Then Qintong came with the wrappers. Yuxiao asked if the ladies had returned. The boy told her that Madam Qiao had kept them, and that they had gone in to take a cup of wine with her. They would probably be back soon, he said. The two maids stopped quarreling.
Before long, Yueniang returned from Madam Qiao’s. When she reached the gate, Ben the Fourth’s wife came out to welcome her. Then Chen Jingji and Ben the Fourth brought a small set of fireworks and set it off outside the gate. Afterwards, Yueniang went in, and Li Jiao’er and the nun came and made reverence to her. Xue’e kowtowed.
“Where is his Lordship?” Yueniang said to Li Jiao’er.
“He came to my room,” Li Jiao’er said, “and I helped him to bed.” Yueniang said no more.
Yingchun, Chunmei, Yuxiao and Lanxiang came to kowtow to their mistress.
“Madam Ben the Fourth sent these four maids an invitation,” Li Jiao’er said. “They stayed a while and then came back.”
For some time Yueniang did not speak. Then she said: “You wonderful little bitches. What do you mean by going? Who told you you might go?”
“They asked their master’s permission before they went,’’ Li Jiao’er said.
“Asked his permission!” said Yueniang. “What is the use of asking him? This house is like a temple where the doors are opened early on the first and fifteenth days of every month so that all the little ghosts can run away.”
“Lady,” the nun said, “these sisters are just like pictures; how can you speak of them as little ghosts?”
“They look like half-painted pictures to me,” Yueniang said. “What right have they to go out for others to feast their eyes upon?”
Yulou saw that Yueniang was not in the best of tempers, and was the first to leave. Jinlian, Li Ping’er and Ximen Dajie went after her. Only the nun remained. She went to bed with Yueniang. The snow did not stop until the first night watch.
Next day, Ximen Qing went to his office. About midday, Yueniang, Yulou and Li Ping’er said good-bye to the nun. At the gate they saw an old country woman telling fortunes. She wore a pleated gown and a blue cloth skirt; there was a piece of black cloth over her head, and on her back she carried a bundle. She was walking along the street. Yueniang told a boy to go and bring her inside the second door to consult the divining diagram.
The old woman set out the spirit tortoise, and they asked her to tell their fortunes. She knelt down and kowtowed four times. “Lady, how old are you?” she asked Yueniang.
“Tell the fortune of a woman whose animal is the dragon,” Yueniang said.
“If you speak of the great dragon,” the old woman said, “the age is forty-two, but if it is the lesser dragon, it must be thirty.”
“I am thirty,” Yueniang said, “and I was born at midnight on the thirteenth day of the eighth month.”
The old woman cast the spirit tortoise. It turned once, and she took up one of the divining cards. On it was a picture of a man and a woman in the place of the master, and a number of servants, some sitting, some standing. They were all watching gold and silver and treasure being put in safety.
“Lady,” the old woman said, “you were born at the lucky hour of the Wu period. Now Wu and Ji together are like a great forest, and your being born in their conjunction means that you are a woman of benevolence and justice. You are generous and kind-hearted. You are charitable and devout and a supporter of the religious orders. You are, in fact, given to good works of every sort. All your life you have done your duties as a housewife; you are prepared to take the blame that others should have, and keep silence. Happiness and anger are both natural to you. But you do not manage your servants with great discretion. When you are pleased, you laugh long and heartily, and, when you are angry, you make a terrible to-do. In the early morning, when others are asleep, you burn fresh incense and wash the tripods. This while others sleep till the sun is long risen. Although by nature you are very quick, like wind and fire, yet you forget about a thing in a twinkling and you are ready to talk and laugh with anybody. There is a star of ill omen in the palace of diseases. You have to suffer from the babble of others. But you have a good heart, and so can overcome this, and you will live till you are seventy.”
“Tell us whether this lady will have a son,” Yulou said.
“I am sorry,” said the old woman, “but there is something uncertain about the sign for children. I seem to see that she will have a son in a religious order to see her soul into the next world. But I doubt whether any other children she may have will live, no matter how many they may be.”
“Your Wu Yingyuan is a priest already,” Yulou said to Li Ping’er, smiling.
Yueniang said to Yulou: “Let her tell your fortune.”
“Tell the fortune,” said Yulou, “of a woman aged thirty-four, born at the hour of the tiger on the twenty-seventh day of the eleventh month.”
The old woman again set the cards in order and cast the spirit tortoise. It stopped at the Star of Fate. She picked up a card on which was depicted a woman and three men. The first man was dressed as a traveling merchant, the second wore a red robe of ceremony, the third was a scholar. There was a room of gold and silver, and many servants stood on either hand.
“This lady was born in the year Jiazi,” the old woman said, “and when Jiazi comes into conjunction with Yichou, it is like gold in the ocean. But there are three deaths and six injuries indicated by Fate. All will be well when you have been a widow.”
“I have already been a widow once,” Yulou said.
“You are gentle, kind and good-tempered,” the old woman continued. “Nobody can tell whom you like and whom you dislike, because you never show it. You are respected by those below and loved by your husband, but, in spite of your kindness to others, you never win people’s hearts. You must take the blame for what others do, and backbiters will make trouble for you. Though you suffer this, no one will admit that you are kind. But you are good-hearted, and though you will have to put up with troublemakers, they will do you no real harm.”
Yulou laughed. “Only a moment ago,” she said, I asked for some money for the boys and there was trouble. I think that is what you must be thinking of when you talk about my being blamed for what others do.”
“Can you tell us whether this lady will have a son?” Yueniang said.
“At the best, she will have a daughter,” said the old woman. “Certainly not a son. But she will live long.”
“Now tell this other lady’s fortune,” Yueniang said to the old woman. “Sixth Sister, tell her your eight words.”
Li Ping’er laughed. “I am a sheep,” she said.
“If you are a lamb,” the old woman said, “you must be twenty-seven years old and you were born in the year Xinwei. What was the month?”
“Noon on the fifteenth day of the first month,” Li Ping’er said.
The old woman spun the turtle. When it came to the Star of Fate, it stopped dead. She picked up a paper on which was a picture of one woman and three men. The first was wearing red, the second green and the third black. The woman was carrying a child. In a room filled with treasures of gold and silver there stood a demon with black face, long fangs, and red hair.
“This lady,” the old woman said, “shows Gengwu in conjunction with Xinwei. It is as earth by the roadside. She is of high position and great wealth. She has food and clothing in plenty, and all her husbands are men of standing. There is virtue in her heart, and she does not care for money and treasure. Should she be robbed of them, she is happy nonetheless. Indeed, she will be angry if she is not. But she is plagued by people of little worth, and such people return her evil for good. Such evildoers disturb her peace, and begin their cunning tricks as soon as they have turned their eyes away from her. It is better to meet a tiger in a place where three roads meet, for then we can escape one way, than a man with a sword whose blade is double-edged.
“Lady, I hope you will forgive me. You are like a roll of fine red silk, yet one, alas, of no great length. Y
ou must exercise great self-control, and be on the lookout for danger to your child.”
“My child has been enrolled at the Daoist Temple,” Li Ping’er said.
“All to the good,” the old woman said, “but I must warn you that this year you are under the spell of the Jidu star and there are signs of blood. You must be particularly careful in the seventh and eighth months. Then you must not see anything that might disturb you.”
When the old woman had finished, Li Ping’er gave her five fen, and Yueniang and Yulou each gave her fifty coins. Then she was dismissed.
Jinlian and Ximen Dajie came. “No wonder I could not find you in the back court,” Jinlian said, laughing. “You were all here.”
“Yes,” Yueniang said, “we came to say good-bye to the nun, and then we had our fortunes told. If you had been a little earlier, you too could have had your fortunes told.”
“I don’t want my fortune told,” said Jinlian. “There is a proverb: ‘Fortunes may be foretold, but not our conduct.’ You remember how, some time ago, that priest said I had not long to live. It made me very depressed. But I don’t care. If I die in the street, bury me there. If I die on the road, bury me there. If I fall into a ditch, the ditch will serve as a coffin.”
She went with Yueniang to the inner court.
CHAPTER 47
The Villainy of Miao Qing
In the city of Guangling in Yangzhou in the province of Jiangnan, there lived a gentleman of standing in the official service whose name was Miao Tianxiu. He was extremely wealthy, a lover of poetry, and devoted to the Rites. He was now about forty years old, and his only child was a daughter, still unmarried. His wife suffered from a chronic wasting sickness, and the affairs of his household were entrusted to his favorite concubine, Diao the Seventh, who had originally been a woman of no great virtue. Master Miao had paid three hundred taels for her and was extremely fond of her.
One day, an old monk came to beg alms at the gate. He said that he came from the Temple of Thankfulness at the Eastern Capital. The monks there had determined to secure a golden Lohan, and he was traveling about begging for contributions.
Master Miao was no miser. He gave the monk fifty taels of silver.
“This is really more than I need,” the old monk said. “Half of this amount will be sufficient for me.”
But Miao said: “Don’t say that, Master. If there is more money than you need for the image, let the rest be spent on sacrifices.”
The monk made reverence to him and thanked him. As he was about to go away, he said, “Sir, beneath your left eye there is the sign of death. This presages great danger for you. You have been so generous to me that I can do no less than warn you. If you have business to do, on no account leave your native place. Be on your guard, be on your guard.” He went away.
A few weeks later, Master Miao happened to go to his garden and there found his servant Miao Qing talking to his concubine Diao the Seventh beside a summerhouse. They had not expected that he would come upon them so suddenly, and so he caught them. Master Miao said nothing, but he gave his servant a tremendous thrashing and swore he would get rid of him. Miao Qing was greatly alarmed and went about asking his relatives and neighbors to intercede for him. In the end he was allowed to stay, but, ever afterwards, he hated his master.
Master Miao had a cousin named Huang Mei, a graduate from Yangzhou. This man was a secretary at Kaifengfu, the Eastern Capital. He was a man of great learning and wide reading. One day he wrote to Master Miao suggesting that he should make a journey to the Capital, both for amusement and in the interests of his future career. Miao was delighted with the idea. He said to his wife and his concubine: “The Eastern Capital is the place for people of high standing, and there are hosts of interesting and beautiful things to see there. For a long time I have wanted to go there, but there was no particular reason why I should. Now my cousin sends me an invitation, and it is exactly what I should most enjoy.”
“The other day,” his wife said to him, “the monk told you that you were in grave danger and that you must not leave this place. It is a long way from here to the Capital, and there is plenty to busy you here at home. If you go away, you leave an invalid wife and a young daughter at home, and what we shall do if you go, I can’t imagine. I think you ought to stay.” But Master Miao did not agree. Indeed he almost lost his temper. “A man who lives in this world,” he said, “should carry bow and arrows. It is a disgraceful thing if a man cannot wander over the world to see the glory of his native land. I have a heart in my bosom and something in my pocket, and I am sure to acquire both renown and a position. My cousin must have something good in store for me. Please say no more about it.” He told Miao Qing to pack his clothes and get ready his baggage. So, with two chests of gold, silver, and other treasure, they had enough to load a boat. With a boy, Antong, and Miao Qing, he set off for the Eastern Capital. It was about the end of autumn and winter was near at hand, when he commended his household to the care of his wife and concubine, and chose a day to start upon his journey. Then he sailed from the wharf of Yangzhou. After a few days, they came to the lake of Xuzhou. The water was wild and the danger great.
When they had come to a place called Xiawan, Master Miao, seeing that it was late, ordered the boatman to lay up for the night. Now it was that his life was done, and the fate that he could not escape was upon him. The boatmen he had engaged, Chen the Third and Weng the Eighth, were both thieves. But, as the proverb says: ‘The Devil cannot get into a house without someone to let him in.’ Miao Qing had a burning hatred for his master and was waiting to get his revenge. He reflected that here was a chance for him. He might conspire with these two boatmen to push his master into the river, and so make an end of him, then he and the boatmen would share the plunder, and he would go home, murder his mistress, and enjoy his master’s concubine and the property.
Miao Qing and the boatmen secretly made a plot. He said to them: “There are a thousand taels of silver in my master’s chests. There is silk worth two thousand taels and many, many clothes. If you two will kill him, I am prepared to share with you.”
The two men laughed. “We had that same idea before you spoke to us,” they said.
That night it was very dark. Master Miao and the boy Antong were asleep in the cabin. Miao Qing was on watch. About the third night watch Miao Qing shouted: “Thief! Thief!” Master Miao woke from his dreams and pushed his head out of the cabin to look around. Chen stabbed him in the throat with a sharp knife. They threw him into the water. The boy Antong tried to escape, but Weng thrust at him with a stick, and he fell into the river.
Then the pair of ruffians went into the cabin, opened the chests and took out all that was valuable—gold and silver, silk and garments. These they counted and made ready to share. “If we keep these things,” the two men said to Miao Qing, “we shall be identified. But you were his servant. You can take them and sell them in some market and nobody will suspect you.” They shared the gold things among themselves and went home. Miao Qing boarded another boat and went to the wharf at Linqing. When the customs officers had examined him, he took all the things to an inn in the city of Qinghe. There he met some old merchants from Yangzhou. He told them that his master was coming later. Then he sold the property he had stolen.
The proverb says: Men think the world ought to be managed in such and such a way, but Providence thinks otherwise. Master Miao was a plain-living, good man, yet he was unexpectedly murdered by his own servant. Such a death was unnatural. He was to be blamed, because he did not take good advice when it was offered, but really there was no escape from the decision of Fate.
Antong was knocked senseless by the stick, but, though he fell into the water, he was not dead. He floated to a shallow place among the reeds. There came a fishing boat, and, in the boat, an old man. He wore on his head a round reed hat, and, on his body, a short coat of straw. When he heard a scream, he rowed his boat in the direction of the sound and found a boy of seventeen or eighteen years of
age. He quickly pulled the boy out of the water and asked what had happened. The boy told him that he was the servant of Master Miao of Yangzhou, and that they had been robbed on the river. The old fisherman took the boy into his boat, gave him clothes and food and drink. Then he said: “Do you wish to go back or will you live here with me?”
Antong said: “My master has been murdered, and I can never see him again. What is the use of my going back? I will stay with you.”
“Very well,” said the fisherman. “Live with me, and we shall, in time, find out something about the robbers. Then we will make new arrangements.”
Antong thanked the old man and went to live with him.
One day—it was the last day of the year—it was fated that something of importance should happen. The fisherman and Antong went down the river to sell fish. They came suddenly upon Chen the Third and Weng the Eighth drinking together on their boat. They were wearing the clothes of Antong’s master. When they came on shore to buy fish, the boy recognized them. He secretly told the old man. “Now,” he said, “my master’s death shall be avenged.”
“Write an accusation and bring them before the judge,” the old man said.
Antong wrote down his charge and took the paper to the office of the Inspector of the River, Major Zhou. The Major saw that the boy brought no witness or evidence with him, so he would have nothing to do with the case, and the boy went to the magistrate’s court. Magistrate Xia saw that the case was one of murder and robbery: he accepted the charge and, on the fourteenth day of the first month, sent the watch with Antong to arrest the murderers at Qinghe. When they were examined and saw Antong there, they did not wait to be tortured but told the truth at once. They said that Miao Qing had been concerned with them in the murder, that he had taken a share of the things and gone his own way. Magistrate Xia ordered them to be put back in prison and ordered Miao Qing’s arrest. He decided to give sentence when Miao Qing had been brought before him.
The Golden Lotus, Volume 1 Page 75