by Kim Man-jung
The other women asked Ling-po how she was able to magically transform herself, and she replied, “That belongs to my former life. I drew on the powers of Heaven and Earth and their harmony in order to become a human being. I cast off my scales and hide and piled them in a heap. Like a sparrow that has changed into a clam, how can I fly when I no longer have wings?”8
The women accepted her explanation and didn’t ask anymore. Sometimes Niao-yen would perform the sword dance for Shao-yu, his mother, and the two princesses, but she did not like to do it very often. “I met the minister by virtue of my skill with the sword, but it is associated with death and it should not be performed too much,” she said.
As time passed, the two princesses and six concubines enjoyed each other’s company like fish in a stream or birds in the clouds. They spent their time together and relied on each other like real sisters, and though Shao-yu loved them all equally, it was their wifely virtue that made the household peaceful and happy. And all of this was a result of the karma they carried from their former lives together.
One day, when the two princesses were together, they said to each other, “Now the two of us and the six concubines are closer to each other than sisters of the same flesh and blood. How can this be if it isn’t by the mandate of Heaven? It is only proper then that we not distinguish our social rank, so let us all just call each other sister.”
But when they suggested this to the six concubines, they all protested, especially Ch’un-yün, Ching-hung, and Ch’an-yüeh.
Princess Ying-yang said to them, “In ancient times, Liu Pei, Kuan Yü, and Chang Fei were all loyal courtiers to the emperor, and they swore an oath in the peach garden to treat each other as brothers. Ch’un-yün and I grew up together like best friends, so why should we not be sisters? The wife of the Shakyamuni Buddha and Matangi9 the courtesan were from different castes and their virtue and chastity were hardly alike, but after they became disciples of the Buddha, they shared the same fate. What has high or low birth to do with ultimate fulfillment?”
In the end, the two princesses and the six concubines left the palace and went to a shrine of the bodhisattva Kwan Yin.10 They burned incense, prostrated themselves, and offered a solemn promise which they had written:
On this day of this year, the disciples Cheng Ch’iung-pei, Li Hsiao-ho, Ch’in Ts’ai-feng, Chia Ch’un-yün, Kuei Ch’an-yüeh, Ti Ching-hung, Shen Niao-yen, and Po Ling-po, having purified our bodies and minds, bow before the merciful Bodhisattva.
It is said in the Tripitaka11 that all people are related through understanding because they share the same desires. We disciples were born in different places in the south and north and we have been scattered east and west. But now we all serve one husband, abide in one place, and have come to appreciate and bond with one another.
We are like flowers on a branch blown by the wind and rain, one into a courtyard, one down the hillside, one into a deep mountain stream, yet all born of one root and one source. Likewise, men born into one family sharing the same siblings and the same spirit, though they be scattered far and wide, must come together again in the end. Though the past is long gone, we have come together at this one time, and though the world is vast, we live together in one house.
Surely, this is our karma from a previous life, and it explains our happiness now. And so we take this vow of sisterhood and swear to share our joys and sorrows through life and death. Should any one of us break this vow or change her mind, may Heaven strike her dead and the spirits of Heaven abandon her. We beseech you as we prostrate ourselves here before you that you will give us your blessings, deliver us from sorrow, and after a life of a hundred years, we may be enlightened and delivered to Paradise.
Afterward, the two princesses called the concubines “sister,” and although the concubines maintained their humility and dared not presume to refer to the princesses in the same way, their affection for each other grew deeper.
All of the women had children, each of them bearing sons except for Ts’ai-feng and Ling-po, who each bore a daughter. They raised their children well, never having to witness any poor behavior. And this was entirely unlike the common people.
* * *
It was a time of peace and prosperity and bountiful harvest. The people were content and there was little work to keep ministers busy. Shao-yu accompanied the Emperor on hunting parties in the Shang-lin Preserve12 and returned to his mother and family to banquets with singing and dancing. He was happy to remove himself from the outside world and enjoy the changing seasons and, having served many years as prime minister, he also appreciated the many rewards of his success.
But when all is happiness, pain and sorrow are wont to follow, and Shao-yu’s mother fell ill and died at the age of ninety-nine. Her son’s grief and anguish were so profound that the Emperor and Empress Dowager worried. They sent a eunuch from the palace to convey their condolences and saw to it that his mother was buried like a queen.
Minister Cheng, the father of Ying-yang, also lived to enjoy a long and honorable life, and when he and his wife passed away, Shao-yu grieved for them as much as Ying-yang did herself.
Shao-yu’s six sons and two daughters were all like their parents in appearance and temperament, the sons like dragons and tigers and the daughters like the fairies of the moon.13 Princess Ying-yang’s son Ta-ch’ing, the eldest, grew up to become the minister of foreign affairs. The second son, Tzu-ch’ing, who was Ching-hung’s, became the major of the capital.14 The third son, Shu-ch’ing, was Ch’un-yün’s, and he became chief justice. The fourth son, Princess Lan-yang’s Chi ch’ing, became minister of defense; the fifth, Wu-ch’ing, Ch’an-yüeh’s son, became chancellor of the Academy. Chih-ch’ing, the youngest and the son of Niao-yen, was already stronger than any man by the time he was fifteen. He was also as wise as a deva and much beloved by the Emperor, who made him the marshal of the Imperial Guard and gave him command of forty thousand soldiers to protect the royal palace.15
The elder of Shao-yu’s two girls was Fu-tan, Ts’ai-feng’s daughter, and she grew up to marry Prince Yüeh’s son, Lang-yeh. The younger girl, Ling-po’s daughter, Ying-lo, became a concubine of the prince.
One day, Shao-yu said to himself, “Ripe fruit soon decays and a full cup will soon overflow.” And he wrote a letter to the Emperor asking permission to retire.
I, Yang Shao-yu, bow before you a hundred times and humbly submit this petition to Your Majesty. When a man born into this world has attained the highest rank and fulfilled all his desires, there is nothing left for him to want. Parents wish for their children to have riches and status, believing that once they attain these there will be nothing left to desire. Is it not the happiness that long life, fame, and wealth bring that make people envious? And yet men continue to desire more and more, not having the wisdom to know when to say enough is enough.
And knowing how to be satisfied with worldly wealth and glory, should we not also know when to be dissatisfied? I am a man of ordinary talents and little promise, but I have risen to the highest ranks. I have received every conceivable honor and held an important office for many years. I have been showered with wealth and glory beyond my dreams and my mother, too, has basked in it. My original ambition was not a ten-thousandth of what I received.
I reluctantly became the imperial son-in-law, and gifts and favors were bestowed upon me far beyond what was received by your other loyal subjects. As a child I ate weeds and scraps, and I have since been filled with delicacies. I was a peasant and now I live in the imperial palace. But I fear all this has been contrary to my proper station and I will bring shame upon Your Majesty for not knowing my proper place.
When I was younger I wished to flee my position and retire from the world, lock my gates, refuse all favor, and beg pardon from Heaven and Earth and the spirits. But Your Majesty was so gracious that I could not refuse you, and I stayed, accepting your generosity, hoping—since I was stro
ng of body—to repay you in some measure.
Now I propose to spend the remainder of my days tending my ancestral graves. I have grown old, and my hair has turned gray before I have had the chance to fulfill my many duties, and I am unable to repay all of the favor you have heaped upon me. Like a loyal horse or dog, I want to return your faith in me, which was as great as a mountain, but I have not the strength.
Your Majesty, the frontier regions are peaceful and there is no longer need for military force. The people are content, and there is no longer a need to sound the drums. Please consider my petition. The Mandate of Heaven is with us as it was in the times of the three great kingdoms of Hsia, Ying, and Chou. If you keep me in office, it would only be at an unnecessary expense to the state, while I spend my days listening to happy songs.
The regent is like a parent and the subject is like a child. A parent loves even an undutiful child and worries when he leaves home. Now I bow to you, praying you will see that I am old and of little use, and though you may not wish me to retire, I ask that you treat me as a loving parent treats a child. Having received a surfeit of favor, how can I leave you and seclude myself in some far mountain, away from a ruler as benevolent as Yao or Shun?16 But let not this vessel overflow, as spilled water cannot be poured back in, nor can a broken yoke still be useful upon the ox.17
I bow to you and ask that you understand—I can no longer bear the burden of my duties to the state. Consider that I no longer wish to live in a place of luxury. Please allow me to retire to my native province and live out my years there remembering your great benevolence and singing your praises.
After the Emperor read Shao-yu’s petition, he wrote a reply in his own hand:
You and your work have been of great benefit to the people, and you have been of great service to the state. In ancient times the duke Chiang was almost a hundred years old but he continued to serve the kingdom of Chou and helped to maintain peace. You have not yet reached the age which, according to The Book of Rites, is the proper time for retirement, and though you wish to retire from your office early, I cannot allow it. The pine tree in the forest looks with contempt upon the winter snow because its spirit is strong. You are that pine.
To my eyes you seem as youthful and as strong as the day you took up your position in the Imperial Academy or the day you crossed the bridge at Wei on your way to fight the rebels. I cannot agree with your claim that you are old, and I do not believe that you can no longer bear the burden of your duties to the state. And though Ch’ao-fu18 refused to rule when Emperor Yao asked him, I hope you will change your mind and continue, with your exemplary integrity, to help maintain this peaceful reign.
Though Shao-yu was old, he still appeared to be in robust health, and so he was often compared to the immortals. That was why the Emperor had replied in this way. But Shao-yu sent another petition, asking again for permission to retire, and this time the Emperor summoned him.
“If you truly wish to retire, I will not refuse your request,” he said. “But if you go to your fiefdom of Wei, it will be difficult to consult with you for urgent matters of state. And since my mother the Empress Dowager has left this world, I cannot bear to be far from my sister, Princess Lan-yang.
“There is a palace four hundred li south of the capital. It is called Ts’ui-wei-kung, the Mountain Mist Palace, formerly used by the emperor Hsüan Tsung19 in the summertime. It is a good place to relax and enjoy old age, and I will give it to you.”
The Emperor issued an edict appointing Shao-yu to the post of chief preceptor20 and had him turn in his official prime minister’s seal. He remained Duke of Wei, and was given five thousand additional households to his fief.21
Shao-yu was moved by the Emperor’s generosity, and he bowed deeply and gave his thanks. He moved his household to Ts’ui-wei-kung, which was located in the greenery of Chung-nan Mountain to the south. The graceful and stately lines of the pavilion roofs and the vistas of the landscape reminded him of the unearthly beauty of Mount P’eng-lai, the abode of the immortals. Even fairies could not live in a place more beautiful. Who would play his flute here and ascend to Heaven?
Shao-yu treasured the Emperor’s edicts, keeping them on display in the main hall. He assigned the other pavilions as residences for the two princesses and six concubines.
Every evening, they enjoyed the moonlit mountain streams, and in the day they explored the valleys, searching for plum blossoms. When they happened upon a sheer cliff face they would compose poems and play the lute in the shade of pine trees.
As he grew older, Shao-yu’s once-bright future became even brighter, and there came a time when everyone envied his happiness, and Shao-yu, jealously guarding his quiet life, stopped receiving visitors.
And thus did several years pass by.
16
RETURNING TO THE SOURCE
Shao-yu’s birthday was around the twentieth day of the eighth month, and the great feast that was held to celebrate his long life—with his entire family and his children’s families in attendance—lasted more than ten days. Its scale was impossible to describe, and when it was finally over, all the sons and daughters and their children returned to their homes and it was peaceful in his palace once again.
Late in the ninth month of the year, autumn was at its height when chrysanthemum buds began to open and the dogwoods hung with berries. To the west of the Ts’ui-wei-kung, there was a mountain peak, and from the pavilion at the top a two-hundred-li stretch of the Ch’in River1 could be seen laid out below like the palm of one’s hand.
This was Shao-yu’s favorite place, and one day he and his wives and concubines climbed there together, wearing chrysanthemums in their hair, and they drank wine together.
The setting sun cast the mountain’s shadow into the broad plain below, and it began to grow dark with shadowed clouds, changing the brilliant colors of fall. Shao-yu took his jade flute and began to play a tune, sad and plaintive, full of melancholy and yearning and tears. The women’s hearts were overcome with sorrow.
The two princesses said, “You distinguished yourself when you were still young, and you have enjoyed both wealth and fame for a long time. The whole world respects you in a way that has rarely been seen in this age. Now in this wonderful season, looking at this magnificent vista, with chrysanthemum petals falling in your cup among such beautiful women, what other earthly pleasures could you desire? What do you mean by playing your flute like this, so differently from other times, bringing tears to our eyes?”
Shao-yu put down the flute and moved over to them. “Look north,” he said. “In the middle of that vast plain is a single lonely peak. In the light of the setting sun you can just make out the ruins of A-fang-kung, the palace of the great Ch’in Shih-huang, among the weeds and high grass. Look west. The wind is rustling the woods where the gray mountain mist hides Mou-ling, the tomb of Emperor Han Wu-ti. In the east you can see the white wall reflecting the green hills where a red rooftop pierces the sky and the pale moon comes and goes. No one leans on the jade balustrades at Hua-ch’ing-kung where Emperor Hsüan Tsung frolicked with his ill-fated concubine Yang Kuei-fei.2 Those three emperors were for ten millennia the heroes of our history. Where are they now?
“I was just a poor scholar, a boy from the land of Ch’u who received the Emperor’s favor and rose to the highest rank. You—my wives and concubines—have lived together with me in love and harmony into our old age, and even now our love for each other only increases. How could this be unless it is the karma of our previous lives that makes it so?
“After we have died and left this place behind, these high terraces will fall and the deep lotus pools will silt up with neglect and go dry. The palace where we sing and dance today will be overgrown with weeds and obscured in the cold mist.
“Boys who come to gather wood and feed their cows will sing sad songs and say, ‘This is the place where Yang the Chief Preceptor played with his wiv
es and concubines. All of his riches and his honor and all his beautiful women, elegant as flowers, with faces like white jade—all gone forever.’ The cowherds will look upon this spot just as I look upon the ruined palaces and the tombs of those three emperors. A man’s life is but a fleeting moment.
“There are three ways in the world—the way of Confucius, the way of the Buddha, and the way of the Taoists. Buddhism is the highest. Confucianism exalts achievements and concerns itself with the passing down of names to posterity. Taoism is mystical, but it is unreliable, and though it has benefited many, its truths cannot be wholly known. Consider the fates of Ch’in Shi-huang, Han Wu-ti, and Hsüan Tsung.
“Since my retirement, I have dreamed every night that I am bowing before the Buddha. It is clearly my karma. I must bid my home farewell and do as Chang Liang, who followed Red Pine, the immortal master, to the abode of the blessed ones.3 I must go beyond the Southern Sea in search of the Bodhisattva of Mercy.4 I must climb to the top of Wu-tai-shan to meet the bodhisattva Manjushri.5 I must cast off the cares of this earthly life and attain the way that has neither birth nor death. But this means I must say good-bye to all of you with whom I have spent so many happy years. That is why you heard the mournful air of my sadness in my flute.”
The women were all deeply moved. “If you feel this way in the midst of your prosperity, it must be the work of Heaven that inspires you,” they said. “We eight sisters are of one mind, and we will remove to our inner quarters to prostrate ourselves before the Buddha day and night while we await your return. Surely you will meet a great teacher and good friends on your journey to help you attain the Way, and then you can return and we will be the first for you to teach.”
This made Shao-yu very happy, and he said, “Since all nine of us are of the same mind, there is nothing to worry about. I will set out tomorrow, so let us all imbibe together tonight until we are drunk.”