by Pu Songling
All of a sudden they heard the sound of someone being attacked and slashed during a fight, then as time passed, the clamor settled down. When they finally opened the door and went out to take a look, there were traces of blood on the stairs. And on the steps, there were several small fox heads, the size of saucers.
Finally they saw Zhou, alone, sitting upright in the building where the dead foxes had been living; smiling and greeting them with folded hands, he declared, “Since I received your great trust, the demon things have already been scattered and destroyed.” From then on, Zhou took up lodgings at Zhang’s place, like a guest living with his hosts.
247. A Strange Matter Concerning Pigeons
Among the many, many varieties of pigeons, there are the Lady Stars of Shanxi, the Crane Beauties of Shandong, the Axil Butterflies of Guizhou, the Backflippers of Sichuan and Hubei, and the Allsharps of Zhejiang: each of them an unusual species. There are also Boot Heads, Dappled Eggs, Great Whites, Black Stones, Married Couples, Spotted Dog Eyes, and more names than I can count on my fingers, some that only a real enthusiast can identify.
There was a Master Zhang Youliang of Zouping, whose favorite hobby was keeping pigeons, and he collected them according to the descriptions in the Classic on Pigeons written by Zhang Wanzhong. When he was raising the pigeons, he cared for them like they were human babies; when it was cold, he gave them white grass for warmth, and when it was hot, he tossed them salt pellets. The pigeons were sleeping properly, but then they began sleeping too much, falling sick, becoming paralyzed, and dying.
Zhang went to Guangling, where he spent ten taels to purchase a lively pigeon with an extremely petite body, which, when it was taken out and placed it on the ground, would begin agitatedly walking endlessly round and round, obliging its owner to pick it up and restrain it from exhausting itself. That night, Zhang put the new bird in with his other pigeons, where it seemed to startle all of them, effectively shaking them out of their paralyzing illness, so he named the pigeon “Night Walker.”
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Zouping: A county in Shandong province.
Classic on Pigeons . . . Zhang Wanzhong: See Zhu (2:839n7).
White grass: Also known as white sweetgrass, a Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) herbal remedy (Zhu 2:839n8)
Guangling: Ancient county name, site of modern Yangzhou in Jiangsu province.
There were pigeon breeders throughout Shandong, yet none of their pigeons could equal Zhang’s; he even went so far as to refer to himself as a pigeon master.
One night, he was sitting in his study, when suddenly a young man in white clothing knocked at his door and entered, but he wasn’t anyone Zhang knew. When he asked the young man who he was, he replied, “I’m an itinerant traveler named He Zudao. From far away, I heard that you raised pigeons of the highest quality, and since I’ve adored them all my life, I wished to take a look at yours.”
Zhang then took out a number of his multicolored birds that were as magnificent as brocade. He Zudao smiled and remarked, “What people have told me is no exaggeration—you may well be said to have a special talent for raising pigeons. I’ve also brought along a pair of birds, so would you like to take a look at them?”
Zhang was pleased to do so, and went outside with He. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough to dispel the darkness, so the open countryside appeared forboding, and Zhang began to feel apprehensive. “Please come along with me,” He Zudao told him, “since the place where I’m staying isn’t far from here.”
After they’d taken several steps, Zhang saw a Daoist monastery near a pair of columns. He Zudao took Zhang’s hand and they entered through the darkness, without any lights. The young man stood in the courtyard, making pigeon calls with his mouth.
Suddenly two pigeons appeared: in form and shape they were ordinary pigeons, but their feathers were pure white; they flew up to the eaves of the monastery, cooing while fighting, each one flinging itself at the other, causing them to somersault together. He Zudao waved his arm at them, till they joined their wings together and flew away.
Again he pursed his lips and made a strange sound, then two other pigeons flew out: a big one the size of a duck, and a small one the size of a clenched fist; they landed on some steps, and imitated the dance of cranes. The big one stretched its neck up, and spread its wings like it was setting up a screen, then leapt about, calling, like it was trying to lead the other one somewhere; the small one flew up and down, cooing, for some time before it settled on top of the other, its wings fluttering lightly, as if it was a swallow alighting on the foliage of a cattail, with a sound like the fragments moving around in a tiny shaker drum; the big one stuck its neck out and didn’t dare move, but urgently called out again and again, till the sound changed into something resembling stone chimes, the two of them responding to each other, their calls intermingling rhythmically.
Subsequently, the small one flew up in the air, while the big one turned upside down and uttered a call. Zhang couldn’t stop praising their excellence, and felt that their superiority truly opened his eyes to his own inferiority as a pigeon breeder and trainer. Thus he bowed to He with hands clasped in respect, and implored the young man to allot some of his pigeons for Zhang to breed with his own; He Zudao, however, said he couldn’t allow it. Hence Zhang adamantly repeated his pleading.
He Zudao then ordered those pigeons to leave, and once again made the sound that he’d used before, summoning the white pigeons to come, holding them in his hands as he declared, “If you don’t find these specimens too ugly, take them to do the job for you.”
Then he put them together so Zhang could admire them: their eyes shone like amber-colored moons, the gaze of each pair as penetrating as though no barrier could block them, and both had markings around their eyes like black peppercorns; then they spread their wings, revealing the transparent flesh of their sides, and several of the vital organs inside them. Zhang thought them so extraordinarily rare that he continued his former entreaties, without ceasing his cunning begging.
“I still have two pigeons which I haven’t shown you,” He Zudao told him, “but you cannot see them today.” While they were concluding their conversation, Zhang’s servants lit some hemp torches and entered the monastery, searching for their master. When Zhang turned from them back to He Zudao, the young man changed into a white pigeon the size of a chicken, then flew up into the sky and vanished. Before Zhang’s eyes, the monastery building shrank into a small tomb, and the two columns into a pair of cedar trees. He gave the pigeons to his servants to hold, sighed in astonishment, and they returned home.
When he tested the pigeons with a trial flight, they were as strangely docile as they’d originally been. Even if they weren’t the epitome of extraordinary, everyone would admire their unique qualities nonetheless.
Two years elapsed, and his pair of pigeons gave birth to three others. Although his relatives begged him for them, Zhang wouldn’t give them up.
There was a certain gentleman of his father’s generation, who was a wealthy official. One day, when he was visiting Zhang, he asked him, “Do you have many pigeons?” Zhang merely grunted and avoided the question. He suspected that the official was implying that he was keen on the birds as a pigeon fancier himself, figuring that if he announced his enthusiasm, Zhang might part with some of his best ones.
Zhang kept thinking that since the inquiry was coming from someone of the older generation, he couldn’t just avoid the subject. What’s more, Zhang didn’t dare just offer him some ordinary pigeons, so he finally selected two of the white pigeons and put them in a carrying cage, though he’d rather have offered him no less than a thousand taels.
Days later, he saw the official, noticing that he seemed supremely satisfied; but, oddly, the man didn’t offer any words of thanks or comment. When Zhang couldn’t stand it any longer, he demanded, “Did you find the birds to be of exceptional quality?”
“Quite plump,” the official replied.
Grea
tly troubled, Zhang cried, “You—did you cook them?”
“Naturally.”
Zhang cried in horror, “Those were no ordinary pigeons, ‘common as shoe leather,’ as they say!”
The official echoed the sentiment, commenting, “Their flavor was distinctive, though not all that unusual.” Zhang, exasperated and angry, returned home.
That night, he dreamt that He Zudao, wearing white clothing, appeared to him and in a reproving tone said, “In order for you to show your love of them, I entrusted you to care for my children and grandchildren. How could you have allowed such precious creatures to come to their end in a cooking cauldron! Now I must lead the remaining children away.”
When he finished speaking, He changed into a pigeon, and the other white pigeons that Zhang had been raising all followed him, calling to each other as they flew away. The next day, when he went out inspect his birds, he found that all of the special white pigeons had fled. Feeling quite upset, he took his remaining pigeons, dispersed his collection by giving them to his fellow pigeon breeders, till after several days they were all gone.
The collector of these strange tales remarks, “Things are usually attracted to the individuals who favor and collect them, and hence Yegong loves dragons, until a real dragon enters the room; furthermore, won’t a scholar wishing to have an excellent friend eventually make such a friend, and won’t a worthy ruler who wishes to be served by a brilliant official eventually attract one in real life? Regarding money, it’s significant that there are more people who love it than who collect it—which may explain why the spirits and gods are angered by greediness, not by obsession.”
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Yegong: This refers to a fable (the yegonghaolong) about Master Ye Gao, who liked dragons so much that he decorated his entire home with figures of them, but when a heavenly dragon decided to visit him to express its gratitude, Master Ye was frightened away. The phrase has passed into the Chinese vernacular to indicate someone who professes to love something but is actually afraid of it (Yang et al. 106).
A friend once sent several bright vermilion carps to Master Sun Yunian, but this friend’s household lacked any intelligent servants, and an older servant went out to fetch the fishes. When he got to the pond by their gate, he pulled the fishes out of the water, then tied them to planks of wood with some rope, and took them to Sun’s residence. By the time he reached Master Sun, the fishes were already all dried out and dead. Sun merely smiled and said nothing, but had some wine taken out as reward for the servant, and ordered that the fishes be cooked so they could be served.
After the servant returned home, Sun’s friend inquired of him, “Was Master Sun quite gratified by the fish I gave him?”
“Very pleased,” the old servant replied.
“How can you be sure?” asked the friend.
The servant explained, “When the master saw the fishes, he was so glad that he began to smile, then he stood up to order that I be given some wine, that the fishes be fried, and that I be given some to eat.”
The friend was quite alarmed by this, thinking to himself that he’d offered them as a present for Master Sun, and that they were by no means of poor quality, so he wondered how they had come to be cooked and given to an underling. Hence he blamed the old servant, and cried, “Surely it must have been your ignorant incompetence, that made Master Sun vent his anger on my gift.”
The old servant shook his hand at the man, strongly disputing him: “I may be ignorant and clumsy, but I don’t deserve to be treated like riffraff! When I knew I’d be going to Master Sun’s place, I was very careful, being afraid that a small bucket wouldn’t be adequate to hold the fishes for long, so I respectfully took them out and tied each to a plank, with loops of rope around them evenly spaced, and then took them inside—so why are you claiming I wasn’t careful?”
Master Sun’s friend then scolded him further and sent him away.
At Lingyin Monastery, there was a certain monk who had a reputation as a tea connoisseur, whose tea brews were always perfect. Thus it was that he separated his tea into several grades, since he was constantly receiving guests, both the influential and the humble, and would brew tea to offer them; however, he would only offer his top-rated grade to wealthy guests who could appreciate its flavor.
One day, a rich official arrived, and the monk received him very respectfully, so he brought out some of his second-best tea, and with his own hands prepared and offered it, looking forward to hearing the official praise it. The rich official, however, remained silent.
The monk was quite perplexed, so he took out some of his highest-grade tea, prepared it, and offered it to the official. He drank the tea until it was almost all gone, but still without praising it. The monk, so anxious that he couldn’t wait any longer, bowed and asked, “How was that tea?”
The rich official set down his cup, folded his hands in gratitude, and replied, “Quite hot.”
These two anecdotes are good for a laugh just like the story of Master Zhang giving away the pigeons.
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Lingyin Monastery: A Buddhist monastery located in Zhejiang province.
248. Nie Zheng
Prince Lu, who lived in Huaiqing, was an immoral man. Sometimes as he traveled through citizens’ communities, if he spied a pretty woman, he would have her kidnapped and brought to him. A man named Wang’s beautiful wife had been seen by the Prince, so he sent men and horses with a carriage to her home to seize her.
The wife was unrestrained in her tearful wailing, but finally was dragged up and taken away. Wang fled from the scene and hid himself at the tomb of Nie Zheng, hoping his wife would pass by, so he could see her for a distant farewell.
Shortly afterward, the wife arrived, and spotting her husband off in the distance, began crying loudly, and threw herself to the ground. Wang was so moved by her response, that he unconsciously cried out. The Prince’s servants could tell that it was Wang’s voice, so some of them pulled him away, while others were on the verge of flogging him.
Suddenly a bold-looking man emerged from the tomb with a naked sword gripped in his hand, radiating a spirit of fierce bravery, as he cried in a stern voice, “I am Nie Zheng! How can a virtuous woman be abducted by force! Considering that you’re servants yourselves, and hence not free to exercise your own judgment, I shall forgive you. But deliver these words to your immoral Prince: if you don’t change your ways, in a few days you’ll lose your head!”
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Huaiqing: A prefecture located in Henan province’s Qinyin county.
Nie Zheng: An assassin of the Warring States Period (475-221 B.C.E.).
The crowd of servants was utterly astonished and ran away, abandoning the carriage. The bold man who had emerged from the tomb then disappeared into it. Wang and his wife kowtowed before the tomb, and then went home, though worrying that the Prince would once again try to tear them apart. More than ten days passed, and nothing had happened, so they began to feel more relaxed. It was said that from that time forward, the Prince no longer abused his power.
The collector of these strange tales remarks, “I’ve read the biographies of assassins, and the figure I admire most is Nie Zheng, from Shenjingli: for disguising his appearance in order to draw close to kill an enemy for a worthy patron, like the righteous Yu Rang; for the bravery to kill a minister during a banquet, like the valiant Zhuan Zhu; and for the willingness even to butcher his own flesh in order to avoid involving his kindred in his deeds, like the wise Cao Mei.
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Biographies of assassins: An allusion to the eighty-sixth chapter of Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian, “The Biographies of the Assassin-Retainers,” describing the lives of five men who undertook “an assassination or threat of assassination in order to avenge some wrong done to their lord or to right a political wrong” (167n1).
Shenjingli: Located in modern Jiyuan county, Henan pro
vince. Yu Rang: Warring States period assassin who had disfigured himself by way of disguise, but failed nevertheless to avoid being captured—and avenged his dead lord by symbolically stabbing the robe of his lord’s murderer before committing suicide (Krebs 40).
Zhuan Zhu: Spring and Autumn (chunqiu) period (777-476 B.C.E.) assassin, famous for killing King Liao of Wu with a knife hidden inside a fish.
Cao Mei: Zhu alludes to Sima’s account that Nie Zheng disfigured his own face, in order to prevent any connection being made to him that might implicate his elder sister (2:842n12).
“As for Jing Ke, his strength wasn’t sufficient to carry out his plan against the tyrant of Qin, but he chose to go through with it anyway, and though he cut off the king’s servants while fighting with Qin, he was killed on the spot, for which he had himself to blame; he borrowed the head of General Fan so easily, but when could he ever pay it back? Such an assassin is always despised in the course of history, and Nie Zheng just sneered at him.
“I heard this unofficial version of another history: Jing’s tomb was near to those of Yang Jiao’ai and Zuo Botao, and a big fight between their ghosts resulted in Jing’s bones being exposed and his tomb being broken open. If that’s really so, then when Jing was alive he didn’t receive the fame he desired, and after death he was further demoralized—and seeing how Nie Zheng was angered by people’s immorality and punished them accordingly, Jing Ke should understand that he simply couldn’t measure up to the standards of a real assassin! Alas! Nie Zheng’s virtue should be more widely acknowledged after this incident.”
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