“I haven’t too much confidence in either of you,” old woman Wang said. “Give me a pledge of some sort and then I’ll believe you.”
Ximen Qing took a golden pin from his head and set it in Jinlian’s hair. She took it out again and put it in her sleeve, for she was afraid that if she went home wearing it, Wu Da would wish to know where it had come from. She hesitated to produce any pledge herself, but the old woman caught her by the sleeve and, finding a white silk handkerchief, handed it to Ximen Qing. Then they all drank several cups of wine. By this time it was getting dark and, saying that it was time for her to go home, Jinlian said good-bye to old woman Wang and Ximen Qing and went to her house by the back way. She pulled down the blind and, soon afterwards, Wu Da came in.
Old woman Wang looked at Ximen Qing.
“Did I play my cards well?” she said.
“No one could have done better,” said Ximen.
“Were you satisfied?”
“Perfectly.”
“She comes of singing girl stock,” the old woman said, “and she must have had plenty of experience. I am very proud that I have been able to bring you two together, especially since I did it all by my own cleverness. Mind you give me what you promised.”
“I will send you the silver as soon as I reach home.”
“My eyes have seen the banner of victory and my ears have heard a sweet message,” the old woman said, “but don’t wait until my coffin is being carried out for burial, and then send money for the choirboys.”
Ximen Qing laughed. He saw that the street was deserted, put on his eyeshades, and went home.
The next day he came again to the old woman’s house. The old lady made tea for him and asked him to sit down. He took ten taels of silver from his sleeve and gave it to her. Money seems to produce an extraordinary effect upon people everywhere. As soon as the old woman’s black eyes beheld this snow-white silver, she was as happy as could be. She took it, and twice made reverence to him. “I thank you, Sir,” she said, “with all my heart.”
“Wu Da is still at home,” she continued, “but I will go over to his house and pretend I wish to borrow a gourd.” She went by the back way to her neighbor’s house. Jinlian was giving her husband his breakfast when she heard the knocking at the door, and told Ying’er to see who was there. It is Grandmother Wang,” the girl said, “she has come to borrow a water gourd.”
“I will lend you a water jug, Stepmother,” Jinlian said, “but won’t you come in and sit down a while?”
“There is nobody to look after my house,” the old woman said, beckoning with her finger to Jinlian, thus giving her to understand that Ximen Qing had come. She took the gourd and went away, and Jinlian hustled her husband over his breakfast and packed him off with his baskets. She went upstairs and redressed herself, putting on beautiful new clothes, and told Ying’er to watch the house. “I am going to your Grandmother Wang’s, but I shall be back in a moment. If your father comes home, let me know at once or it will be the worse for your little bottom.” She went to the tea shop.
Jinlian came, and to Ximen Qing it seemed that she had come straight down from Heaven. Side by side, close pressed together, they sat. Old woman Wang gave them tea. “Did Wu Da ask you any questions when you got home yesterday?” she said.
“He asked me if I had finished your clothes, and I told him that the funeral shoes and socks had still to be made.”
The old woman hastily set wine before them, and they drank together, very happily. Ximen Qing delighted in every detail of the woman’s form. She seemed to him even more beautiful than when he had first seen her. The little wine she had taken brought roses to her pale face and, with her cloudlike hair, she might have been a fairy, more beautiful than Chang E.
Ximen Qing could not find words to express his admiration. He gathered her in his arms, and lifted her skirts that he might see her dainty feet. She was wearing shoes of raven-black silk, no broader than his two fingers. His heart was overflowing with delight. Mouth to mouth they drank together, and smiled. Jinlian asked how old he was. “I am twenty-seven. I was born on the twenty-eighth day of the seventh month.” Then she said, “How many ladies are there in your household?” and he said, “Besides the mistress of my house, there are three or four, but with none of them am I really satisfied.” Again she asked, “How many sons have you?” and he answered, “I have no sons, only one little girl who is shortly to be married.” Then it was his turn to ask her questions.
He took from his sleeve a box, gilded on the outside and silver within. There were fragrant tea leaves in it and some small sweetmeats. Placing some of them on his tongue, he passed them to her mouth. They embraced and hugged one another; their cries and kissings made noise enough, but old woman Wang went in and out, carrying dishes and warming the wine, and paid not the slightest attention to them. They played their amorous games without any interference from her. Soon they had drunk as much as they desired, and a fit of passion swept over them. Ximen Qing’s desire could no longer be restrained; he disclosed the treasure that sprang from his loins, and made the woman touch it with her delicate fingers. From his youth upwards he had constantly played with the maidens who live in places of ill-fame, and he was already wearing the silver clasp that had been washed with magic herbs. Upstanding, it was, and flushed with pride, the black hair strong and bristling. A mighty warrior in very truth.
A warrior of stature not to be despised
At times a hero and at times a coward.
Who, when for battle disinclined,
As though in drink sprawls to the east and west.
But, when for combat he is ready,
Like a mad monk he plunges back and forth
And to the place from which he came returns.
Such is his duty.
His home is in the loins, beneath the navel.
Heaven has given him two sons
To go wherever he goes
And, when he meets an enemy worthy of his steel,
He will attack, and then attack again.
Then Jinlian took off her clothes. Ximen Qing fondled the fragrant blossom. No down concealed it; it had all the fragrance and tenderness of fresh-made pastry, the softness and the appearance of a new-made pie. It was a thing so exquisite that all the world would have desired it.
Tender and clinging, with lips like lotus petals
Yielding and gentle, worthy to be loved.
When it is happy, it puts forth its tongue
And welcomes with a smile.
When it is weary, it is content
To stay where Nature put it
At home in Trouser Village
Among the scanty herbage.
But, when it meets a handsome gallant
It strives with him and says no word.
After that day, Jinlian came regularly to the old woman’s house to sport with Ximen Qing. Love bound them together as it were with glue; their minds and hearts were united as if with gum.
There is an old saying: “Good news never leaves the house, but ill news spreads a thousand miles.” It was not long before all the neighbors knew what was going on. Only Wu Da remained ignorant.
In Qinghe there lived a boy called Qiao; he was about fifteen years old. As he had been born in Yunzhou, where his father was on military service, he was called Yun’ge. His father was now grown old, and they lived together alone. The boy was by no means without craft. He kept himself by selling fresh fruits in the different wineshops, and Ximen Qing often gave him small sums of money. One day he had filled his basket with snow-white pears and was carrying them about the streets, on the lookout for his patron. Somebody he chanced to meet said to him, “Yun’ge, I can tell you where to find him.”
“Where can I find him, Uncle?” the boy said. “Tell me if you please.”
“Ximen,” the man said, “is carrying on with the wife of Wu Da, the cake seller. Every day he goes to old woman Wang’s house in Amethyst Street. Most likely you will find him there now. There is
nothing to prevent you going straight into the room.”
Yun’ge thanked the man, and went along Amethyst Street with his basket till he came to old woman Wang’s tea shop. The old woman was sitting on a small chair by the door, making thread. The boy put down his basket, looked at her, and said, “Greetings to you, Stepmother.”
“What do you want, Yun’ge?” the old woman said.
“I have come to see his Lordship in the hope of getting thirty or fifty cash to help support my father,” the boy told her.
“What ‘Lordship’ are you talking about?” asked the old woman.
“You know him.”
“Well, I suppose every gentleman has some sort of a name,” the old woman said.
“This gentleman’s name has two characters in it.”
“What two characters?”
“You are trying to fool me,” Yun’ge said. “It is his Lordship Ximen to whom I am going to speak.” He started to go into the house. The old woman caught him. “Where are you going, you little monkey? Don’t you know the difference between the inside and the outside of people’s houses?”
“I shall find him in the room,” the boy said.
The old woman cursed him. “What makes you think you will find his Lordship in my house, you little rascal?”
“Stepmother, don’t try to keep all the pickings for yourself. Leave a little gravy for me. I know all about it.”
“What do you know?” the old woman cried. “You are a young scoundrel.”
“And you are one of those people who would scrape a bowl clean with a knife. You don’t mean to lose even a single drop of gravy. If I began to talk about this business, I shouldn’t be surprised if my brother, the cake seller, had something to say about it.”
This made the old woman furious. She was touched to the quick. “You little monkey,” she screamed, “how dare you come to my house to let off your farts.”
“Little monkey I may be,” said Yun’ge, “but you’re an old whoremonger, you old lump of dog meat.”
The old woman caught him and boxed his ears twice.
“Why are you hitting me?” cried the boy.
“You son of a thief, you little monkey, make a noise like that and I’ll thrash you out of the place.”
“You knavish old scorpion,” Yun’ge cried, “you have no right to beat me.” The old woman struck him again, and drove him out into the street, tossing his basket after him. The pears rolled all over the street, four here and five there. There was nothing the little monkey could do. He grumbled and cried as he picked them up. He shook his fist in the direction of the tea shop, and shouted, “Wait, you old worm! When I’ve told about this, you will be ruined, and then there will be nothing at all for you.”
The young monkey picked up his basket and went off to the street to see if he could find Wu Da.
CHAPTER 5
The Murder of Wu Da
When deep in mystic contemplation
Sounding the shallows of this world’s emptiness,
Even the marriage most blessed by Fate seems full of evil.
Men in their folly crave for love,
Yet, when in calm collectedness they study it,
Hateful it seems.
Leave the wild grasses
Gather not the idle flowers
So, thy truest self, the vigor of thy manhood,
Will know the peace of Nature.
A simple wife, young children, and plain fare
With these need no man suffer the pangs of love
Or lose his fortune.
Yun’ge could not contain his anger at the way old woman Wang had treated him. He took his basket and went to find Wu Da. He had gone through two streets before he met the man for whom he was looking. Wu Da, carrying his buns, was coming towards him. The boy stopped. “It is some time since I saw you last,” he said, looking hard at the man. “How fat you have grown.”
“Fat?” said Wu Da. “What do you mean? I am just the same as I always was.”
“A few days ago,” Yun’ge said, “I wanted some chicken food. I went for miles, but couldn’t get any. Yet everybody tells me you have lots of it at your house.”
“I keep neither geese nor ducks,” Wu Da said. “Why should I have chicken food?”
“So you say,” Yun’ge retorted, “but what makes you so much like a capon? Why! If you were held topsy-turvy, you would never turn a hair; you’d keep quite cool if you were being boiled in a cauldron.”
“This is an insult, you young scoundrel,” Wu Da cried. “My wife has not run off with anybody’s husband. What makes you call me a capon?”
“Indeed?” the boy said. “So your wife has not run off with anybody’s husband, hasn’t she? Perhaps I should have said she has run off with somebody’s husband.”
“Who is the man?” Wu Da cried. “Tell me.”
“You make me laugh. You can do what you like with me easily enough, but you won’t find your wife’s new friend so easy to dispose of.”
“Good little brother, tell me who he is and I will give you ten cakes.” “Cakes won’t do. I’d rather you were my host and gave me some wine. Three cups, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“If it’s wine you want, come along,” Wu Da said. He led the way to a little wineshop. Calling for a jar of wine and some meat, he took cakes from his basket and invited Yun’ge to join him. “Good little brother,” he said, “you really must tell me.”
“There is no hurry. Wait till I have finished my food. Then I’ll tell you. You mustn’t be impatient. I’ll help you to catch them.”
Wu Da waited till the young monkey had finished, and again asked him to explain himself.
“If you would like to know,” the boy said, “put your hand on my head and feel the bumps.”
“How did you get them?”
“I’ll tell you. Today I have been carrying my pears about looking for his Lordship, Ximen. I walked and walked, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Then somebody in the street told me he was at old woman Wang’s tea shop, amusing himself with Mistress Wu; that he went there every day. I thought I might see him there, and get thirty or fifty cash from him, but the old sow Wang wouldn’t let me in. She drove me away, and then I thought I’d come and see you. I was rather rude, but, if I hadn’t made you wild, you wouldn’t have asked me any questions.”
“Is this the truth?”
“Don’t you believe me?” the boy cried. “Didn’t I say you were a white-livered fellow? Those two are making merry at this very moment. They wait till you have gone out, and then they go and meet at the old woman’s house. You say, ‘Is this the truth?’ What reason have I for deceiving you?”
“Little brother, it is true. My wife goes every day to this old woman’s house to make clothes and shoes, and when she comes back she has a red face. My first wife left me with a little daughter. This woman beats her every morning and scolds her every night. She gives her hardly anything to eat. Lately she certainly has been looking as if something was on her mind. She looked balefully at me, and I wondered whether anything was wrong. You have told the truth. I will put my baskets down and go and catch these evil-doers in the act.”
“You may be old as years go,” Yun’ge said, “but for the little you know of the world, you might be a child. That old bitch Wang is not afraid of anybody. She would throw you out of the house. Besides, your wife and Ximen have a secret signal. If they knew you were coming, Ximen Qing would hide your wife. He is a very strong man and could dispose of twenty like you. You will never be able to touch him; much more likely you’ll find his fist in your mouth. He is so rich and powerful that he would bring an accusation against you, and have you hauled to the courts. You have nobody to help you, and you’d come to an unhappy end.”
“You are right, little brother, but what can I do to revenge myself?”
“I want revenge too,” Yun’ge said, “for the old woman beat me. Listen to me. Go home today, show no sign of being angry, and don’t say one word about th
e matter. Just behave as usual. Tomorrow, don’t make more than a few cakes. Go out with them. I shall be waiting at the entrance to the lane. If Ximen Qing comes, I will give you a call, and you can take your baskets and wait for me somewhere near by. I will go first and plague the old bitch. She will certainly come out to hit me. I will throw my basket far into the street, and then you can run in. I will hold the old woman, and you can rush into the room, and tell them what you think about them. Don’t you think that’s a good plan?”
“I am greatly indebted to you,” Wu Da said; “here are two strings of cash. Come early tomorrow and wait at the entrance to Amethyst Street.”
Yun’ge took the money and some of the cakes, and went off. Wu Da paid the reckoning, picked up his baskets, and went back to the street to sell his cakes. A little later he went home.
His wife had never ceased to grumble at him and had found a hundred ways of making life unpleasant to him, but of late her conscience had smitten her and she showed signs of relenting. This evening, when Wu Da came home with his baskets and said nothing, as was usual, she asked him to have some wine. He refused, saying he had already taken wine with some merchants. She laid out his supper, but still he did not offer to speak, and next morning, after breakfast, he made only two or three trays of cakes, and put them in his baskets. Jinlian was so taken up with her thoughts of Ximen Qing that she did not notice how many cakes he made. She waited impatiently until he had gone out and then went to the tea shop to wait for her lover.
Wu Da took his baskets to the entrance to Amethyst Street. Yun’ge, also with a basket, was looking around.
“Well?” Wu Da said.
“It is too soon yet. Go and sell your cakes till he comes. Wait at the corner, and don’t go far away.”
Wu Da hurried away, but was soon back again. “The moment you see me throw down my basket,” the boy said, “dash into the room.” Wu Da put down his own basket and waited.
Yun’ge went to the tea shop. “You old pig,” he said, in the most irritating tone he could command. “What did you mean by hitting me yesterday?”
The Golden Lotus, Volume 1 Page 12