yu was pleased, and he called his army back by sounding the battle gong.
A sentry came and pronounced, “The Dragon Princess of Po-lung has come to congratulate you and she has brought wine so the troops may celebrate.”
Shao-yu sent someone to escort her in. She congratulated him on his victory and had a feast prepared for the soldiers with a hundred barrels of wine and a hundred head of cattle. The soldiers ate their fill, thumped their bellies, and sang and danced, their courage a hundredfold greater than before the battle. Shao-yu sat beside the Dragon Princess and admonished Wu-hsien, who had been brought before them.
“By the Emperor’s command I have defeated our enemies in the four directions. Ten thousand demons dared not oppose me, but you, naughty boy, not knowing the will of Heaven, fought boldly against my forces. It was suicidal of you. I have here the great sword that Wei Cheng, the minister of state, used to cut off the head of the dragon of the Ching River.6 I should cut off your head with it for the honor of my soldiers, but the realm of the Southern Sea is a peaceful one and you provide rain that benefits the people, and so it is respected. Therefore I pardon you, but from this day on you must mend your ways and never trouble the princess again.”
They sent him away, and he ran like a mouse to its hole, hardly drawing breath.
Suddenly, the sky in the southeast was infused with a bright glow and multicolored clouds, a glorious air. A messenger in red, bearing a flag and a halberd, descended from the sky and announced, “The Dragon King of Tung-t’ing, hearing that you have destroyed the army of the Southern Sea and saved the princess, desires to come to your camp to congratulate you. But being unable to leave his official duties, he has, instead, prepared a great celebratory feast at his summer palace and sends you this invitation. Please come. His Majesty has also instructed me to tell the princess to accompany you.”
Shao-yu replied, “The Tibetans have withdrawn, but their camp is still here. Tung-t’ing is very far, and it will take a long time to make the trip there and back. How could I possibly go so far without deserting my command?”
“We have prepared a chariot for you drawn by eight dragons,” the messenger replied. “You can be back in half a day.”
10
STRANGE DREAMS
Shao-yu and the princess got onto the chariot together and it rolled into the air on a magical wind until they could see the clouds below them shading the earth like a parasol. Then the chariot descended lower and lower, and they were in Lake Tung-t’ing.
The Dragon King came all the way out to welcome them, receiving them as honored guests, and he treated Shao-yu like a son-in-law. Leading them to the great banquet, the Dragon King praised Shao-yu.
“As I am of little virtue, I was unable to make my own daughter happy,” he said. “But you, with great dignity and skill, have captured the arrogant son of the Southern Sea and saved my daughter’s honor. Your merit is higher than the sky and deeper than the earth.”
“It was all made possible by the virtue of the Emperor,” said Shao-yu. “What merit have I to claim?”
They imbibed together, at length, until they were both drunk. The Dragon King called on his musicians to play and sing for them, and their melodies were unlike anything in the world of men. A thousand warriors were lined up on either side of the hall with swords and spears beating drums, and six pairs of beautiful girls in lotus dresses with girdles of moonlight pearls danced in their flowing, long sleeves. It was a spectacular sight.
“What is that tune?” Shao-yu asked as he listened to the music.
“There was no such tune in the old days,” said the Dragon King. “But when my daughter married the son of the Dragon King of the Ching River, they did not suit each other. Liu I’s writings foretold that she would have a hard life like that of a shepherd. My younger brother, the Prince of Ch’ien-t’ang, fought the Dragon King of the Ching River and defeated him after a fierce battle to bring her back. That is when the palace musicians composed this piece. They call it ‘The Victory of the Prince of Ch’ien-t’ang.’ Sometimes it is called ‘The Return of the Princess.’ They often play it during festivities in the palace. Now that you have defeated Wu-hsien and brought my daughter back to me again, it is so much like the story of Ch’ien-t’ang that we should call the tune ‘The Marshal’s Triumph’ from now on.”
Shao-yu asked, “Where is Liu I? Could I meet him?”
“Master Liu lives in the realm of the immortals and he cannot leave his duties there,” said the Dragon King.
After nine rounds of drink, Shao-yu said, “There are many things I must attend to in my camp and I cannot stay longer. I wish Your Majesty a long and healthy life.” Looking at the princess, he said, “Do not forget what we promised each other.”
The Dragon King answered for her. “Do not worry. Her promises will be kept.” And he came out of the palace in person to see Shao-yu off.
Shao-yu suddenly saw a mountain with five peaks looming above the clouds. He asked the Dragon King, “What is the name of that mountain? I have seen all the mountains in China except for Heng-shan and Pa-shan.”1
“You don’t know this mountain?” said the Dragon King. “It is the southernmost peak of Heng-shan. Haven’t you heard of its strange wonders?”
> “How could I get there?” Shao-yu asked.
“It is not yet late,” the Dragon King replied. “You have time for a short hike up to it before the sun goes down.”
Shao-yu thanked him and mounted the chariot, which took him to the mountain in almost no time. He found a trail that wound over a ridge and through a valley. The mountain was even higher than it had appeared. Its beautiful vistas were more than he could take in with a single visit. He recalled: A thousand peaks compete for splendor and in the myriad ravines, the clamor of streams.2
As he looked around, he was filled with melancholy thoughts, and he sighed. “My mind is tired and my nerves are frayed from the war. Why must I be so engaged with worldly troubles? After I have fulfilled my duties I will retire and live in nature, detached from the cares of this world of dust.”
Just then, he heard the sound of bells ringing through the trees. “There must be a temple nearby,” he said. Climbing to the top of the next ridge, he saw a secluded temple where an old Buddhist monk was sitting on a high seat giving a teaching from the sutras. He was thin and his pale skin nearly translucent. His eyebrows were long and white—he was obviously very old.
When the old monk saw Shao-yu, he stepped down from his seat and, with his disciples, came to welcome him. “Those who live in the mountains hear very little, and so we did not know you were coming,” he said. “Please forgive us. This is not the time when you can stay, so visit the shrine room and make your offering to the Buddha there before you return.”
Shao-yu went into the shrine room, burned some incense, and bowed to the image of the Buddha, but as he came down the steps afterward he stumbled and suddenly startled awake back at his camp, his head resting on the writing table. The sun was just coming up. He was confused, and he went out of the tent to ask his officers, “Have any of you had strange dreams?”
They answered in unison that they had all dreamed that they had followed him and fought a great battle against demon soldiers. “We routed them and took their leader captive,” they said. “It must be a good omen meaning that we will defeat the Tibetans and take prisoners.”
Shao-yu told them about his own dream and then went to Po-tung Lake with them. Crushed fish scales and smashed turtle shells were scattered everywhere and there was so much blood it flowed in streams. He took a gourd and drank some water from the lake and gave some to the sick soldiers, who quickly became well again. Then all the soldiers and their horses came to the lake and drank their fill. Their shouts of joy echoed through the hills, and the Tibetans were so scared by the sound they were ready to surrender at once.
* * *
From the time he set out for the front, Shao-yu had sent regular dispatches to the Emperor, who was delighted to hear about his victories. One day, as he paid a visit to the Empress Dowager, the Emperor praised Shao-yu.
“Yang Shao-yu is like the great general Kuo of Fen-yang,”3 he said. “When he returns, I will make him prime minister to reward him for his merits and his value to us. But we have not yet resolved the issue of the princess’s marriage. If Marshal Yang changes his mind and obeys us, all will be well, but if he is obstinate and continues to resist, we cannot punish him because he has done so much for us. I am sorry, but I am at a loss as to how to deal with him now.”
The Empress Dowager replied, “I have heard that Minister Cheng has a very beautiful daughter whom Yang has already met. I do not see how he will refuse her now. But if we order the Chengs to marry their daughter to someone else while Yang is still away, then he will give up hope. And then he will have no reason not to obey your command.”
The Emperor said nothing, and after a long silence, he left the room. The princess Lan-yang had been standing by her mother, and she said, “Your plan is not proper, Mother. Lady Cheng’s marriage is something that should be decided by her father—it is not the business of the royal court.”
“This matter is very important for you and it is also an important matter of state,” said the Empress Dowager. “I must discuss it with you. Yang Shao-yu is superior to all other men in both appearance and achievement. He is the minister of war. And I know he was predestined to be your husband when I heard of his flute playing. You cannot possibly pass him by and marry someone else.
“But for his part, he has become close to the Cheng household and neither party desires to break off the engagement. It has become a complicated matter. If we allow him to take the Cheng girl as a concubine, Yang cannot refuse if we order him to marry you upon his return. However, I hesitate to do this without hearing your thoughts.”
“All my life I have never known jealousy,” said the princess. “There is no reason I should be jealous of the Chengs’ daughter now. Yang was betrothed to her first, so it is not proper for him to take her as a concubine. The Cheng family is well respected and they have been ministers for many generations. It would be humiliating for them if their daughter were to be taken as a concubine. That would be unjust.”
“Then what do you suggest is the right thing to do?” asked the Empress Dowager.
The princess replied, “The law permits all noblemen three wives. When Marshal Yang returns, he may be made a prince—a high-level retainer,4 at the least. There is no reason for him then not to have two wives. Why not allow him to have the Chengs’ daughter as a wife, too?”
“Impossible!” said the Empress Dowager. “You are the beloved daughter of the late emperor and the beloved sister of the current emperor. How can you suggest that someone of your elevated status share a husband with a commoner?”
The princess replied, “In the old days a wise and upright ruler held virtue in highest esteem and honored good scholars regardless of their social position. What they loved was virtue, and an emperor with ten thousand chariots at his beck and call would have a lowborn man as a friend. So how can we make an issue of who is high and who is low?
“From what I have heard, Lady Cheng surpasses all other women in her physiognomy and manner. If that is true, to be compared to her would not be a disgrace, but an honor. But since hearsay is not to be trusted and is usually contrary to reality, I will arrange to see her myself. If her looks, talent, and virtue are superior to mine, I will be happy to serve her. And if not, then I will not mind her being made a concubine or a servant.”
The Empress Dowager was impressed. “It is natural for women to be jealous of another woman’s talent and looks. But as your mother, I am happy to see that you love another girl’s qualities as if you are thirsty and searching for water. Tomorrow, I will meet the Cheng girl and I will have an edict sent to her father.”
The princess said, “Even if the Emperor orders it, Lady Cheng is likely to feign illness and not come. And we cannot force her to come—she is the daughter of a minister, after all. But if you tell a priestess or a nun to inform us when she will go to burn incense next, it should be easy to meet her then.”
The Empress Dowager agreed to the plan and immediately sent a eunuch to the local temples.
At the Ting-hui-yuan Temple, a Buddhist nun told him, “Lady Cheng never comes here herself, but her servant, Chia Ch’un-yün, who is Marshal Yang’s concubine, brings her prayers in writing and leaves them on the shrine.”
The eunuch took the prayer from the shrine and delivered it to the Empress Dowager.
“It sounds as if it will be very difficult to see the Cheng girl,” she said, and she unfolded the prayer and read it together with the princess.
The humble disciple Cheng Ch’iung-pei respectfully prays at your shrine, sending my servant, Ch’un-yün, who has fasted and purified herself, to offer my prayers to the Lord Buddha. I have many sins and my accomplishments are few. I was born into this life a girl with no brothers or sisters. Recently, I received betrothal gifts from Yang Shao-yu and sincerely desired to marry him, but then he was chosen to be the husband of the royal princess by imperial command, and now I do not know what to do. I can only lame
nt that the will of Heaven is contrary to the ways of man. I have no hope. I have given him my heart, though not yet my body, and so I will remain with my parents and devote the rest of my life to them.
As I have received refuge from my life of suffering, I offer my devotion to the Buddhas, revealing what is in my heart of hearts. I pray that the Bodhisattva of Compassion will look into my heart and have mercy on me. Let my elderly parents live long lives free from sickness and suffering, and let me serve them with a joyful heart. When they have departed this world, I will return to the Buddha, renouncing this world, repaying the kindness of the bodhisattvas with devotion, reciting sutras, maintaining my chastity.
Since Ch’un-yün’s karma is bound to mine, though we are mistress and servant, in our hearts we are sisters. She has already become Minister Yang’s concubine in obedience to my father. But things have not gone according to our wishes and she has left him to return once again to me in order that we may share our fates together.
I pray the Buddha will look into our hearts and grant that we not be reborn as women again, and cleanse us of the sins of our former lives. Bless us that we may be reborn into a better world and have good fortune, peace, and happiness forevermore.
When the princess finished reading, she frowned and said to her mother, “To ruin the lives of two women for the sake of my marriage is not proper.”
The Empress Dowager said nothing.
* * *
At this time, Ch’iung-pei looked as if she were cheerfully attending to her parents, showing no sign of unhappiness, but whenever her mother saw her, she felt sorry for her daughter. And Ch’un-yün, who had served her faithfully and long as her companion, tried her best to distract her with literature and embroidery, pretending nothing was amiss. But Ch’iung-pei’s heart was heavy, and she could find no peace. She was thinking of her parents and of Ch’un-yün, and her heart was troubled.