Chapter 11

Shao Linzi The daughter of a certain old man of Linzi was the wife of Li, a student of the Imperial College. Before she was married, a fortune-teller calculated her horoscope and determined that she would certainly suffer official punishment. The old man was angry at him; but then laughed, saying, "Nonsense to such a degree! Not to mention that a daughter of a prominent family would never appear in court; how could a student of the Imperial College not be able to protect his wife?" After she was married, she became extremely shrewish, and it was her habit to point at and curse her husband. Li could not bear her abuse, and angrily lodged a complaint with the magistrate. The county magistrate, Mr. Shao, accepted his petition, signed a warrant, and immediately sent bailiffs to summon her. The old man heard of it, was greatly alarmed, and led his sons and younger relatives to the court, begging and pleading for the case to be dropped. He did not permit it. Li also regretted it himself and asked to withdraw. The magistrate angrily said, "Within the public court, are the starting and stopping entirely up to you? She must be arrested and tried!" When she arrived, after briefly questioning her for a couple of sentences, he said, "A true shrew!" He had her caned thirty strokes, and the flesh of her buttocks was completely stripped off. The Historian Extraordinary said, "Could the magistrate have had some personal grievance against the inner chambers? Why was his anger so violent? Yet when a county has a worthy magistrate, the village has no shrews. I record this to supplement what the 'Biographies of Upright Officials' does not cover." Yu Qu'e Tao Shengyu of Beiping was a renowned scholar. During the Shunzhi reign, he went to the provincial examinations and lodged in the outskirts of the city. One day, he happened to go out and saw a man carrying a bamboo backpack, looking weary, as if he had not yet found a place to stay. He briefly questioned him, whereupon the man set down his load on the road and they engaged in conversation. His discourse had the air of a famous scholar. Tao was greatly pleased and invited him to share his lodgings. The guest was delighted, took his satchel, and entered, and so they dwelt together. The guest himself said: "I am a native of Shuntian, surnamed Yu, given name Qu'e." Because Tao was slightly older, he treated him as an elder brother. Yu did not enjoy sightseeing; he often sat alone in a room, yet there were no books on his desk. When Tao did not converse with him, he would simply lie in silence. Tao found this strange and searched his satchel and boxes; aside from a writing brush and inkstone, there was nothing else of note. Surprised, he asked about it. Yu laughed and said: "When we scholars study, do we wait until thirsty to dig a well?" One day, he borrowed a book from Tao, shut the door, and copied it very rapidly; in a whole day he finished more than fifty sheets, yet Tao did not see him fold them into scrolls. Secretly watching, he saw that each time a draft was completed, he would burn the ashes and swallow them. Tao was even more astonished and asked the reason. Yu said: "I use this to substitute for reading." Then he recited the copied book, several chapters in a moment, without a single error. Tao was delighted and wished to learn his method, but Yu considered it impossible. Tao suspected he was being miserly, and his words carried a tone of reproach. Yu said: "Brother, you truly do not understand me deeply. If I do not speak, this heart cannot be revealed; if I speak abruptly, I fear you will be startled as by a strange apparition. What is to be done?" Tao insisted: "No matter." Yu said: "I am not human; I am a ghost. Now in the underworld, official posts are awarded through examinations. On the fourteenth day of the seventh month, I am summoned to test the lian guan; on the fifteenth, the candidates enter the examination hall, and at month's end the results will be posted." Tao asked: "What is the test for lian guan?" He replied: "This is the Supreme God's intention of careful scrutiny. Whether bird officials or turtle officials, all are tested. Those who can write well are employed as inner-hall examiners; those who are not proficient are not permitted to participate. For the underworld has its various gods, just as the living world has its prefects and magistrates. Those gentlemen who succeed, if their eyes have never seen the classics and historical records, are merely youths who once used a door-knocker to win official rank; once the door is opened, they discard it. Then they manage documents for a decade or more—even if they were literary scholars, would they still have any characters in their breasts? The reason that in the living world the vulgar and inferior advance by luck while heroes fail to achieve their ambitions is precisely the lack of this one examination." Tao deeply agreed, and from then on he grew even more reverent and awed. One day, Yu came from outside with a worried look and sighed, saying: "I was born poor and lowly, and thought that after death I could escape it; who would have thought that the god of adversity would follow me even to the underworld!" Tao asked the reason. He said: "The Wenchang Emperor has been ordered to go to the Duluo Kingdom to be enfeoffed as king, so the examination for lian guan has been suspended. For decades, wandering spirits and wastrel demons have mixed into the judging of essays—how can we have any hope?" Tao asked: "Who are these people?" He said: "Even if I tell you, you would not know them. To give a few examples, you may get the general idea: the music master Shi Kuang, and the treasury keeper He Qiao. I think that fate cannot be relied upon, nor literary skill depended on; it is better to give up." Having said this, he looked dejected and began to pack his belongings. Tao held him back and comforted him, and so he stopped. On the evening of the fifteenth of the seventh month, he said to Tao: "I am about to enter the examination hall. I must trouble you, at dawn, to take a stick of incense to the eastern fields and call out 'Qu'e' three times, and I will come." Then he went out the door. Tao bought wine and prepared fresh food to await him. When the east grew light, he respectfully did as instructed. Before long, Yu arrived with a young man. Tao asked his name. Yu said: "This is Fang Zijin, my good friend. I just happened to meet him in the examination grounds. He has heard of your great reputation and deeply wishes to make your acquaintance." They went together to the lodgings, lit candles, and exchanged courtesies. The young man was graceful as jade, with a modest and gentle bearing, and Tao was very fond of him. He then asked: "With Zijin's fine work, you must have been greatly satisfied?" Yu said: "It is laughable to speak of it! In the examination hall, of the seven essays, he had written more than half; then he carefully examined the name of the chief examiner, wrapped up his things, and walked straight out. An extraordinary man!" Tao fanned the stove and warmed wine, then asked: "What were the topics in the hall? Will Qu'e be the top candidate?" Yu said: "One essay on the Classics and one on the Confucian canon—everyone can do those. The policy question asked: 'Since ancient times, depravity has certainly been abundant, but in today's worldly customs, lewdness and ugly manners are increasingly beyond description; not only are they not fully covered by the eighteen hells, they are also not containable by them. By what means can this be remedied? Some say that one or two additional hells should be added, but that would greatly violate the Supreme God's heart of loving life. Should they be added or not, or is there another way to cleanse the source? You many scholars should state all you know without concealment.' Though my policy essay was not excellent, it was quite forthright. The memorial topic: 'Proposed that after the heavenly demons are annihilated, the ministers be rewarded with dragon-horses and celestial garments according to rank.' Next were the 'Poem in Response to an Imperial Decree at the Jasper Pool' and the 'Rhapsody on the Peach Blossoms of the Western Lake.' For these three pieces, I dare say there was no equal in the hall!" Having said this, he clapped his hands. Fang laughed and said: "For now, you may be pleased and let you have the first place; but if you do not weep in a few days, then you are truly a man." At dawn, Fang wished to take his leave. Tao urged him to stay in the same lodgings, but Fang would not; he only promised to return at dusk. For three days, he did not come again. Tao sent Yu to look for him. Yu said: "There is no need. Zijin is earnest; he is not without intention." When the sun had set, Fang indeed came. He produced a scroll and handed it to Tao, saying: "I have broken my promise for three days. I have respectfully copied over a hundred of my old compositions, begging for your appraisal." Tao took it and read it with great joy, praising every sentence. After going through only the first two pieces, he stored it in a box. They talked until late at night, and then Fang stayed and shared a bed with Yu. From then on, this became the norm: Fang came every night without fail, and Tao was never unhappy without Fang. One evening, Fang rushed in and said to Tao: "The earthly list has been posted; Brother Wu (Yu) has failed!" Yu was lying down; upon hearing this, he started up in alarm and wept with tears streaming. The two of them did their utmost to comfort him, and only then did the tears stop. Yet they sat facing each other in silence, utterly unbearable. Fang said: "I have just heard that the Grand Circuit Inspector, General Zhang Huanhou, is about to arrive. I fear that those who have lost their ambitions may start rumors; otherwise, the literary examination may still have reversals." Hearing this, Yu brightened with joy. Tao asked the reason. He said: "Huanhou, Yide (Zhang Fei), makes a tour of the underworld every thirty years, and a tour of the living world every thirty-five years. The injustices between the two realms are cleared away by this old man." Then he rose and took Fang away with him. They returned only after two nights, and Fang happily said to Tao: "Will you not congratulate Brother Wu? Huanhou arrived the night before last, tore up the earthly list, and only one-third of the names on it remained. He thoroughly reviewed the discarded papers, found Brother Wu and was greatly pleased, and recommended him as the Patrolling Sea Emissary to Jiaonan. The carriage and horses will arrive shortly." Tao was overjoyed and set out wine to offer congratulations. After several rounds of drinking, Yu asked Tao: "Do you have any spare rooms in your house?" Tao asked: "What for?" He said: "Zijin is an orphan without a homeland, and he cannot bear to be indifferent to you, brother. I intend to borrow a lodging for him to depend on us." Tao was delighted and said: "If so, it is a great fortune. Even if there are not many rooms, sharing the same bed is no hindrance. But I have a stern father; I must first inform him." Yu said: "I know well that your honored father is kind and generous, and can be relied upon. Your examination date is approaching; if Zijin cannot wait, why not let him return first?" Tao kept him as a companion in the inn, waiting to return home together. The next day, at dusk, a carriage and horses arrived at the gate to escort Yu to his post. Yu rose and shook hands with Tao, saying: "We part from here. I have one word I wish to tell you, but I fear it may block your keen ambition." Tao asked: "What is it?" He said: "Your fate is obstructed; you were born at the wrong time. Your chances in this examination are one in ten; in the next examination, when Huanhou comes to the world and justice first shines, three in ten; only in the third examination can you have hope." On hearing this, Tao wished to give up. Yu said: "Not so. This is all destiny. Even if you know it is impossible, the hardships decreed by fate must also be fully experienced." Then he turned to Fang and said: "Do not delay; today's year, month, day, and hour are all auspicious, so I will send you back with the carriage and canopy. I will ride my horse and go myself." Fang cheerfully bowed and took his leave. Tao was confused and disoriented, not knowing what to say; he only waved and wept as he saw them off. He saw the carriage and horse take separate roads, and in a moment they both disappeared. Only then did he regret that Fang had gone north without leaving a single word, but it was too late. After completing the three examination sessions, he was not fully satisfied and returned home wearily. Upon entering the door, he asked about Zijin, but no one in the family knew of him. Then he told his father about it. His father was pleased and said: "If so, then the guest has already been here for a long time." Earlier, Tao's father had been napping during the day and dreamed that a carriage and canopy stopped at his gate; a handsome young man stepped out of the carriage and entered the hall to bow. Surprised, he asked where he came from. The young man replied: "My elder brother promised me a lodging, but because he could not accompany me from the examination hall, I have come ahead." Having said this, he asked to be presented to his mother. Weng Fangqian drew back, just as the old housekeeper entered and said, "The mistress has borne you a son." He suddenly woke with a start, and found it most strange. That day, when Tao spoke, it happened to match the dream exactly, and he then knew that the boy was the reincarnation of Zijin. Father and son each rejoiced, and named him Xiao Jin. When the child was first born, he was prone to crying at night, and his mother was vexed by it. Tao said, "If this is indeed Zijin, when I see him, the crying should stop." It was a vulgar superstition to fear the harm of guests, so Tao was not allowed to see him. But when his mother could bear the crying no longer, she called Tao in. Tao soothed him, saying, "Zijin, do not do this! I am here!" The child was crying fiercely, but upon hearing the voice he stopped, fixing his gaze without blinking, as if examining him. Tao stroked his head and left. From then on, he never cried again. After a few months, Tao did not dare see him; the moment he appeared, the child would bend his waist and reach out to be held, and if he left, he would cry uncontrollably. Tao also grew fond of him. At four years old, he left his mother and would sleep with his elder brother; when his brother went out, he would pretend to sleep, waiting for his return. His brother taught him the *Book of Songs* by the pillow, and his recitation was soft and murmuring, getting through more than forty lines a night. When given Zijin's surviving writings to study, he read them with delight and recited them from memory after a single reading; but when tested with other texts, he could not do the same. By eight or nine, his features were clear and bright, and he was the very image of Zijin. Tao twice entered the provincial examinations, but failed both times. In the year Dingyou, when the examination scandals broke out, many examiners were executed or banished, and the path of the provincial-graduate selection was thoroughly purified—all thanks to the efforts of Zhang Xunhuan. Tao, in the next examination, came in as a secondary candidate and soon became a tribute scholar. He then abandoned all ambition for official advancement, retired into seclusion, and taught his younger brother. He often said to others, "With such joy as this, not even the Hanlin Academy could compare." The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Whenever I go to the temple of Master Zhang, and gaze upon his brows and beard, I feel an awe-inspiring vitality. Moreover, in his lifetime, his voice was hoarse and thunderous, and wherever his spear and horse went, he brought great satisfaction, surpassing all expectations. The world, because the general loved martial arts, placed him in the ranks of Guan and Zhou; but how could they know that the affairs of literature are many, and that such marquises are indeed numerous? Alas! Thirty-five years—why did he come so late!" **The Mad Scholar** Preceptor Liu said: "In Jining there was a certain mad scholar, who was fond of drinking. His family had not even a picul of grain, yet whenever he got money he would buy wine, utterly unconcerned by his poverty. When a new prefect arrived, who was a great drinker without rival, he heard of the scholar's reputation and invited him to drink, taking pleasure in his company, and they often feasted and talked together. The scholar, relying on their intimacy, would accept petty bribes whenever anyone with a minor grievance sought his intercession, and would put in a good word for them; the prefect invariably granted his requests. The scholar grew accustomed to this, but the prefect began to feel disgust. One morning during the court session, the scholar presented his visiting card and entered the hall. The prefect looked at it and smiled faintly. The scholar cried out harshly, 'If my request accords with your judgment, grant it; if not, deny it. Why do you smile? I have heard it said: a scholar may be killed but not humiliated. I may not be able to avenge other wrongs, but can I not avenge a smile?' With that, he burst into laughter, which shook the walls of the hall. The prefect, enraged, said, 'How dare you be so insolent! Have you not heard of the magistrate who annihilates families?' The scholar swung his arms and strode down, shouting, 'I am a licentiate—I have no family to annihilate!' The prefect grew even angrier and had him arrested. Upon inquiring into his home, he found that he had neither fields nor house, but merely lived with his wife on the city wall. When the prefect heard this, he released him, but ordered him not to dwell on the ramparts. His friends, pitying his madness, bought him a few feet of land and a tiny hut. When he moved in, he sighed and said, 'From now on, I fear the magistrate!'" The Historian of the Strange remarks: "When a gentleman upholds the law and observes propriety, and does not dare to rob men in the market, what can those who face south do to me? Yet they can still harm one if they bear enmity, simply because one has a family to lose; but when there is no family to annihilate, then the angry man has no further means to harm him. Ah! Is this not what is called 'the poor and lowly making proud their station'? Yet though a gentleman may be poor, he does not lightly impose on others; to trouble the public court with the burden of his belly and his tongue—that is beneath his dignity. Even so, his madness is beyond reach." **Chenghu Customs** In Chenghu, many people transform into creatures and leave their homes to seek food. Once, when a traveller was staying at an inn, he saw a swarm of rats entering the rice jar. He drove them away, and they fled. He waited for them to enter again, then suddenly covered the jar and poured a gourd of water into it; within a short time, they were all dead. The entire family of the innkeeper dropped dead on the spot, leaving only one son alive. The case was brought before the magistrate, who, upon investigation, pardoned him. **Fengxian** Liu Chishui was a native of Pingle. In his youth he was clever and handsome. At fifteen he entered the prefectural school. His parents died early, and so he gave himself up to idle pleasures and ruined his prospects. His family was not wealthy, but he was fond of adornment, and his bed and coverlets were all exquisite. One evening, he was invited out for a drink and forgot to extinguish his candle before leaving. After several rounds of wine, he suddenly remembered, and hurried back. Hearing low voices in his room, he peered through a crack and saw a young man embracing a beautiful woman, asleep on his bed. His house was near an abandoned mansion belonging to a noble family, and there were always strange happenings; he knew in his heart they were foxes, and was not frightened. He entered and cried out: "How can one snore on my couch!" The two were flustered, and clutching their clothes, fled naked. They left behind a pair of purple silk trousers, with a needle-case tied to the belt. He was overjoyed, and fearing they would steal it back, hid it in his coverlet and hugged it. Soon a dishevelled maid entered through the crack in the door and asked Liu to return it. Liu smilingly demanded a ransom. She offered to give him wine; he did not agree. She offered gold; again he did not agree. She laughed and went away. Soon she returned and said: "The eldest young lady says: if you will give it back, she will repay you with a fine match." Liu asked: "Who is she?" She said: "Our family is surnamed Pi. The eldest young lady's childhood name is Baxian; the one who lay with her was Mr. Hu. The second young lady is Shuixian, married to Master Ding of Fuchuan. The third young lady is Fengxian, who is even more beautiful than the two older ones; you will certainly be pleased." Liu feared they might break their word, and asked to sit and wait for good news. The maid went and returned, saying: "The eldest young lady sends word to you: how can such a happy matter be concluded at once? Just now I spoke to her about it, and she only reviled me. But wait a while; our family does not make light promises and then break them." Liu accepted this. After several days, there was no news. At dusk, he returned from outside. He had just closed the door and sat down, when suddenly the double doors opened of themselves, and two people carried a young lady on a quilt, holding the four corners, and came in, saying: "We have brought the new bride!" Laughing, they placed her on the bed and left. He drew near and saw that she was sound asleep, not yet awake; her wine-breath was still fragrant, her flushed face and drunken pose were surpassingly lovely. Overjoyed, he took her feet and removed her socks, embraced her and gently took off her clothes. The young lady was already slightly roused; opening her eyes and seeing Liu, her limbs could not move; she only said resentfully: "The wanton maid Baxian has sold me!" Liu caressed and embraced her. The young lady, disliking his cold skin, smiled and said: "What evening is this, that I see this cool person?" Liu replied: "O you, O you, what can you do with this cool person?" And so they delighted in each other. Afterwards she said: "The maid is shameless, defiling a man's bed, and trading me for a pair of trousers! I will surely repay her in some small way." From that night on she came every evening, and their intimacy was very deep. She took from her sleeve a gold bracelet and said: "This is Baxian's thing." After a few more days, she brought a pair of embroidered shoes, inlaid with pearls and worked in gold, of exquisite craftsmanship, and urged Liu to show them off. Liu took them out and displayed them to relatives and friends. All who asked to see them offered wine and money as gifts, and thus he made a rare commodity of them. One night the young lady came and spoke words of parting. He asked in surprise why. She replied: "My elder sister is angry with me because of those shoes, and wants to take the whole family far away, cutting me off from you." Liu was frightened and offered to return them. She said: "No need. She is using that to coerce me. If I return them, I will fall into her trap." Liu asked: "Why not stay alone?" She said: "My parents are going far away, and the whole family of more than ten people are all entrusted to Hu Lang's management. If I do not go with them, I fear that long-tongued woman will make mischief." From then on she did not come again. After two years, his longing for her was intense. By chance on the road he met a young lady riding a slow-paced horse, with an old servant leading it; they brushed shoulders as they passed; she raised the screening gauze to peer back at him, and her bearing was surpassingly beautiful. Soon a young man came from behind and said: "Who is that lady? She seems quite lovely." Liu praised her warmly. The young man bowed with a smile and said: "You flatter me too much! That is my humble wife." Liu, flustered and ashamed, apologized. The young man said: "No matter. But among the three Ges of Nanyang, you have got the dragon; as for this insignificant one, she is not worth mentioning!" Liu was puzzled by his words. The young man said: "Do you not recognize the one who lay with you on your bed?" Liu then realized he was Hu. They exchanged courtesies as fellow sons-in-law, joking and teasing merrily. The young man said: "My father-in-law has just returned; I am going to pay my respects. Will you come with me?" Liu was pleased and followed him into Ying Mountain. On the mountain there was a mansion formerly built by the locals as a refuge from chaos. The young lady dismounted and went in. After a short while, several people came out and looked, saying: "Master Liu has also come." They entered and paid respects to the old man and old woman. Another young man was already there, his boots and robes splendid. The old man said: "This is my son-in-law Ding of Fuchuan." They all bowed and took their seats. Soon wine and meats were arrayed, and conversation was pleasant. The old man said: "Today all three sons-in-law are gathered; this may be called a fine assembly. There are no other people; we may call the girls out to make a family reunion." Shortly, the sisters all came out. The old man ordered seats arranged, each beside her husband. Baxian, seeing Liu, only covered her mouth and laughed; Fengxian bantered with him; Shuixian was somewhat less beautiful, but dignified and gentle; throughout the table's talk, she only held her wine and smiled. Then shoes and slippers mingled, and the scent of orchids and musk perfumed the air; they drank and were very happy. Liu saw that musical instruments were fully laid out by the bedside, so he took a jade flute and asked to play a tune to wish the old man longevity. The old man was pleased, and ordered those who were skilled each to perform; whereupon everyone vied to take up instruments; only Ding and Fengxian did not take any. Baxian said: "It is all right that Ding Lang is not versed in them; but you—can you keep your fingers from stretching?" Thereupon she tossed the clappers into Fengxian's bosom, and she played a rapid tune. The old man said happily: "The joy of the family is complete! You girls can all sing and dance; why not each show your best?" Baxian rose and took Shuixian, saying: "Fengxian has always treasured her voice and dares not trouble her; the two of us can sing the tune of 'The Goddess of the Luo River'." When the two had finished their song and dance, a maid came in with a golden tray of fruits, none of whose names they knew. The old man said: "These were brought from Zhenla; they are called 'tianpoluo'." He then took a handful and put them before Ding. Fengxian said displeased: "Does a son-in-law's treatment depend on whether he is rich or poor?" The old man gave a faint smile and did not reply. Baxian said: "Father treats Ding Lang as a guest because he comes from another district. But if we speak of seniority, is Feng sister the only one with a sour husband the size of a fist?" Fengxian remained unhappy; she took off her fine ornaments, handed the drum and clappers to the maid, and sang an aria from "Breaking the Kiln", her voice choked with tears. When it ended, she flicked her sleeve and went straight out; the whole company was displeased. Baxian said: "This girl's perverse temper is just as before." She went after her, but did not know where she had gone. Liu, ashamed, also took his leave and went home. Halfway there, he saw Fengxian sitting by the roadside; she called him to sit with her. She said: "You are a man; can you not vent your anger for the one who shares your pillow? The golden house is itself in books; I hope you will strive well!" She lifted her foot and said: "I left in haste, and the thorns have torn my lined shoes. Do you still have the thing you were given?" Liu produced it. She took it and exchanged it for her torn ones. Liu asked for the torn pair. She smiled and said: "You are indeed a rascal! Have you ever seen anyone who keeps the bedding and pillow of others in his bosom? If you truly love me, I can give you something." She then took out a mirror and handed it to him, saying: "If you wish to see me, seek me in your books; otherwise, we shall not meet again." Having said this, she vanished. He returned disconsolate. When he looked in the mirror, he saw Fengxian standing with her back to him, like a person seen from a hundred paces away. Mindful of her instructions, he dismissed guests and lowered the curtains. One day, he saw the figure in the mirror suddenly turn to face him, beaming as if about to laugh, and he valued her all the more. When no one was about, he would constantly face it with her. After a month, his keen resolve began to wane, and he roamed about, forgetting to return. When he came back and saw the mirror image, it looked mournful, as if tearful. When he looked again the next day, she stood with her back to him as before. Then he realized it was because he had neglected his studies. He therefore shut himself up and studied diligently, day and night without cease; after another month, the image again turned outward. Thereafter he tested it: whenever he idled away his time, her countenance was sad; after several days of hard study, her countenance smiled. Thus he hung it before him morning and evening, as if facing a tutor. After two years of this, he passed the examination at the first attempt. Joyfully he said: "Now I can face my Fengxian!" He took up the mirror and looked, and saw her eyebrows painted long and curved, her teeth like melon seeds slightly revealed, a happy expression as if she could be held in the hand, vividly before him. He was overwhelmed with love and stared without end. Suddenly the figure in the mirror laughed and said: "The lover in the shadow, the beloved in the painting—that is what this is now." Startled and delighted, he looked around, and Fengxian was already at his side. They clasped hands and asked after the old man and old woman. She said: "After I left you, I did not return home; I hid in a rocky cave, sharing your hardships for a while." Liu was to attend a banquet in the prefectural city; the young lady asked to go with him. They went together in one carriage, and people facing them could not see her. When it was time to return, she secretly planned with Liu to pretend that he had married a wife in the prefectural city. After the girl returned home, she began to appear before guests and manage household affairs. Everyone was astonished by her beauty, but none knew she was a fox. Liu was a disciple of the magistrate of Fuchuan; he went to call on him. There he met Ding, who eagerly invited him to his home and treated him with great courtesy and generosity. He said, "My father- and mother-in-law have recently moved elsewhere. My wife has gone to visit her parents and will soon return. I shall send a letter to her and also go to offer congratulations." Liu had at first suspected that Ding was also a fox, but upon careful inquiry into his native place and clan, he learned that he was the son of a wealthy merchant of Fuchuan. Originally, Ding had been returning home one evening from his country villa when he encountered Shuixian walking alone. Seeing her beauty, he cast a sidelong glance at her. The girl asked to ride with him. Delighted, Ding took her into his carriage, brought her to his study, and shared his bed with her. Through the lattice gaps she could enter, and only then did he realize she was a fox. The girl said, "Sir, do not doubt me. Because I see your sincerity and honesty, I am willing to entrust myself to you." Ding doted on her and never took another wife. When Liu returned, he borrowed a spacious mansion from a wealthy family, prepared guest quarters, and had them swept and cleaned until they were spotless. But he was troubled by the lack of furnishings; overnight, however, when he looked, they were resplendently appointed. After a few days, indeed more than thirty people arrived, bearing banners, colored silks, wines, and gifts; carriages and horses thronged the courtyard and lanes. Liu ushered the old man, Ding, and Hu into the guest hall; Fengxian escorted the old lady and the two aunts into the inner chambers. Baxian said, "This little maid is now honored—she no longer resents her matchmaker, does she? Are the bracelets and shoes still there?" The girl searched them out and handed them over, saying, "The shoes are the same as before, but they have been seen through by a thousand people." Baxian struck her on the back with a shoe and said, "I flog you and send you to stay with Liu." Then she threw it into the fire and prayed, "When new, they bloom like flowers; when old, they fade like flowers. Treasure them, never worn—Chang'e will come to borrow them." Shuixian also prayed on her behalf: "Once they caged jade bamboo shoots, worn they won ten thousand praises. If Chang'e should see them, she would pity their too-slender form." Fengxian stirred the fire and said, "Night after night I ascend the blue sky; one morning I leave my beloved behind, leaving only slender shadow to show all the world." Then she rubbed the ashes into a tray, heaped them into more than ten portions, and when she saw Liu approaching, she held them out to present to him. He saw the tray filled with embroidered shoes, all exactly like the original style. Baxian quickly came out, pushed the tray, and sent it falling to the ground; one or two shoes still remained on the floor, and she bent down and blew on them until their traces vanished. The next day, because the journey was long, Ding and his wife left first. Baxian was greedy for fun with her younger sister, and her father and Hu repeatedly urged her to go; only at noon did she come out and depart with the rest. When they had first arrived, the retinue was so splendid that the onlookers crowded like a market. Two bandits caught sight of the beauties and were so lost in spirit that they plotted to waylay them on the road. They watched until the party left the village and then followed at a distance. They were within less than a bowshot, but the horses ran at full speed and could not be caught. At one place, two cliffs flanked the road; the carriage slowed somewhat—they caught up, drew their swords, and shouted fiercely. Everyone fled. They dismounted and lifted the carriage curtain—only to find an old woman seated inside. They were just wondering if they had mistakenly seized someone's mother, and as they looked elsewhere, a soldier wounded one's right arm, and in a moment he was bound. Looking closely, the cliffs were not cliffs at all but the city gate of Pingle; and in the carriage was the mother of a certain Jinshi Li, returning from the countryside. The second bandit, arriving later, was also caught after his horse's leg was broken. The gate guards arrested them and delivered them to the prefect; under interrogation they confessed. At that time there was a great bandit who had not yet been captured; upon questioning, they turned out to be those very men. The next spring, Liu passed the imperial examinations. Because Fengxian had brought trouble, she declined all congratulations from her relatives on her mother's side. Liu also never married another. When he became a Lang official, he took a concubine and had two sons. The Historian comments: "Alas! The ways of cold and warmth are no different between immortals and mortals. 'If one does not strive in youth, old age will bring only vain regret.' It is a pity there is no competitive beauty to mirror one's sorrow and laughter. I wish that all the sands of the Ganges—countless immortals—would send their lovely daughters to marry into the human world; then in the sea of poverty, the suffering of sentient beings would be somewhat lessened." Tong Ke Dong, a man from Xuzhou, was fond of swordsmanship and always boasted of his prowess. Once on the road he met a traveler riding a donkey alongside him. He conversed with him; his talk was bold and unrestrained. He asked his surname and given name; the man said, "My surname is Tong, from Liaoyang." Asked where he was going, he replied, "I have been away from home for twenty years and have just returned from overseas." Dong said, "You have roamed the four seas and seen many people—have you ever met any extraordinary men?" Tong said, "What sort of extraordinary man do you mean?" Dong then described his own fondness and his regret at not having received a transmission from an extraordinary man. Tong said, "Extraordinary men are everywhere; but one must be a loyal subject and filial son before one can receive their arts." Dong then confidently affirmed himself; he drew his sword, strummed it and sang, and then cut down a small tree by the roadside to show its sharpness. Tong stroked his beard and smiled, then asked to see it. Dong handed it over. After examining it for a moment, Tong said, "This is made of inferior iron, corroded by sweat—it is the lowest grade. Though I have not studied swordsmanship, I do have a sword that is fairly usable." He then produced from under his clothes a short blade about a foot long and used it to cut Dong's sword; it broke like a melon or gourd, slanted and clean, like a horse's hoof. Dong was terrified and asked to hold it; he wiped and fondled it several times before returning it. He invited Tong to his home and insisted he stay for a couple of days. He asked about sword techniques; Tong pleaded ignorance. Dong sat with his hand on his knee and spoke grandly; Tong merely listened respectfully. When the night was deep, suddenly he heard a commotion in the next courtyard. That courtyard was where his father lived; his heart was startled and uneasy. He pressed near the wall and listened intently; he heard an angry voice saying, "Tell your son to come out at once and face punishment, and we will spare you!" Shortly after, there seemed to be sounds of beating and groaning without cease—it was indeed his father. Dong seized a spear and wanted to go. Tong stopped him, saying, "If you go now, you will likely not survive; you should plan for all contingencies." Dong anxiously asked for instruction. Tong said, "The bandits have named you and will certainly have their way with you. You have no other blood relatives; you should entrust your last affairs to your wife. I will open the door and rouse your servants for you." Dong agreed and went in to tell his wife. His wife clutched his clothes and wept. Dong's heroic resolve immediately faded, and together they climbed up to the tower, searching for bows and arrows to defend against the bandits. While they were still in a flurry, they heard Tong laughing from the eaves of the tower: "The bandits have fortunately gone." They lit a candle—he had vanished. They hesitated and came out; they saw that the old man had gone to a neighbor's for drinks and was just returning with a lantern; only in the courtyard there were many ashes of woven rushes left behind. Then they knew Tong was an extraordinary man. The Historian comments: "Loyalty and filial piety are the very blood and nature of man. In ancient times, ministers and sons who could not die for their lord and father—at first did they not also have the moment of seizing weapons and going forth? All were misled by a single turn of thought. In former times, Xie Jin and Fang Xiaoru swore to die together, but in the end Xie broke his word. How do we know that after he made that vow and returned home, he did not listen to the weeping of the one at his bedside? In our town there was a swift messenger who often did not return home for several days; his wife then had an affair with a rascal in the village. One day he returned and saw a young man coming out of the bedroom; he was greatly suspicious and pressed his wife bitterly. She would not confess. Then he found the young man's belongings by the bed; his wife was embarrassed and had no words, only kneeling and begging for mercy. The man was furious; he threw a rope at her and forced her to hang herself. His wife asked to dress up before dying; he agreed. She then went into the room to do her makeup, while he drank and waited, urging her on with harsh shouts. Soon his wife came out in splendid attire, weeping and bowing, saying, 'Do you truly have the heart to make me die?' He glared at her angrily. She turned and went back into the room and was about to tie the noose when he threw down his cup and shouted, 'Hey—come back! A green turban won't necessarily crush a man to death.' And so they became husband and wife again as before. This is of the same sort as that great scholar—one laughs at it." Liaoyang Soldier A certain man from Yishui, in the late Ming, was conscripted as a soldier in Liaoyang. When the city fell, he was killed by the disorderly soldiers; though his head was cut off, he was not quite dead. At night, a man came holding a register and checked off the ghosts one by one. When he came to this man, he said he should not have died and ordered his attendants to reattach his head and send him back. So they took his head and placed it back on his neck, supported him, and the wind whistled as they carried him along. After some time they set him down and left. He looked around—it was his native village. The magistrate of Yishui, hearing of this, suspected he had deserted. He had him arrested and interrogated, and after learning the story, did not believe it. He examined his neck and found no trace of a cut; he was about to execute him. The man said, "My words cannot be proven, but please imprison me for now. A severed head might be fake, but the fall of the city cannot be fake. If Liaoyang is found to be intact, then I will accept punishment without delay." The magistrate agreed. A few days later, news came from Liaoyang, and the dates matched exactly what he had said; so he was released. Zhang Gongshi Anqiu Zhang Gongshi, lying ill in bed, lay supine at the head of the bed. Suddenly he saw a little man emerge from his heart, only half a chi tall; wearing a scholar's cap and scholar's robes, he made the appearance of a performer. He sang a Kunshan tune, his pitch and tone clear and penetrating; in his spoken parts, he announced his own name and native place, all exactly the same as his own; the episodes he sang were all the events of his own life. When the four acts were finished, he recited a poem and vanished. Zhang still remembered the general outline and related it to others. Gao Xiyuan, when he met Mr. Qiyuan, once asked in detail, and he still related the libretto, but regrettably could not recall it all. Gao Xiyuan said: "Formerly, when I read Mr. Yuyang's *Chibei Outan*, I saw an entry about a little man in the heart, recording the affair of a certain Zhang of Anqiu. I had always been on good terms with Zhang Maojun of Anqiu, and supposed he must be of that clan. One day, when we met, I inquired about it, and then learned that it was indeed Maojun's own affair. I asked for the full account; he said that when he had just recovered from illness, the Kunshan libretto he had memorized—not a single word was missing—he had all copied out by hand into a booklet. Later, his sister-in-law, thinking it inauspicious talk, burned and discarded it. Yet often, over wine or tea, he could still recall the final coda and would frequently recite it for guests. Now I set it down here as well, to broaden strange reports. The words run: "'The Odes, the Documents, the Analects—all cease to be discussed; It is nothing but 'Du du ping zhang' (It is said that a village schoolmaster taught boys the Analects, with many misreadings. The most laughable was reading 'Yuyu hu wen zai' as 'Du du ping zhang wo'). All depends on the 'Buddha's One Hundred and Twenty Lines' (In village schools there is a primer for beginners called *Zhuangnong Zaxue*; its opening line says: 'Buddha left one hundred and twenty lines, only the farmer leads the way in strength'—which is extremely vulgar).' "Examining the sense of these words, it seems to be telling of his own life's desolation: in his later years he worked as a village schoolmaster for a farming family, and the master treated him with contempt, hence he composed this libretto. One might think: was he a scholar of former lives, and is he Maojun's previous incarnation? Maojun's given name was Zaixin; he excelled in Han-dynasty clerical script and seal-carving." Ai Nu Hejian Xu Sheng was teaching in En. At the beginning of the twelfth month he returned home. On the way he met an old man, who looked at him closely and said, “Mr. Xu has closed his school. Where will you teach next year?” He answered, “Still the same place.” The old man said, “My surname is Shi. I have a nephew, and I am looking for a good teacher for him. Just now I entrusted someone to go to East Village to engage Lü Zilian, but he has already accepted the initiation fee at Jimen. If you would be willing to take the post, I will offer double the fees you get at En.” Xu declined, citing his existing agreement. The old man said, “You are a man of integrity. But the new year is still far off; may I respectfully offer one tael of gold as the initiation fee, and ask you to stay and teach him temporarily, and we can discuss next year separately—what do you think?” Xu agreed. The old man dismounted, presented the gift letter, and said, “My humble village is not far. The house is very cramped, and it is difficult to keep livestock—please send your servant and horse away at once; it would be fine to walk.” Xu followed his advice and placed his luggage on the old man’s horse. After walking three or four li, dusk had already fallen when they finally arrived at his house. The door had sunken nails and beast-shaped knockers, just like a noble family. The old man called out his nephew to pay respects—he was a boy of thirteen or fourteen. The old man said, “My brother-in-law Jiang Nanchuan was formerly a commander. He left only this child, who is not at all dull, but has been spoiled. If he can get a month of your good guidance, it will be better than ten years.” Before long, a feast was laid out, extremely sumptuous; serving wine and food were all maids and old women. One maid stood holding a flagon, about fifteen or sixteen, with an exquisite air; Xu secretly felt drawn to her. When the feast ended, the old man had the bed arranged and then took his leave. Before dawn, the boy came out to study. Xu had just risen when a maid came in holding a towel to attend to his washing—it was the same one who had held the flagon. All three meals of the day were provided by this maid; in the evening she came again to make the bed. Xu asked, “Why are there no menservants?” The maid smiled without answering, spread the quilt, and left. The next evening she came again. He made flirtatious remarks; she smiled and did not refuse, so he slept with her. She then told him, “Our household has no men at all; outside affairs are entrusted to Uncle Shi. My name is Ainu. The mistress greatly respects you, sir, and feared that the other maids were not clean enough, so she sent me. But you must keep this secret—if it is found out, we will both lose face.” One night they slept together and forgot the dawn, and were discovered by the young master. Xu was mortified and ill at ease. That evening the maid came and said, “Fortunately the mistress thinks highly of you—otherwise we would have been ruined. The young master went in and reported it, but the mistress hastily covered his mouth, as if afraid you might hear. She only warned me not to stay long in your study.” Having said that, she left. Xu was deeply grateful to her. However, the young master did not study well, and when Xu scolded him, the mistress would always intercede. At first she sent the maid with messages; gradually she came out in person, speaking to the master through the door, often weeping. Yet every evening she insisted on asking about the boy’s daily lessons. Xu grew rather impatient and said sternly, “Since you indulge the boy’s laziness, and yet you demand his progress—I am not used to being such a teacher! I beg to resign.” The mistress sent the maid to apologize, and Xu desisted. Ever since he had entered the school, whenever he wanted to go out and look around, he was always locked in. One day, feeling gloomy in his cups, he called the maid and asked the reason. She said, “No other reason—she fears you will neglect your teaching. If you must go out, please do so at night.” Xu angrily said, “For a few pieces of gold, am I to be imprisoned to death? Where would I flee at night? I have long been ashamed of eating for nothing; the fee is still in my pouch.” He then took out the gold, placed it on the table, and packed to leave. The mistress came out, silent and pensive, covering her sleeves and sobbing; she made the maid return the gold, unlocked the door, and saw him off. Xu felt the doorway was narrow and cramped; after a few steps, sunlight shone in, and he found himself emerging from inside a tomb. Looking around, it was desolate—an ancient grave. He was terrified. Yet he was moved by her sense of righteousness, so he sold the gold he had been given, mounded the grave, planted trees, and left. After the new year, he passed by that place again, paid his respects, and went on. From afar he saw the old man Shi, who smilingly exchanged pleasantries and invited him warmly. Knowing in his heart that he was a ghost, but wanting to ask after the mistress, he went with him into the village, bought wine, and drank together; before they knew it, dusk had fallen. The old man rose to pay for the wine and said, “My humble home is not far; my younger sister has also just come back to visit her parents. I hope you will move your noble steps and help dispel the ill omens for this old man.” They left the village a few paces and came to another settlement. He knocked on the gate and entered; a candle was lit for the guest. Soon Mrs. Jiang came out from within, and he then saw her clearly—she was a beautiful woman of about forty. She bowed and thanked him, saying, “Our declining family, its house fallen into ruin—you, sir, have shown kindness even to dry bones, and there is truly no way we can repay you.” Having spoken, she wept. Then she called Ainu and said to Xu, “This maid is one I love; I now give her to you, to console your loneliness while traveling. Whatever you need, she will generally understand your wishes.” Xu assented. After a while, the brother and sister both left, and the maid stayed to share his bed. At the first cockcrow, the old man came to urge him to pack and see him off; the mistress also came out and told the maid to serve her master well. She also said to Xu, “From now on, you must be especially discreet—since we have met in such strange circumstances, I fear gossips may spread tales.” Xu promised and parted, riding together with the maid. When he reached his school, he stayed alone in one room and lived with her. If guests came, the maid did not avoid them, nor did anyone see her. Whenever he had some wish, the moment it arose, the maid had already procured it. She was also skilled in magic; with a single rub, ailments were instantly cured. At Qingming he returned home, and when he reached the tomb, the maid took leave and dismounted. Xu asked her to convey his thanks to the mistress. She said, “Yes,” and vanished. After a few days he returned, and was just about to visit the grave when he saw the maid in fine dress sitting under a tree, so he traveled with her. Throughout the year they came and went like this regularly. He wanted to take her back with him for good, but she insisted she could not. At year’s end, he left his teaching post and returned home, fixing a later meeting. The maid saw him to the place where she had formerly sat, pointed to a pile of stones, and said, “This is my grave. Before the mistress was married, I served her; I died young and was buried here. If you pass by again, burn a stick of incense in offering, and we shall meet again.” They parted, and he returned home, missing her deeply. He went respectfully to offer sacrifice, but there was no response at all. So he bought a coffin, opened the grave, intending to take her bones home for reburial as a token of his longing. When the pit was opened and he entered, he saw that her face was as in life. Though the flesh was not yet decayed, her clothes had rotted to ashes; the jade ornaments and gold bracelets on her head were all as if newly made. He also looked at her waist and found several gold ingots wrapped up; he took them and put them in his bosom. Then he removed his robe, covered the corpse, lifted it into the coffin, hired a carriage, and brought it home. He placed it in a separate chamber, adorned it with embroidered garments, and slept alone beside it, hoping for a miraculous response. Suddenly Ainu entered from outside, laughing, “So the grave robber is here!” Xu was overjoyed and asked after her. The maid said, “I had gone with the mistress to Dongchang; when I returned after three days, the house was already empty. You often invited me, but I would not follow you because I had received great kindness from the mistress and could not bear to leave her far away. Now that you have forcibly brought me here, if you quickly bury me properly, that will show your deep virtue.” Xu asked, “In ancient times there were those who revived after a hundred years. Now your body is still fresh—why not try that?” She sighed, “That is a matter of fate. The miraculous revivals handed down in the world are half illusory. If I wished to rise and move again, that would be no difficulty; but I cannot be like a living person, so there is no need.” She then opened the coffin and entered, and the corpse at once rose up, elegant and lovely. He felt her breast, and it was cold as ice and snow. She was about to re-enter the coffin and lie down again when Xu forcibly stopped her. The maid said, “I was overly favored by the mistress. The master came from a foreign land and obtained several tens of thousands of gold; I stole some, and he did not press the matter. Later, when I was near death, having no relatives, I hid it to accompany me in death. The mistress, grieving my early death, also placed precious ornaments in my burial. The reason my body has not decayed is merely that it absorbed the lingering essence of gold and treasure. If I were to remain in the human world, how could I last long? If you must keep me thus, by no means force me to eat or drink; if the spiritual energy disperses, even my wandering soul will dissolve.” Xu then built a refined chamber and lived with her there. She laughed and chatted like an ordinary person; but she did not eat, did not breathe, and did not see living strangers. After more than a year, Xu drank a little wine, took the dregs and forced her to drink. She immediately fell to the ground, blood and water flowing from her mouth, and by day’s end the corpse had changed. He grieved and regretted it beyond measure, and buried her lavishly. The Historian of the Strange says: “The mistress’s way of educating her son was no different from that of the human world; but how generous she was to her teacher! Was she not virtuous! I would say that a beautiful corpse is not as good as a refined ghost; yet because of the vulgar rashness of a poor scholar, that spirit was cut off before its time—pitiful! Zhangqiu Zhu Sheng, a man of stern integrity, taught in the household of a certain Gongsheng. Whenever he punished the disciple, the womenfolk would send a maid to plead for mercy, but he would not listen. One day, the lady herself came to the window and tried to argue with him. Zhu flew into a rage, seized his teaching ruler, and stormed out cursing. The lady, terrified, fled; Zhu chased her and from behind struck her across the buttocks and thighs, making a clattering sound on the flesh and skin. How ridiculous! Changshan District — A certain man of Changshan, whenever he engaged a tutor, always took the year's stipend, calculated the total days of the year, and reckoned the daily amount; moreover, he recorded in detail the days when the tutor left the study and returned to it; at year's end, he would publicly multiply and divide according to the days. A certain Ma was engaged in his household, and when he first saw the man bring out an abacus, he was greatly alarmed upon learning the reason; but then he secretly devised a stratagem, turning chagrin to delight, and let him do his reckoning without any dispute. The old man was greatly pleased and firmly secured an agreement for the coming year. Ma declined, giving some reason. He then recommended in his place a perverse and unreasonable scholar. When this man took up the post, he was constantly abusive; the old man, helpless, bore it all patiently. At year's end, the man arrived with his abacus. The tutor flew into a violent rage but let him do his calculation. The old man again credited the travel days to the tutor's loss; the tutor would not accept it and moved the beads back to the gain side. The two could not agree and came to blows, and both, with broken heads and bloody brows, took their dispute to court. The Magistrate of Shanfu A certain man of Qingzhou, over fifty, took a young wife as second wife. His two sons, fearing she would bear more children, while their father was drunk secretly cut off his testicles and sprinkled medicine on the wound. Their father sensed it but pretended to be ill and said nothing. After a long time, the wound gradually healed. Suddenly he went into his chamber, the stitched wound split open, blood poured out without stopping, and he soon died. His wife, knowing the reason, brought a suit to the officials. The magistrate put the sons to torture, and they confessed. He exclaimed in amazement: "I am now truly the 'Magistrate of Shanfu'!" And he had them both executed. In that district there was a certain Wang, who, after being married a little over a month, put away his wife. Her father sued him. At that time Magistrate Xin of Zichuan asked Wang why he had put away his wife. He answered: "It cannot be told." The magistrate pressed him. He said: "Because she cannot bear children." The magistrate said: "Nonsense! A bride of barely a month — how can you know she cannot bear?" After a long, embarrassed pause, he said: "Her private parts are very crooked." The magistrate laughed and said: "Then it is indeed the harm of crookedness that makes a household ungovernable." This may be handed down together with "The Magistrate of Shanfu" for a laugh. Sun Bizhen Sun Bizhen was crossing the Yangtze when a great wind and thunder arose, and the boat tossed violently, terrifying all aboard. Suddenly they saw a gold-armored deity standing in the clouds, holding down a golden tablet for all to see; the crowd looked up together and saw written on it the three characters "Sun Bizhen," very clearly. All said to Sun: "Surely you have incurred Heaven's punishment — please take a boat by yourself and do not implicate us." Sun had not yet spoken, but the crowd, without waiting for his consent, seeing a small boat nearby, pushed him into it together. Once Sun had boarded the boat, he looked back and saw the former boat capsize. (There is an English translation by Herbert Giles: "A Chinese Jonah") A Villager In that district there was a country fellow, by nature a rogue. One day, at dawn, two men seized him and took him away. They came to the market, where a butcher had half a pig hanging from a rack; the two men pushed him violently against it, and suddenly he felt his body merge with the meat, and the two men walked away. After a moment, the butcher came to sell the meat and took up his knife to cut it, and with each cut he felt a stab of pain penetrating to his very marrow. Later an old neighbor came to buy meat, haggling bitterly over the price, demanding extra fat and trimmings, cutting piece by piece — and his suffering was even more terrible. When the meat was all gone, he found his way home; by the time he returned, the sun was already high in the morning. His family said he had risen late, so he related in detail what he had encountered. He called on his neighbor and asked, and the neighbor had just returned from buying meat; he told the number of pieces and the weight, and they matched to the very last ounce. In a single morning he had already undergone one execution by dismemberment — was that not strange! Yuanbao In Guangdong, on steep cliffs by the river, yuanbao were often embedded in the rock. Below the cliff the waves surged, and boats could not moor. Sometimes men would row close to pick them, but they were firmly immovable; if the person was destined to obtain them, however, they came off at a single touch, and when he looked back they had already grown again. Inkstone Stone Wang Zhongchao said: "Among the mountains of Dongting, on Junshan, there is a stone cave, tall enough to hold a boat, deep and dark beyond measure, with lake water flowing in and out of it. Once I took a candle and rowed a boat inside, and saw that both walls were of black stone, its color like lacquer; pressing it, it was soft; taking out a knife and cutting it was like slicing hard bean curd. I fashioned it into inkstones at will. Once brought out and exposed to the wind, it became harder than other stones. Tried with ink, it was excellent. Merchant boats and pleasure craft come and go in great number; there is fine stone among them, yet they do not know to take and use it — it also depends on connoisseurs to appreciate it." Wuyi At Wuyi Mountain there is a sheer cliff a thousand fathoms high, and people often gather pieces of fragrant wood and jade at its foot. The prefect, hearing of this, ordered several hundred men to make a cloud-ladder, intending to ascend to the top to observe its wonders; it took three years to finish. The prefect climbed it, and when he was nearly at the summit, he saw a huge foot stretch down, its big toe thicker than a washing beetle, and a great voice said: "If you do not come down, you will fall!" Greatly terrified, he scrambled down. No sooner had he reached the ground than the ladder's timbers rotted and broke, collapsing and falling away entirely. The Great Rat During the Wanli reign, there was a rat in the palace as large as a cat, causing great harm. They sought fine cats from among the people to catch and subdue it, but they were always devoured. Just then a foreign country offered a tribute lion-cat, white as snow. They carried it into the rat's chamber, shut the door, and secretly watched. The cat crouched for a long time, while the rat crept out of its hole; seeing the cat, it rushed at it in fury. The cat dodged and jumped onto a table; the rat followed, and the cat jumped down. Thus they went back and forth no fewer than a hundred times. Everyone said the cat was cowardly and thought it could do nothing. Then the rat's leaps grew slower, its great belly seemed to heave, and it crouched on the ground to rest a moment. The cat immediately sprang down, seized the top of its head with its claws and bit its neck, rolling and struggling together, the cat growling and the rat squeaking. They opened the door and looked quickly: the rat's head had already been crushed. Then they understood that the cat's dodging was not cowardice but waiting for its opponent to tire. When the enemy attacks, retreat; when the enemy retreats, advance again — this was its strategy. Alas! A common man who brandishes his sword — how is he different from this rat! Zhang Buliang A certain merchant, arriving at the borders of Zhili, was suddenly caught in a great hailstorm and crouched among the grain. He heard a voice in the air say: "This is Zhang Buliang's field — do not harm his crop." The merchant thought to himself: since the Zhangs were called "not good," why should they be protected? When the hail stopped, he entered the village and inquired about the man, also asking the meaning of the name. It turned out that Zhang was a wealthy man of long standing, storing great quantities of grain. Every spring, when the poor came to borrow, he did not quibble over the amount when they repaid, taking it all in without ever using a level measure to exact full payment — hence the name "Buliang" (not measuring), not "not good." The crowd went to the fields and saw the grain stalks broken like hemp, but only Zhang's fields were unharmed. (There is an English translation by Herbert Giles: "Chang Pu-liang") The Shepherd Boys Two shepherd boys went into the mountains and came to a wolf's den, in which there were two wolf cubs. They planned to catch them separately. Each climbed a tree, some dozens of paces apart. After a while, the great wolf arrived; entering the den and finding her cubs gone, she was greatly distraught. One boy up in the tree twisted the cub's feet and ears to make it yelp; the great wolf, hearing the sound, looked up, angrily rushed to the tree, howling and clawing at it. Then the other boy, on the other tree, made the cub cry out sharply; the wolf stopped its noise, looked around, and seeing it, abandoned this tree and ran to that one, clawing and howling as before. The first tree sounded again, and it ran back again. With no pause in its cries and no rest for its feet, after dozens of trips, its running grew slower and its voice grew weaker; then it lay down gasping, and after a long time did not move. The boys came down to look — it had already ceased to breathe. Now there are overbearing and violent men who glare and grasp their swords as if about to bite and tear; the man they are angry at simply shuts his door and goes away. When the bully's strength is spent and his voice is hoarse, with no one to oppose him, does he not feel triumphant and self-satisfied? They do not know that this is the power of beasts and birds, which men deliberately toy with for sport. The Rich Man A certain rich man lent money to many merchants. One day when he went out, a youth followed behind his horse; on being asked, he too was one seeking capital to borrow. The old man agreed. When they reached home, it happened that several dozen coins were on the table; the youth immediately began stacking the coins with his hands, piling them up and down. The old man thanked him and sent him away, giving him no money at all. When asked why, the old man said: "This man is surely a good gambler, not a proper man; the skill he has practiced reveals itself unconsciously in his hands and feet." On inquiry this proved true. Wang Sima When Grand Sima Wang Jiyu of Xincheng was stationed at the northern border, he often had craftsmen cast a great pole-blade, a full foot in width and weighing a hundred jun. Whenever he inspected the border, he always had four men carry it. Wherever his retinue halted, it was set upon the ground, and he deliberately had the northerners try to seize it; with all their strength they could not budge it in the slightest. The Sima secretly had a knife made of tung wood in the same pattern, identical in width and size, covered with silver foil, and would sometimes wield it while on horseback. When all the tribes saw it, none were not terrified and awed. He also had reed mats buried outside the border to mark the boundary, stretching diagonally for over ten li, shaped like a fence, and proclaimed: "This is my Great Wall." When the northern troops arrived, they pulled them all out and set fire to them. The Sima set them up again. After they had been burned three times, he concealed artillery stones and trigger mechanisms beneath them; when the northern troops burned the mats, the gunpowder and stones all discharged, and they suffered many dead and wounded. After they had fled, the Sima laid out the mats as before. The northern troops saw them from afar and all retreated, and thus they submitted in awe as if to a god. Later, when the Sima requested to return his bones to his native soil, the border again gave alarm. He was recalled to take up office again; the Sima was then eighty-three years old. Despite his illness, he went to court to take leave of the emperor. The emperor consoled him, saying: "I only trouble you to govern while lying down." Thereupon the Sima returned to the border. Wherever he stopped, he lay within a screen. When the northerners heard that the Sima had arrived, they all did not believe it, and so they feigned peace negotiations to verify whether it was really him. They opened the curtain, saw the Sima lying openly, and all prostrated and bowed toward his couch, then withdrew with their tongues stuck out in astonishment. Yue Shen An Assistant Prefect of Yangzhou dreamt one night that the Mountain God summoned him, with angry words and expression. Looking up, he saw a man attending at the god's side, who somewhat interceded for him. Awaking, he felt troubled by it. Early the next day he went to the Mountain God's temple and silently offered prayers of propitiation. After coming out, he saw a man in a medicine shop who was the very image of the one he had seen. Asking about him, he learned he was a doctor. After returning home, he was suddenly stricken with illness and specifically sent a man to engage that doctor. When he arrived, he produced a prescription and made up a dose; he took it in the evening, and died at midnight. Some say: King Yama and the Eastern Mountain Emperor daily send forth one hundred and eight thousand male and female attendants, dispersing them throughout the world as shamans and doctors, named "Soul-Summoning Messengers." Those who take medicine must not fail to take heed! Xiao Mei Mengyin's Wang Muzhen was a son of an aristocratic family. Once while traveling in Jiangsu and Zhejiang, he saw an old woman crying on the road and questioned her. She said: "My late husband left only one son, who now faces a death sentence. Who can save him?" Wang was always generous, so he noted her name and surname, took out silver from his purse and mediated on her behalf, and eventually secured the remission of his crime. When the man was released and heard that Wang had saved him, he was utterly perplexed and did not understand why. He called at Wang's inn, wept with gratitude, and asked the reason. Wang said: "Nothing else—I pitied the old age of your mother." The man was greatly startled and said: "My mother has been dead for a long time." Wang was also surprised. At dusk, the old woman came to thank him, and Wang reproached her for her false claim. The old woman said: "To tell you truthfully: I am an old fox from the Eastern Mountains. Twenty years ago I had a night's intimacy with the boy's father, so I could not bear to see his ghost go hungry." Wang was startled and rose in reverence; he wanted to question her further, but she had already vanished. Previously, Wang's wife was virtuous and devoted to Buddhism; she did not eat meat or drink wine. She prepared a clean room, hung up an image of Guanyin, and because she had no son, she burned incense and prayed there every day. The deity was most efficacious and often appeared in dreams, teaching people what to avoid and pursue, so all household matters were decided accordingly. Later she fell ill, very seriously, and moved her bed into that room; she also set up a fine brocade mat in an inner chamber and locked the door, as if waiting for someone. Wang thought it delusional, but because she was delirious from her illness, he could not bear to hurt her. She lay ill for two years, disliked noise, and often dismissed others to sleep alone. Wang secretly listened and seemed to hear her talking to someone; when he opened the door to look, it was silent again. During her illness she had no other worries; she had a daughter of fourteen, and only urged daily that her trousseau be prepared for marriage. After the daughter was married, she called Wang to her bedside, took his hand, and said: "Now we part forever! When I first fell ill, the Bodhisattva told me that my fate was to die soon, but I was concerned that my young daughter was not yet married, so she gave me a little medicine to prolong my life and wait. Last year, the Bodhisattva was about to return to the South Sea, and left at her altar the maidservant Xiao Mei to serve me. Now I am about to die, and I, a luckless woman, have borne no child. Bao'er is dear to me; I fear that if you marry a fierce and angry wife, she will make mother and son lose their place. Xiao Mei has a lovely appearance and is gentle and virtuous; you may take her as your second wife." Now Wang had a concubine who had borne a son named Bao'er. Wang thought her words absurd and said: "You have always revered the deity; now to say such a thing—is it not profane?" She replied: "Xiao Mei has served me for over a year; we have forgotten all formalities, and I have already politely asked her." He asked: "Where is Xiao Mei?" She said: "Is she not in the room?" He was about to question further when she closed her eyes and passed away. Wang kept vigil at her funeral curtain that night and heard faint sobbing from the inner room. Greatly alarmed, he suspected it was a ghost. He summoned the maids and concubines, opened the lock, and looked in—there was a beautiful girl of about sixteen, dressed in mourning, in the room. All thought she was a deity and prostrated themselves around her. The girl wiped her tears and helped them up. Wang gazed fixedly at her; she only bowed her head. Wang said: "If my late wife's words were not false, I beg you to come to the main hall and receive the obeisances of the children; if it is not proper, I dare not have such presumptuous thoughts and incur guilt." The girl shyly came out and went directly to the northern hall. Wang had a maid set a seat facing south; Wang first bowed, and the girl returned the bow; then the younger and older, high and low, all prostrated in turn, and the girl sat gravely and received them; only when the concubine came did she draw her up. Ever since the mistress had been bedridden, the maids had been lazy and the servants thieving, and the household had long declined. After all had paid their respects, they stood in solemn attendance. The girl said: "I am moved by the mistress's great kindness, which has kept me in the human world, and she has entrusted me with important matters. You should each reform your hearts and serve the master diligently. Former offenses will not be investigated; otherwise, do not say that there is no one in this house!" They all looked at her on the seat—truly like the hanging image of Guanyin, sometimes stirred by a gentle breeze. Hearing her words, they were frightened and awed, and with a clamor all agreed. The girl then arranged the funeral affairs, everything in perfect order, and from then on none of the household, old or young, dared to slacken. The girl managed both internal and external affairs all day long; when Wang intended to do something, he would also report to her before acting; yet although they saw each other several times a night, they never exchanged a single private word. After the funeral, Wang wished to renew the earlier engagement but did not dare to speak directly; he instructed the concubine to hint at it. The girl said: "I received the mistress's earnest charge, and in duty I cannot refuse; but the great rite of matrimony must not be done hastily. The elder Huang, of your generation, is of high rank and virtuous character; I beg that he be asked to preside over the marriage alliance, and then I will obey." At that time, Huang, a former Grand Minister of the Imperial Stud from Yishui, was living in retirement; he was of Wang's father's generation and had the best relations with the family. Wang went in person and told him the truth. Huang was astonished and came back with him. When the girl heard, she came out and paid her respects. At first sight, Huang was amazed, thinking her a celestial being; he modestly declined and dared not accept the formalities; afterward he provided generous wedding gifts, and after the ceremony was completed he left. The girl presented him with pillows and shoes, as if serving her parents-in-law, and from this their friendship grew even closer. After the wedding, Wang, still mindful of her divine nature, maintained reverence in intimacy and often inquired about the Bodhisattva's welfare. The girl laughed and said: "You are too foolish. How could an upright deity descend to marry in the mundane world?" Wang pressed her for her origins. The girl said: "There is no need to investigate. If you regard me as a deity and worship me morning and evening, naturally there will be no misfortune." The girl was usually lenient with her subordinates and never spoke without a smile; but when maids and servants were playing frivolously, if they saw her from afar, they would fall silent. The girl smiled and said: "Do you still take me for a deity? What deity am I! In truth, I am the mistress's younger cousin; we were close friends from childhood. When my sister fell ill and missed me, she secretly sent Granny Wang from the southern village to summon me. But because I was daily near my brother-in-law, there was the impropriety of male and female, so I pretended to be a divine being and stayed shut in the inner room. In fact, what deity am I?" The crowd still did not believe; but as they attended her day by day, they saw that her behavior was not at all different from ordinary people, and the rumors gradually subsided. Yet even the most stubborn maids and dull servants, whom Wang had previously been unable to reform with beatings, all happily obeyed every word of the girl. They all said: "We do not know why ourselves. It is not really fear; it is just that when we see her face, our hearts naturally soften, so we cannot bear to disobey her." With this, all neglected tasks were taken up. In a few years, the fields stretched continuously and the granaries held ten thousand bushels. After several more years, the concubine bore a daughter. The girl bore a son; when the son was born, there was a red mark on his left arm, so they named him Xiaohong. At the full month, the girl had Wang prepare a grand feast to invite Huang. Huang brought generous congratulatory gifts but excused himself on account of old age, saying he could not travel far; the girl sent two old women to press him, and only then did Huang arrive. She brought out the child, bared his left arm, to show the intention behind the naming. She also asked repeatedly about good or ill fortune. Huang laughed and said: "This is a happy red; one more character may be added, naming him Xihong." The girl was greatly pleased and came out again to bow in thanks. That day, drums and music filled the court, and noble relatives crowded like a market. Huang stayed three days before leaving. Suddenly, a carriage with horses arrived at the gate to fetch the girl for a visit to her parents' home. For more than ten years there had been no relations at all; the household discussed it, but the girl seemed not to hear. After arranging her toilette, she held her son in her arms and asked Wang to see her off; Wang accompanied her. After traveling twenty or thirty li, where there was no traveler, the girl stopped the carriage, called Wang to dismount, dismissed the attendants, and said to him: "Wang-lang, Wang-lang, meetings are short and partings long—is that not sad?" Wang asked in surprise why. The girl said: "What kind of person do you think I am?" He answered: "I do not know." The girl said: "In Jiangnan, you once saved a man from a death sentence—did you not?" He said: "Yes." She said: "The one crying on the road was my mother. Grateful for your righteousness, she wished to repay you, and because your wife was devoted to Buddhism, she attached herself as a divine being, in truth intending to give me to you in return. Now I have fortunately borne this infant, and my wish is fulfilled. I foresee that your fortune will decline; if this child stays at home, he may not be raised safely, so I am using this visit to relieve his calamity. Remember, when there is a death in your household, at the first crow of the morning cock, go to the willow embankment by the western river, and if you see someone carrying a sunflower lantern, block the way and beg earnestly, and you may escape disaster." Wang said: "Yes." He then asked her return date. She said: "It cannot be fixed. But you must remember my words firmly; our meeting again is not far off." At parting, they held hands and wept sadly. Soon she mounted the carriage and it sped away like the wind. Wang watched until he could no longer see it, then returned. After six or seven years, there was no news at all. Suddenly a plague spread through the surrounding villages, and many died; one maid fell ill and died after three days. Wang recalled her earlier admonition and was quite concerned. That day he drank with guests, got very drunk, and fell asleep. When he woke, he heard the cock crow; he rose hastily and went to the embankment, where he saw a flickering light—it had just passed. He hurried after it, but it was only about a hundred paces away; the more he pursued, the farther it got, and gradually it disappeared from sight. He returned in chagrin. A few days later he suddenly fell ill and soon died. Wang's clansmen were mostly scoundrels; they together bullied his widow and orphans, openly cutting down crops and trees, and the household daily declined. After a year, Bao'er also died young, and the family had no one left to take charge. The clansmen grew increasingly tyrannical, carving up the fields and property until the stables stood empty of horses and cattle; then they sought to divide the residence itself. Because the concubine dwelt there, they sent several men to seize it by force and sell it. The concubine clung to her young daughter, and mother and child wept in each other's arms, their misery moving the neighbors to pity. In the midst of this crisis, suddenly they heard the sound of a palanquin entering outside the gate. All looked, and it was the young lady leading the little boy out of the carriage. She looked around at the crowd thronging like a market and asked, "Who are these people?" The concubine wept and told her the whole story. The young lady's countenance turned ashen, and she immediately summoned her attending servants to close the gates and lock them. The crowd tried to resist, but their hands grew weak and useless. She ordered them bound one by one and tied to the pillars of the veranda, giving them daily only three bowls of thin gruel. Then she dispatched an old servant to ride in haste and inform Magistrate Huang, after which she entered the inner chambers and wept in grief. When her tears subsided, she said to the concubine, "This is Heaven's decree. I had planned to come last month, but my mother's illness delayed me, and so it came to this. Who would have thought that in the twinkling of an eye all would be reduced to ruins!" She asked after the former maids and elderly waiting-women, and learning they had all been seized by the clansmen, she grieved all the more. The next day, when the servants heard that the young lady had come, they all fled back of their own accord, and at the reunion none could hold back tears. The bound clansmen all raised a clamor, saying the boy was not Muzhen's true offspring, but the young lady offered no defense. Soon Magistrate Huang arrived, and the young lady led the boy out to welcome him. Huang took the boy's arm and rolled up his left sleeve, where the vermilion mark was plainly visible. He bared it to the crowd to prove his identity. Then he carefully examined what had been lost, recorded each item in the register, and personally called upon the county magistrate. The magistrate had the scoundrels arrested, gave each forty strokes, and jailed them in fetters while pressing for restitution. Within days, the fields, cattle, and horses were all restored to their original owners. Huang prepared to leave, and the young lady led the boy forward, weeping as she bowed, saying, "I am not of this world, as my uncle knows. I now entrust this child to my uncle's care." Huang replied, "So long as this old man has a single breath left, I will manage everything as best I can." After Huang departed, the young lady took stock of all affairs and put them in order, then entrusted the boy to the concubine. She prepared offerings and went to sweep her husband's grave, but half a day passed and she did not return. When they went to look, the wine and offerings were still laid out, but she had vanished without a trace. The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Those who do not cut off another man's posterity shall not have their own posterity cut off—this is human, yet truly it is Heaven. When fine friends sit beside one, chariots and furs may be shared; but once the graveyard brushwood has grown thick and wife and children have fallen into decline, then those who rode in the carriage look back from afar and turn away. To remember a dead friend without being able to forget him, to feel gratitude and think of requital—what manner of person is this! A fox! If you have abundance of wealth, I would be your steward." The Medicine Monk A certain man of Jining, happening upon a wandering monk outside a wild temple, saw him picking lice in the sun, with a gourd hanging from his staff like a medicine seller. He jested, "Monk, do you also sell chamber elixirs?" The monk replied, "I do. The weak can be made strong, the small can be made large, with effect seen immediately, without waiting overnight." The man was delighted and begged for some. The monk undid a corner of his robe and produced a single pill, the size of a millet grain, and told him to swallow it. In about the time it takes to cook half a meal, his lower part suddenly grew enormously; after another moment he felt it himself and found it a third larger than before. Still unsatisfied, he saw the monk rise to relieve himself, and secretly undid the robe, taking two or three more pills and swallowing them all at once. Soon he felt his skin as if it were splitting, his sinews as if they were being pulled, his neck shrinking and his loins collapsing, while his member grew without cease. In great terror, he could think of no remedy. The monk returned, saw his condition, and exclaimed in alarm, "You must have stolen my medicine!" He quickly gave him one pill, and only then did he feel it stop. He undressed and looked at himself—it was nearly as long as his two legs, making three of them. He shrank his neck and hobbled home. His father and mother could not recognize him. From then on he was a ruined man, lying in the streets by day, and many saw him there. Governor Yu Governor Yu Chenglong, while on circuit, arrived at Gaoyou. It happened that a wealthy family was about to marry off a daughter, with a very rich trousseau, which was carried off by burglars in the night. The prefect had no plan. The governor ordered all the city gates closed, leaving only one open for pedestrians to pass through, with a clerk stationed there to search all baggage strictly. He also issued a proclamation ordering every household in the city to return to their homes and await inspection and digging the next day to find where the stolen goods were hidden. Then he secretly instructed the clerk: if anyone entered or left the city gate more than once, arrest him. Past noon, they caught two men who, apart from the clothes on their backs, carried no luggage at all. The governor said, "These are the real thieves." The two argued vehemently in denial. The governor ordered them to strip and be searched, and inside their robes were found two sets of women's garments—all items from the trousseau. For, fearing the great search the next day, they had hurried to move the goods, but there were too many items to carry easily, so they had worn them under their clothes and gone out repeatedly. Again, when the governor was a county magistrate, he went to a neighboring district. Early in the morning, passing outside the city walls, he saw two men carrying a sick person on a bed, covered with a large quilt; hair showed on the pillow, with a phoenix hairpin stuck in it, the person lying on its side. Three or four sturdy men followed alongside, taking turns pressing the quilt down with their hands, making it hug the body, as if afraid the wind might get in. After a while, they set down the load by the roadside, and two more men took turns carrying it. Governor Yu passed by, then sent a runner back to question them. They said it was a younger sister gravely ill, being taken back to her husband's home. The governor went on another two or three li, then sent the runner back again to see which village they entered. The runner followed them to a village house, where two men met them and went inside. He returned and reported this to the governor. The governor asked the county magistrate of that place, "Has there been any robbery or banditry in the city?" The magistrate said, "None." At that time the laws were strict and superiors and subordinates alike concealed reports of robbery, so even when people were robbed and murdered, they endured it in silence and dared not speak. The governor took lodgings and privately instructed his household to make careful inquiries. They found that a wealthy household had indeed been broken into by armed bandits, and its master roasted to death. The governor summoned the son and questioned him about the circumstances, but the son would not admit it. The governor said, "I have already captured the great thieves on your behalf—this is nothing else." The son then kowtowed and wept bitterly, begging him to avenge the dead. The governor knocked at the gate and went to see the county magistrate, sending strong runners out of the city at the fourth watch. They went straight to the village house, captured eight men, and upon interrogation they confessed. When asked who the "sick woman" was, the bandits confessed: "That night we were together in a brothel, so we conspired with a prostitute, placed the gold on the bed, and had her lie embracing it until we reached our lair, where we divided it." All marveled at Governor Yu's divine perception. Someone asked how he had known. The governor said, "This is very easy to explain, but people simply do not pay attention. How could a young woman be in bed and allow a hand to be thrust beneath the quilt? Moreover, when they changed shoulders to carry it, the load was very heavy; when they took turns pressing it with their hands, that showed there was certainly something inside. And if a sick woman were being brought in a stupor, there would have been a woman at the door to welcome her; instead, only men appeared, and they did not even ask a single question in surprise—thus I was certain they were thieves." The Runners During the Wanli reign, the magistrate of Licheng dreamed that the City God demanded men for service. He wrote the names of eight runners on a register and burned it in the temple; that night, all eight died. East of the temple was a wineshop. The shopkeeper had long been acquainted with one of the runners. It happened that the runner came at night to buy wine, and the shopkeeper asked, "For whom are you entertaining?" He answered, "My fellow officers are many—I buy a little wine to exchange names with them." At daybreak, seeing the other runners, the shopkeeper learned that the man was already dead. He entered the temple and opened the door—there was the wine bottle, with the wine still in it as before. He returned and looked at the money he had been given—it was all ash from burnt paper. The magistrate had eight images made of them in the temple. Whenever the runners received an assignment, they would first make offerings to these images before setting out; otherwise, they would surely suffer flogging and punishment. The Chaste Maiden In Shaoxing there was an old widow who spun at night. Suddenly a young girl pushed the door open and entered, saying with a smile, "Old mother, are you not weary?" Looking at her, she was eighteen or nineteen, with a beautiful appearance and splendid robes. The widow startled and asked, "Where do you come from?" The girl said, "I pity you living alone, so I have come to keep you company." The widow suspected she was a fugitive from some noble house and pressed her with questions. The girl said, "Do not fear, widow. My loneliness is like yours. I love your cleanliness, so I come to you; we both escape solitude—is that not good?" The widow again suspected she was a fox, and fell silent in hesitation. The girl went straight to the bed and took over the spinning, saying, "Widow, do not worry. I am good at such work and will certainly not burden you with food and drink." Seeing her gentle and lovable, the widow became at ease. Late at night, she said to the widow, "The bedding I brought is still outside the door; when you go out to relieve yourself, please fetch it." The widow went out and indeed found a bundle of clothes. The girl untied it and spread it on the couch—it was brocade of unknown kind, fragrant and incomparably smooth. The widow also spread her cotton quilt and shared the bed with her. As soon as the silk collar was loosened, a strange fragrance filled the room. After they lay down, the widow thought to herself: Meeting such a beauty, it is a pity she is not a man. The girl laughed beside the pillow, "You are seventy, and still have such fancies?" The widow said, "Not at all." The girl said, "If you have no such fancies, why do you wish to be a man?" The widow became more certain she was a fox and grew greatly frightened. The girl laughed again, "You wish to be a man—then why are you afraid of me?" The widow grew even more terrified, her thighs trembling and shaking the bed. The girl said, "Alas! With such a timid heart, you still wish to be a man! I tell you truly: I am a real immortal, but I am not one who will harm you. Only you must be discreet, and you will have clothes and food enough." The widow rose early and knelt beneath the bed. The girl reached out an arm to lift her—the arm was as smooth as grease, and a warm fragrance wafted out; as soon as her skin touched her, she felt her own skin relaxed and comfortable. The widow's heart stirred, and she again entertained wild thoughts. The girl sneered, "Your trembling has barely stopped, and where has your mind gone now? If you were a man, you would die for love." The widow said, "If I were a man, how could I not die this very night!" From then on their hearts were in perfect accord, and they worked together daily. Looking at the yarn she spun, it was even and fine and gave off a sheen; woven into cloth, it was sparkling like brocade and sold for three times the usual price. When the widow went out, she locked the door; if anyone came to visit the widow, she answered from another room. They lived thus for half a year without anyone knowing. Later the widow gradually let it slip to her close acquaintances, and all the women in the neighborhood asked the widow to arrange an introduction. The girl reproved her, saying, "You are not careful with your words—I will not be able to stay long." The widow regretted her slip and bitterly reproached herself; but those seeking an audience grew more numerous day by day, and some even pressured the widow by force. The widow tearfully explained the situation. The girl said, "If it is only your female companions, there is no harm in seeing them; but I fear that wanton youths will come to tease and insult me." The widow pleaded again, and at last she gave permission. The next day, old women and young girls came in a continuous stream, their incense smoke meeting on the road. The girl, wearied by the annoyance, whether high or low in status, would not exchange a word with any of them, but merely sat upright in silence and listened to their morning greetings. The young men in the village heard of her beauty and were utterly infatuated; the widow refused them all. There was a certain scholar Fei Sheng, a famous man of the district, who spent his entire fortune and bribed the widow with large sums. The widow agreed and pleaded on his behalf. The girl already knew of it and reproached her, saying, "Are you selling me?" The widow prostrated herself on the ground and threw herself down. The girl said, "You are greedy for his bribe; I am moved by his infatuation. He may have one audience. But our fate is at an end." The widow again prostrated and knocked her head. The girl agreed for the next day. When Fei Sheng heard of it, he was overjoyed, prepared incense and candles, and went there. Upon entering, he made a deep bow. The girl spoke to him from behind the curtain, asking, "You have ruined your fortune to see me—what instruction have you for me?" He said, "I dare not seek anything else. It is only that Wang Qiang and Xi Zi have been merely matters of hearsay; if you do not reject me as dull and stubborn, and let me have a wide view, my humble wish is satisfied. As for fortune or misfortune, they have their own fixed destiny—I do not wish to hear of them." Suddenly through the cloth curtain, her radiant face shone out; her dark brows and vermilion lips were all fully visible, as if there were no screen between. He was dazzled and his spirit flew—unconsciously he prostrated himself. After bowing he rose, but the heavy curtain was dark and thick; he heard her voice but saw nothing. In his vexation, he secretly regretted not having seen her lower body; soon he saw beneath the curtain a pair of embroidered shoes, their tips pointing upward, so slender they were hardly a finger wide. He bowed again. From within the curtain a voice said, "Sir, go home! I am weary." The widow led Fei Sheng to another room and brewed tea for him. He inscribed a tune of "Nanxiangzi" on the wall: "Dimly before the painted curtain, Three inches of jade sprout treading on waves; Touching the ground, clear as falling lotus petals, Slender, slender, And with double soles still more lovely. Flowers set off the curved phoenix toes; Held in hand, they must be soft as silk; Would that I could turn into a butterfly and go, Beside her skirt, To sniff a lingering fragrance—even death would be sweet." Having written it, he departed. When the girl read the inscription, she was displeased and said to the widow, "I said our fate was at an end—now it is not in vain." The widow prostrated herself and begged pardon. The girl said, "The fault is not entirely yours. I happened to fall into the snare of passion and showed my physical form to others, and thus was defiled by lewd verses—this I brought upon myself. How can I blame you? If I do not move away quickly, I fear I shall sink into the pit of love and be hard to escape from in the cycle of reincarnation." Thereupon she bundled up her bedding and went out. The widow pursued and tried to detain her, but in a twinkling she had vanished. **The Red-haired Felt** The country of the Red-haired once permitted trade with China. The border commander, seeing their numbers, did not allow them to land. The Red-haired men insisted, "Grant us but a felt's area of land—that is enough." The commander thought that a single felt could hold but few, so he consented. They laid the felt on the shore; it held only two men. They pulled it, and it held four or five. As they pulled and landed, in a moment the felt expanded to about a mu, and already several hundred men were on it. They drew their short blades and attacked all at once, taking the commander by surprise, and plundered for several li before departing. **Drawing Out Intestines** A certain man of Laiyang was lying down during the day when he saw a man and a woman enter hand in hand. The woman was sallow and swollen, her waist thick and her body bent backward, with a mournful and distressed look. The man urged her, "Come, come!" The man thought they were going to have illicit relations, so he pretended to sleep to watch what they would do. After they entered, they seemed not to see anyone on the couch. The man urged again, "Hurry!" The woman then bared her chest and exposed her belly, which was as large as a drum. The man produced a butcher's knife and thrust it in with force, cutting straight from below the heart down to the navel, with a grating sound. The man was terrified and dared not breathe. But the woman frowned and endured, not uttering a moan. The man held the knife in his mouth, put his hand into her belly, grasped her intestines, and hung them over his elbow; as he hung them he pulled them out, and in a moment his arm was full. Then he cut them off with the knife, lifted them and placed them on the table, and again pulled out more. When the table was full, he hung them on chairs; when the chairs were full, he coiled them into several tens of loops, like a fisherman raising a net, and flung them toward the man's head. He felt a burst of hot stench; his face, throat, and gullet were covered and pressed without a gap. Unable to bear it any longer, he pushed the intestines away with his hands, shouted loudly, and ran off. The intestines fell in front of the couch, and his feet were entangled; he fell unconscious. His family came running to look, but they only saw his body wrapped in pig's entrails; when they entered and looked carefully, there was nothing at all. They all thought their eyes had been dazzled and were not alarmed. But when the man told what he had seen, they were all astonished. Yet there was no trace in the room, save that the smell of blood lingered for several days. **Zhang Hongjian** Zhang Hongjian was a native of Yongping. At eighteen, he was a famous scholar in the prefecture. At that time, the magistrate of Lulong, one Zhao, was greedy and tyrannical, and the people all suffered under him. A certain student named Fan was beaten to death by cane; his schoolmates, indignant at his injustice, were about to petition the higher court, and they asked Zhang to draft the written complaint, agreeing to undertake the matter together. Zhang consented. His wife, Fang, beautiful and virtuous, heard of the plan and advised him, saying: "In general, when scholars undertake something, they can share in victory but not in defeat: if they win, everyone claims Heaven's merit; if they fail, they scatter and collapse, unable to hold together. Now in this world of power and influence, right and wrong are hard to settle by reason; and you are alone—if there is a reversal, who will come to your aid in distress?" Zhang accepted her words and regretted it, so he politely declined the students, only drafting the complaint and sending them off. After one hearing of the case, nothing was decided. Zhao bribed high officials with a large sum, and the students were arrested on charges of forming a faction, and they also pursued the writer of the complaint. Zhang, terrified, fled. He reached the border of Fengxiang, where his funds were exhausted. As dusk fell, he wandered in the open wilderness with nowhere to lodge. Suddenly he spotted a small village and hurried toward it. An old woman was just coming out to close the gate; seeing him, she asked what he wanted. Zhang told her the truth. The old woman said: "Food and a bed—these are trivial matters; but there is no man in the house, so it is not convenient to keep a guest." Zhang said: "I would not dare to expect too much; but if you would allow me to lodge inside the gate, it would be enough to avoid tigers and wolves." The old woman then let him in, closed the door, gave him a straw mat, and admonished him: "I pity you, a guest with nowhere to go, so I have privately allowed you to stay. You should leave early before dawn, lest my young mistress hear of it and take offense." The old woman left, and Zhang leaned against the wall to doze. Suddenly a lantern light shone, and he saw the old woman leading out a young lady. Zhang hastily hid in a dark place and peered at her—she was a beauty of about twenty. When she reached the gate, she saw the straw mat and questioned the old woman; the old woman told her the truth. The young lady said angrily: "Our household is all weak women—how can you admit a disreputable person?" She immediately asked: "Where is that man?" Zhang, frightened, came out and prostrated himself at the steps. The young lady questioned him about his native place and family, and her expression softened slightly, saying: "Fortunately, he is a refined scholar; we may well keep him. But you old servant did not even inform me—such carelessness—how can this be the way to treat a gentleman?" She ordered the old woman to show the guest into the room. Soon they set out wine and dishes, the items fine and clean; then they spread an embroidered rug on the couch. Zhang was deeply grateful and privately asked about her surname. The old woman said: "Our family name is Shi. The old master and madam have both passed away, leaving only three daughters. The one you just saw is the eldest, Shunhua." The old woman left. Zhang saw on the table a copy of the *Nanhua Jing* with commentaries, so he took it and lay on the pillow, turning the pages, when suddenly Shunhua pushed the door open and entered. Zhang put down the book and searched for his cap and shoes. The young lady pressed him down on the couch and said: "No need, no need!" Then she sat close to the couch and said bashfully: "I took you for a talented and refined gentleman, and I wished to entrust my household to you, so I risked the suspicion of impropriety. Would you not abandon me?" Zhang, flustered, did not know what to reply, but only said: "To tell you the truth, I already have a wife at home." The young lady laughed and said: "That shows your sincerity, and it is not a problem. Since you do not dislike me, tomorrow I will ask a matchmaker." Having said this, she was about to leave. Zhang reached out and detained her, and she stayed. Before dawn she rose and gave Zhang gold, saying: "Keep this as funds for your wanderings; toward evening, you should come late, lest others spy on you." Zhang did as she said—went out early and returned late—and for half a year this was his routine. One day he returned rather early, but when he reached the place, the village houses had all vanished; he was extremely startled. As he hesitated, he heard the old woman say: "Why have you come so early?" In the twinkling of an eye, the courtyard and buildings were as before, and he was already inside the room; he was even more astonished. Shunhua came out from within and laughed, saying: "Do you suspect me? To tell you the truth: I am a fox spirit, and I have a destined affinity with you. If you must take offense, then let us part now." Zhang, attached to her beauty, accepted it calmly. That night he said to her: "Since you are an immortal, you should be able to cover a thousand li in a single breath. I have been away from home for three years, and my thoughts of my wife and children never leave my heart—can you take me back for a visit?" The young lady seemed displeased and said: "The affection between husband and wife—I consider myself to have given you deep devotion; yet you stay here and think of her—so all our intimate moments together are false!" Zhang apologized and said: "Why do you speak so? The proverb says: 'One day as husband and wife, a hundred days of gratitude and duty.' In the future, when I think of you, it will be just as today I think of her. If I were to forget the old when I gain the new, what would you find in me?" The young lady then laughed and said: "I have a narrow heart: for me, I wish you not to forget; for others, I wish you to forget them. However, if you want to go home for a while, what difficulty is there? Your house is only a foot away!" She then took his sleeve and went out. The road was dark, and Zhang hesitated and did not advance. The young lady pulled him along, and before long she said: "We are here. You go in, and I will leave." Zhang stopped and looked carefully—sure enough, it was his own front gate. He climbed over the broken wall and entered; he saw a lamp still burning in the room. He tapped on the door with two fingers. Inside, a voice asked who it was; Zhang told them all that had happened. Inside, a candle was lit and the door opened—it was indeed Fang. Both were surprised and delighted; they held hands and entered the bed-curtain. Seeing a child lying on the bed, Zhang sighed and said: "When I left, the child was only knee-high; now he has grown so tall!" The couple leaned on each other, as if in a dream. Zhang recounted all he had encountered. When asked about the lawsuit, he learned that some of the students had died in prison, others had been exiled far away; he admired his wife's foresight all the more. Fang relaxed her body into his arms and said: "You have a fine match now—I suppose you no longer think of the one who wept alone under the cold quilt!" Zhang said: "If I did not think of you, why would I have come? Though I say she and I are affectionate, after all she is not of my kind; only her kindness and duty are hard to forget." Fang said: "What kind of person do you take me for?" Zhang looked closely—it was not Fang at all, but Shunhua. He reached out to touch the child—it was only a bamboo wife (a bamboo cylinder pillow). Greatly ashamed, he was speechless. The young lady said: "Now I know your heart! I should break off with you from now on; fortunately you have not forgotten duty and gratitude, which is enough to redeem yourself." After two or three days, she suddenly said: "I think that foolish infatuation and attachment to a person is ultimately meaningless. You have been complaining that I did not see you off; now I happen to be going to the capital, and we can go together by the way." She then took the bamboo wife from the head of the bed and they both straddled it; she told him to close his eyes. He felt they were not far from the ground, and the wind whistled. After a while, they descended. The young lady said: "We part here." Just as he was about to give her his parting words, she was already gone, vanished into the distance. He stood disconsolate for a moment, then heard village dogs barking; in the dim light he saw trees and houses—all familiar scenery of his native place. He followed the road home, climbed over the wall and knocked at the door, just as before. Fang was startled awake and did not believe her husband had returned; only after cross-examining and confirming it did she light a lamp and come out sobbing. When they met, her tears flowed uncontrollably. Zhang still suspected that Shunhua was playing tricks; he saw a child lying on the bed, just like the previous night, and laughed, saying: "Have you brought the bamboo wife along again?" Fang did not understand, and her face changed as she said: "I have longed for you as if for years; the tear stains on the pillow are still there. Now that we are finally together, you show no grief or longing at all—what is in your heart?" Zhang saw that her feelings were genuine, and then he took her arm and sighed, telling her all the details. When asked about the outcome of the lawsuit, it was exactly as Shunhua had said. As they were sighing together, they heard footsteps outside the door; they asked who it was, but received no reply. Now there was a young ruffian in the village who had long coveted Fang's beauty. That night, returning from another village, he had seen from a distance a person climbing over the wall and leaving, and assumed it was someone going to an illicit tryst; he followed him in. This fellow, Jia, did not know Zhang well, but he crouched and eavesdropped. When Fang urgently asked who was there, he called out: "Who is in that room?" Fang prevaricated: "No one." Jia said: "I have been listening for a long time; I have come to catch an adulterer." Fang, with no alternative, told the truth. Jia said: "Zhang Hongjian's major case is not yet closed; even if he has returned home, he should be bound and delivered to the authorities." Fang pleaded piteously with him, but Jia's words became increasingly lewd and threatening. Zhang, with fire of anger burning in his heart, seized a knife and rushed out, slashing Jia on the head. Jia fell but still howled; Zhang slashed him repeatedly, and he died. Fang said: "Now that things have come to this, your guilt is even heavier. Flee quickly—I will take the blame upon myself." Zhang said: "A man dies if he must; how can I disgrace my wife and implicate my child to save my own life? Do not worry; just see that this child does not break the line of scholarship, and I shall close my eyes in peace." At dawn he went to the county and turned himself in. Zhao, since he was involved in a high-profile case, merely punished him lightly. Later he was transferred from the prefecture to the capital, and his fetters were painful and harsh. On the way, he encountered a young lady riding a horse passing by, with an old woman holding the reins—it was Shunhua. Zhang called out to the old woman, wanting to speak, and his tears fell with his voice. The woman turned her horse's reins, raised her hand to open her veil, and exclaimed in surprise: "Cousin, why are you here?" Zhang briefly recounted his story. The woman said: "By your former nature, you would have turned away without a look; but I cannot bear to do so. My humble home is not far; I will invite these officials to come along as well, and we can also help a little with travel expenses." They followed her for two or three li and saw a mountain village with tall and neat pavilions. The woman dismounted and entered, ordering the old woman to open the house and receive the guests. Then wine and meat were abundant and fine, as if prepared beforehand. She also sent the old woman out to say: "Just now there are no men in the house; Master Zhang should urge these officials to drink more cups, for we shall rely much on them on the road ahead. We have sent someone to arrange for several tens of taels of silver to cover the master's expenses and to reward the two guests, but it has not yet arrived." The two bailiffs secretly rejoiced and drank freely, no longer speaking of proceeding. As dusk gradually fell, the two bailiffs became quite drunk. The woman came out, pointed at the fetters, and they immediately fell off; she pulled Zhang to mount one horse together, and they galloped like a dragon. After a short while, she urged him to dismount, saying: "Stop here. I have an appointment with my younger sister at Qinghai, and I have already delayed for a while because of you; I have kept you waiting long." Zhang asked: "When shall we meet again?" The woman did not answer; when he asked again, she pushed him off the horse and left. At dawn, he asked where this was, and it was Taiyuan. He then went to the prefectural city, rented a house, and took on pupils. He assumed the name Gong Ziqian. After ten years, he learned that the search for fugitives had gradually slackened, and so he hesitated and headed eastward. When he neared his village gate, he did not dare to enter immediately, but waited until late at night before entering. When he reached the gate, the walls were high and firm, and he could no longer climb over, so he had to knock on the gate with his whip. After a long time, his wife came out and asked. Zhang whispered to her. Overjoyed, she let him in, but made a scolding voice, saying: "If you were short of money in the capital, you should have returned earlier; why send you here in the middle of the night?" When they entered the room, they told each other all that had happened, and learned that the two bailiffs had fled and not returned. While they were talking, a young woman repeatedly came to the curtain; Zhang asked who she was, and she said: "It is our daughter-in-law." He asked: "Where is our son?" She said: "He went to the prefectural city for the provincial examination and has not returned." Zhang wept and said: "After years of wandering, my son has grown up and established himself; I did not expect that he would continue our scholarly tradition—you must have exhausted your heart's blood!" Before he finished speaking, the daughter-in-law had already warmed wine and cooked rice, spreading them out on the table. Zhang was overjoyed and comforted beyond measure. After a few days, he stayed hidden in the rooms and beds, fearing that others might know. One night, as they were lying down, they suddenly heard a tumult of voices and violent pounding on the gate. Greatly frightened, they both rose. They heard someone say: "Is there a back door?" Even more terrified, they hastily used a door panel as a ladder and sent Zhang over the wall at night to escape, then went to the gate to ask what was the matter—it turned out to be the announcement of a new successful candidate. They were just overjoyed when they deeply regretted that Zhang had fled and could not be pursued. That night, Zhang crossed thickets and threaded through brambles, desperately not choosing his path; by dawn, he was utterly exhausted. His initial thought was to go west, but when he asked a passerby, he learned that the main road to the capital was not far. So he entered a village, intending to pawn his clothes for food. He saw a tall gate with an announcement pasted on the wall; upon closer look, he saw it was a family named Xu, and the new holder of the juren degree. Soon an old man came out from inside; Zhang greeted him with a bow and told him his situation. The old man, seeing his elegant appearance, knew he was not one to beg for food deceitfully, so he invited him in and entertained him. He then asked where he was going. Zhang made an excuse: "I was teaching in the capital and encountered bandits on my way back." The old man kept him to teach his younger son. Zhang briefly asked about his official rank—he was a retired official of capital rank; the juren was his nephew. After more than a month, the juren returned with a fellow graduate, who said he was from Yongping and had the surname Zhang, a youth of eighteen or nineteen. Zhang found that both his native place and surname matched, and secretly suspected it was his son; but there were many of that surname in the county, so he kept silent. In the evening, when they unpacked and produced the 'record of graduates', he eagerly borrowed it to read—it was truly his son. He could not help shedding tears. They all asked in surprise. He then pointed to the name and said: "Zhang Hongjian—that is me." He fully recounted the reasons. The juren Zhang embraced his father and wept loudly. The uncle and nephew Xu comforted and consoled them, and they finally put aside sorrow and rejoiced. Xu immediately sent gold and silk and a letter to inform the authorities, and father and son returned home together. Ever since hearing the news, his wife had been grieving over Zhang's disappearance; suddenly the juren came home, and her grief became even more acute. After a short while, when father and son entered together, she was shocked as if they had descended from heaven; after learning the whole story, they all shared both grief and joy. Jia's father, seeing that his son had become honored, did not dare to harbor his malicious intentions again. Zhang treated him even more generously and also recounted the circumstances of those past years; Jia's father was moved and ashamed, and they became good friends. The Imperial Physician During the Wanli reign, Sun Pingshi lost his father when young, and his mother remained a widow from the age of nineteen. Sun passed the metropolitan examination, but by then his mother had already died. He once told people: "I must obtain a patent of honor to illuminate her in the underworld, so as not to fail my mother's bitter chastity." Suddenly he fell violently ill, very seriously. He had always been on good terms with an imperial physician; he sent someone to summon him. The messenger had barely left when his illness worsened. He opened his eyes and said: "If in life I cannot make my name known and honor my parents, how can I face my old mother in the netherworld?" Then he died, with his eyes unclosed. Shortly after, the imperial physician arrived, heard the sound of weeping, and entered to pay his condolences. Seeing his condition, he found it strange. The family told him the reason. The physician said: "If you want a posthumous patent, that is not difficult. The empress is about to give birth any day now; if you can live just over ten more days, the patent can be obtained." He immediately ordered moxa to be prepared and cauterized the corpse in eighteen places. When the moxa cones were nearly burnt out, the bed began to groan; he quickly administered a decoction, and amazingly he revived. He admonished: "Remember never to eat bear or tiger meat." They all remembered this; but since such things were not commonly available, they did not pay much attention. After three days, he recovered and still attended court congratulations. After six or seven days, the empress indeed gave birth to a crown prince, and the emperor summoned the officials to a banquet. A eunuch brought out a rare delicacy and distributed it to all civil and military officials: white slices with red threads, extremely delicious. Sun ate some without knowing what it was. The next day, he asked his colleagues, who said: "It is bear paw." He was greatly startled, turned pale, and fell ill immediately; by the time he reached home, he was dead. The Flying Ox A certain villager bought an ox, quite strong. He dreamed at night that the ox grew two wings and flew away, and took it as an ill omen, suspecting a loss. He led it to the market and sold it at a reduced price. He wrapped the money in a cloth and tied it around his arm. On his way home, he saw a hawk eating a leftover rabbit; when he approached, it was very tame. He used the end of the cloth to tie its leg and carried it on his arm. The hawk fluttered and struggled repeatedly; when his grip slackened a little, it flew away with the cloth. Although this was fate, yet if he had not doubted the dream, and had not been greedy to pick up what was lost, then how could something that runs suddenly fly away? Wang Zian Wang Zian was a famous scholar of Dongchang, but was frustrated in the examinations. After entering the examination compound, he had great hopes. When the results were about to be announced, he drank heavily and got drunk, then returned to his inner room to sleep. Suddenly someone announced: "The messenger is here!" Wang stumbled up and said: "Reward ten thousand cash!" His family, seeing him drunk, deceived him and calmed him down, saying: "Please just sleep; we have already given the reward." Wang then went to sleep. Soon another person entered and said: "You have passed the metropolitan examination!" Wang said to himself: "I have not yet gone to the capital; how could I have passed?" That person said: "Have you forgotten? The three sessions are over." Wang was overjoyed, rose and shouted: "Reward ten thousand cash!" His family deceived him again as before. After a while, another person hurried in and said: "You have passed the palace examination and become a Hanlin academician; your attendants are here." Indeed, he saw two men kneeling before his bed, neatly dressed. Wang called for wine and food to be given to them; his family again deceived him, secretly laughing at his drunkenness. After a long time, Wang thought to himself that he could not but show off in his village. He called out for his attendants, dozens of times, but there was no response. His family laughed and said: "Lie down for a while and wait; we will find them." After another long while, the attendants indeed came back. Wang pounded the bed and stamped his feet, shouting: "Where have you dull servants gone?" The attendants angrily said: "You poor scholar, you rascal! We were only playing with you, and you dare to curse us?" Wang became angry, suddenly rose to attack them, and knocked off one's hat. Wang also fell over. His wife entered and helped him up, saying: "How can you be so drunk?" Wang said: "The attendants are hateful, so I punished them; how am I drunk?" His wife laughed and said: "There is only one old woman in this house, who cooks for you by day and warms your feet at night. Where are there any attendants to wait on your poor bones?" His children all laughed. Wang's drunkenness gradually cleared, and suddenly he awoke as if from a dream, realizing that all that had gone before was false. Yet he still remembered that the attendant's hat had fallen off; he searched behind the door and found a tasseled hat as big as a teacup. They all wondered. He laughed at himself, saying: "In olden times people were mocked by ghosts; now I have been made fun of by foxes." The Historian of the Strange said: "When scholars enter the examination compound, there are seven likenesses. At first entering, with bare feet and carrying a basket, they are like beggars. When their names are called, officials shout and bailiffs curse, they are like prisoners. When they return to their cells, from every hole a head protrudes, from every room feet are stuck out, they are like cold bees at the end of autumn. When they come out of the examination, their spirits are dazed and confused, heaven and earth seem changed in color, they are like sick birds released from a cage. When they await the announcement of results, they startle at every tree and blade of grass, and their dreams and fancies turn to illusion. Sometimes they entertain thoughts of success, and in an instant pavilions and towers are all complete; sometimes they entertain thoughts of failure, and in a flash their bones and flesh have already decayed. At such times, unable to sit or stand in peace, they are like monkeys in chains. Suddenly a mounted messenger arrives bearing the roll, and the notice does not bear my name—at this moment their expression abruptly changes, they are listless as if dead, like flies that have taken poison, which do not even notice when you toy with them. When first disappointed, their hearts are cold and their spirits broken, and they loudly curse the examiners for being blind and the writing brush for having no spirit, and they are certain to take everything on their desk and burn it to ashes; not stopping at burning, they smash and trample it; not stopping at trampling, they cast it into the muddy stream. From then on, with hair unbound they enter the mountains, facing the stone cliffs, and if anyone should again bring before them an essay beginning with 'Moreover' or 'It has been said,' they would surely take up a weapon and drive him away. But before long, as days pass and distance grows, their anger gradually subsides, and their skill begins to itch again; then they are like a turtledove whose eggs have broken, which must gather wood and build a nest anew. In such circumstances, those who are in the midst of it weep as if they would die; but seen from the viewpoint of the bystander, nothing could be more ridiculous. Wang Zi'an, within his heart, in an instant had ten thousand thoughts—one can imagine that ghosts and foxes had long been secretly laughing, and therefore took advantage of his drunkenness to toy with him. When the person at his bedside woke up, how could she not burst out laughing? Yet the taste of success lasts but a moment; the gentlemen of the Hanlin Academy experience no more than two or three such moments—but Zi'an tasted them all in a single morning, so the fox's kindness is equal to that of the recommending examiner." Diao Xing There was a man named Diao who had no means of livelihood. He would go out and sell the arts of Xu Fu—though in truth he had no such arts. Every few months he would return, and his bags would be full of gold and silk. Everyone found this strange. It happened that a villager was traveling abroad, and from afar he saw within a tall gate a man wearing a Huayang cap, chattering away in a strange accent, surrounded by a crowd of women. Drawing nearer, he saw it was Diao. He thereupon secretly watched what he did. He saw someone ask, "Among us many women, there is one lady—can you distinguish her?"—for a noble lady was in disguise among them, and they wished to test his art. The villager thought Diao would be put to a loss. But Diao calmly pointed across the air and said, "What difficulty is there in distinguishing this? Just observe the noble one's crown—there is surely a cloud aura encircling it." The crowd unconsciously focused their gaze on one person, looking for her cloud aura. Diao then pointed at that person and said, "This is truly the noble one!" The crowd was astonished and took him for a spirit. When the villager returned, he related Diao's cunning. Then one knew that even petty arts must have ability surpassing ordinary men; otherwise, how could one deceive eyes and ears, earn money, and profit without capital? Peasant Woman At Ciyao Village west of the town, there was a peasant's wife who was as brave and strong as a man, and often settled disputes and quarrels for the villagers. She lived in a different county from her husband. Her husband's family was in Gaoyuan, over a hundred li from Zichuan; he came occasionally, stayed a night or two, and left. The woman herself went to Yanshan and made her living selling pottery wares. Any surplus she had, she gave to beggars. One evening, while speaking with a neighbor woman, she suddenly rose and said, "My belly aches a little—I think the little demon is about to leave my body." Then she left. At dawn they went to visit her, and there she was, carrying two huge wine-fermenting vats on her shoulder, about to enter the door. They followed her into her room, and there was an infant lying wrapped in swaddling clothes. They asked in astonishment—it turned out that after giving birth, she had carried that weight for a hundred li. She had formerly been on good terms with the nun of North Nunnery, and they had sworn to be sisters. Later, hearing that the nun had immoral conduct, she flew into a rage, seized a staff, and was about to go and thrash her; only after much pleading did she stop. One day, she met the nun on the road and at once slapped her face. When the nun asked, "What crime have I committed?" she did not reply. She plied both fists and stones until the nun could no longer cry out, then released her and left. The Historian of the Strange said: "The world speaks of 'a heroine among women,' but that still implies one knows oneself not to be a man. This woman went so far as to forget she was even a woman at all. Her boldness and freedom of spirit were no different from the swordswomen of old—perhaps her husband too was of the class of mirror-polishers?" Jinling Yi A certain wine seller of Jinling, Yi by name, whenever he brewed a batch, would add water and put poison in it; even the best drinkers, after no more than a few cups, would be dead drunk as if in mud. For this he gained the name of "Zhongshan," and amassed great wealth. One morning he rose and saw a fox lying drunk by the vat. He bound its four limbs. Just as he was about to find a knife, the fox woke and pleaded, "Do not harm me, and I will grant whatever you ask." He released it, and with a twist it had changed into human form. At that time, in the lane there was a Sun family, whose eldest daughter-in-law was afflicted by a fox spirit. Yi thereupon asked about it, and the fox answered, "That is I myself." Yi noticed that the younger daughter-in-law was even more beautiful, and begged the fox to take him there. The fox demurred, but Yi pressed the request. The fox invited Yi to go, and leading him into a cave, took out a brown coat and gave it to him, saying, "This was left by my elder brother—wearing it you may go there." After he put it on and returned home, none of his family could see him; only when he changed back into his ordinary clothes and went out did they see him. Overjoyed, he went with the fox to the Sun family's house. There he saw a great talisman pasted on the wall, painted with a coiling dragon. The fox, frightened, said, "This monk is most formidable—I shall not go in!" and departed. Yi hesitantly approached, and the dragon on the wall was real, coiled upon the wall, raising its head as if about to fly. Greatly terrified, he too came out. It turned out that Sun had found a foreign monk to perform exorcisms; the monk had given him the talisman and returned first, but had not yet arrived himself. The next day the monk came, set up an altar, and performed his rites. The neighbors all gathered to watch, and Yi mingled among them. Suddenly his expression changed and he fled in haste, as if seized; outside the gate he fell to the ground and turned into a fox, still wearing human clothes on its four limbs. They were about to kill it. His wife and children knelt and pleaded. The monk ordered them to lead it away and give it food and drink each day; within a few months it died. Guo An Sun Wuli had a servant boy who slept alone in a room, and in a daze was carried off. He arrived at a palace and saw Lord Yama above, who looked at him and said, "A mistake—this is not the one." And so he was sent back. After returning, he was greatly frightened and moved to sleep elsewhere. Then another servant, Guo An, seeing the empty bed, lay down there. Another servant, Li Lu, had an old grudge against the boy and had long sought to have his revenge; that night, taking a knife, he entered and felt about in the dark, thinking it was the boy, and killed him. Guo An's father brought suit before the officials. At that time Chen Qishan was the county magistrate, and he showed the father little sympathy. Guo An's father wailed, saying, "In half a lifetime I have raised only this son—now how am I to go on living!" Chen thereupon made Li Lu his son. The father withdrew, harboring his grievance. The wonder here is not that the boy saw a ghost, but that Chen should have decided a case in this fashion. In a western district of Ji, there was a murderer whose wife brought suit. The magistrate was enraged, immediately arrested the murderer, brought him before him, slapped the table, and cursed, saying, "A good and proper couple—and you make her a widow! I shall give you to her as a husband, and make your wife a widow too." And so he pronounced them wed. Verdicts of such decisive clarity are the work of jinshi-degree holders—those of other paths cannot do it. And yet Chen did just the same—what path does not have its talents? Judging Cases In the western cliff village of the county, there was a certain merchant Jia who was killed on the road. The next night, his wife also hanged herself. Jia's younger brother brought a complaint to the officials. At that time, the Zhejiang native Fei Gong Yizhi was magistrate of Zichuan; he personally went to examine the scene. He saw that a cloth bundle containing over five qian of silver was still in the waist of the deceased, and knew it was not a crime of theft. He summoned the village heads and guarantors of the two villages for interrogation, but after a round, there was little clue. Without resorting to torture, he released them all and sent them back to farming; he only ordered the local constables to investigate carefully and report every ten days. After half a year, the matter gradually slackened. Jia's younger brother resented the magistrate's leniency and repeatedly pestered him in the yamen. The magistrate angrily said, "Since you cannot name the culprit, do you want me to put innocent people in chains?" He scolded and drove him out. Having no recourse, Jia's younger brother buried his elder brother and sister-in-law in indignation. One day, because of overdue taxes, several men were arrested. Among them was one Zhou Cheng, who, fearing punishment, stated that the tax money had been fully prepared; he then produced a silver bundle from his waist and presented it for the magistrate's inspection. After examining it, the magistrate asked, "Which village do you come from?" He answered, "Such-and-such village." He asked again, "How far is it from Western Cliff?" He answered, "Five or six li." "The merchant Jia who was killed last year—what relation is he to you?" He answered, "I do not know the man." The magistrate flew into a rage and said, "You killed him, yet you say you do not know him!" Zhou strenuously argued, but the magistrate would not listen; under severe torture, he confessed to the crime. Earlier, Jia's wife, née Wang, was going to visit her in-laws' family. Ashamed that she had no hairpins or ornaments, she pestered her husband to borrow some from the neighbors. The husband refused; the wife borrowed them herself and treasured them greatly. On her way back, she removed them, wrapped them in a bundle, and tucked it inside her sleeve. When she reached home and felt for it, it was gone. She dared not tell her husband, and had no means to compensate the neighbor, and was so distressed she wished to die. That day, Zhou happened to pick it up. Knowing it had been lost by Jia's wife, he watched for Jia to go out, and at midnight climbed over the wall, intending to use it to compel her favors. At that time it was sweltering summer heat; Wang was lying in the courtyard. Zhou stealthily approached and forced himself on her. Wang awoke and shouted loudly. Zhou hurriedly stopped her, leaving the bundle and returning the hairpins. After the deed, the woman warned, "Do not come again in future; my husband is violent—if caught, we will both die!" Zhou angrily said, "I have brought the value of several nights at a brothel—can it be repaid with just one encounter?" The woman soothed him, saying, "It is not that I am unwilling to continue; he is often ill, better to wait calmly for his death." Zhou then left, and thereupon killed Jia. That night he came to the woman and said, "Now so-and-so has been killed by someone, please fulfill your promise." When the woman heard this she wailed loudly; Zhou fled in fear, and by dawn the woman was dead. The magistrate investigated and obtained the truth, and sentenced Zhou to pay for the crime. All marveled at his divine insight, but did not know how he had been able to detect it. The magistrate said, "Nothing is difficult to handle; the key is to be observant at every point. When I first examined the corpse, I saw that the silver bundle had a pattern of a 'ten-thousand' character embroidered on it; Zhou's bundle had the same pattern, showing they came from the same hand. And when I questioned him, he also said he had no old connection with the family, and his words and expression were evasive—thus I was certain he was the real culprit." The Historian of the Strange says: "Among those who judge cases in this world, some simply let matters drag on, while others shackle dozens of people and throw them into chaos. In the courtroom, the drumming of flesh fills the air, the clamor rises in all directions, and then they frown and say, 'I am laboring over the people's affairs.' When the cloud-shaped board is struck three times, they turn to music and women, and difficult disputes are no longer considered; they only wait for the session to open, to scorch the mulberry tree and boil the old turtle. Alas! How can the true feelings of the people be obtained? I often say: 'The wise are not necessarily benevolent, but the benevolent are necessarily wise; for when the mind is painstaking, stratagems emerge.' The words 'be observant at every point' can teach all those who govern the realm and the people." In the same county, there was a man named Hu Cheng, who lived in the same village as Feng An, and their families had long been at odds. The Hu family was strong, father and son; Feng deferred to them and sought to be on friendly terms, but Hu remained suspicious. One day they drank together and became slightly intoxicated, speaking quite openly. Hu boasted, "Do not worry about poverty; a hundred taels of property is not hard to obtain." Feng, knowing that Hu's family was not wealthy, sneered at him. Hu said seriously, "To tell you the truth: yesterday on the road I met a great merchant carrying a rich load, and I pushed him into an abandoned well in the southern hills." Feng laughed at him again. At that time, Hu had a brother-in-law, Zheng Lun, who had entrusted him with several hundred taels of silver to broker a land deal, and Hu now displayed all of it to dazzle Feng. Feng believed him. After they parted, Feng secretly filed a complaint with the magistrate. The magistrate summoned Hu for confrontation; Hu told the truth, and when Zheng and the landowner were questioned, nothing was amiss. So they went together to examine the abandoned well. A constable was lowered down, and indeed there was a headless corpse inside. Hu was terrified and could not defend himself, only cried out that he was wronged. The magistrate angrily struck him dozens of times on the mouth, saying, "There is solid evidence, and you still claim injustice?" He was put in prison with the implements for a condemned man. The corpse was ordered not to be removed; only notices were posted in the villages, calling for the owner of the corpse to come forward. The next day, a woman came holding a complaint, claiming to be the wife of the deceased, saying: "My husband He Jia had taken several hundred taels of silver to go trading and was killed by Hu." The magistrate said, "The body in the well may not necessarily be your husband." The woman insisted firmly. The magistrate then ordered the corpse brought out of the well; upon inspection, it indeed matched. The woman dared not approach, but stood back and wailed. The magistrate said, "The true culprit has been found, but the body is not intact. You may return home for now; when the head of the deceased is obtained, I will immediately order the punishment." He then had Hu brought out of the prison and scolded, "If you do not produce the head by tomorrow, your legs shall be broken in the cangue." Hu was escorted out and returned at the end of the day; when questioned, he only wept. The magistrate then placed the cangue in front of him as if to apply torture, but did not actually torture him, saying, "I imagine that when you carried the corpse in haste that night, you did not notice where it fell—why did you not search carefully?" Hu pleaded piteously for permission to search urgently. The magistrate then asked the woman, "How many children do you have?" She answered, "None." He asked, "What relatives does He Jia have?" "Only an elderly paternal uncle." The magistrate sighed, "A young widow, so forlorn—how is she to go on living?" The woman then wept and kowtowed, begging for mercy. The magistrate said, "The murder charge has been determined; once the complete body is obtained, the case will be closed. After it is closed, you may remarry promptly. You are a young woman, do not come to the yamen again." The woman wept gratefully and withdrew after kowtowing. The magistrate then issued a notice to the villagers, offering a reward for the discovery of the head. After one night, a villager named Wang Wu reported that he had found it. After interrogation and verification, he was given a thousand cash. The magistrate summoned He Jia's uncle and said, "The great case is settled; but a case of life and death is serious and cannot be concluded within a year. Your nephew has no issue, and the young widow can hardly survive; let her marry early. After this, there will be no other business; only if the higher authorities review the case, you will need to appear." The uncle refused, and the magistrate threw down two tally-sticks; when the uncle argued again, another stick was thrown. Frightened, the uncle agreed and withdrew. When the woman heard this, she came to thank the magistrate for his kindness. The magistrate comforted her kindly, and also instructed: "When a suitor comes, report it in the courtroom." After he withdrew, a marriage proposal was immediately submitted—it was none other than Wang Wu, the one who had reported the head. The magistrate summoned the woman and said, "Do you know who the real murderer is?" She answered, "Hu Cheng." The magistrate said, "No. You and Wang Wu are the true murderers." The two were terrified and strenuously pleaded innocence. The magistrate said, "I have long known the truth; the reason I delayed was for fear of any possible injustice. When the corpse had not yet been brought out of the well, how could you be so sure it was your husband? You must have known of his death beforehand. Moreover, He Jia was still dressed in ragged cotton when he died—where would several hundred taels of silver have come from?" He then said to Wang Wu, "And how did you know so well where the head was? The reason you acted so eagerly was to hasten the union." The two turned pale as earth and could not force out a single word. They were both put in the cangue and indeed confessed the truth. It turned out that Wang Wu and the woman had long been having an affair; they had plotted to murder her husband, and it just happened to coincide with Hu Cheng's jest. Hu was released. Feng An, for false accusation, was heavily caned and sentenced to three years of penal servitude. When the case was concluded, not a single person had been unjustly tortured. The Historian of the Strange says: "My Master had a reputation for benevolence and love; even from this single affair, one can see how painstaking the mind of a benevolent man is. When he was magistrate of Zichuan, I was barely in my twenties, and he overvalued and approved of me; but I, dull and untalented, turned out to be like a dancing crane that brought shame to Lord Yang. That my Master in his lifetime had one unwise affair—it was truly I who caused it. Alas!" The Righteous Dog Zhoucun had a certain merchant Jia, who traded in Wuhu and obtained great wealth. He hired a boat to return home, when he saw on the embankment a butcher binding a dog. He paid double the price to redeem it, and raised it on the boat. The boatmen were in fact long-established bandits; spying the traveler's baggage, they rowed the boat into the marshes, and took up knives to kill him. Jia begged them to grant him an intact corpse, whereupon the bandits wrapped him in felt and cast him into the river. The dog, seeing this, gave a mournful howl and plunged into the water, gripping the wrapped bundle in its mouth, and rose and sank with it. It drifted for who knows how many li, until it reached a shallow place and came to a stop. The dog swam out, and went to where there were people, yelping and whining piteously. Some people thought this strange, followed it to the spot, saw the felt bundle in the water, and hauled it out and cut its ropes. The merchant was not yet dead; only then did he relate what had happened. He again begged the boatmen to carry him back to Wuhu, where he would await the bandit boat's return. When he boarded his boat he found the dog was lost, and grieved deeply in his heart. After arriving at the customs post, for three or four days the masts of trading vessels stood like a forest, but the bandit boat was nowhere to be seen. Just then a fellow townsman merchant was about to take him back with him, when suddenly the dog came of itself, gazed at the merchant and howled loudly; when called to, it turned and ran. The merchant left his boat and went after it. The dog ran onto a boat and bit a man's leg and calf; beating it did not make it let go. The merchant drew near and shouted at it, and then saw that the one being bitten was one of the former bandits. Both clothes and boat had been changed, which was why he had not recognized him. They bound him and searched him, and the wrapped gold was still there. Alas! A dog, and yet it requited kindness in such a manner. Those in the world without heart or conscience—they too should feel shame before this dog! Yang Duhong Yang Lian, styled Duhong, when still obscure was a famous Confucian scholar of Chu, and considered himself extraordinary. After the prefectural examinations, hearing that the results for the outstanding candidates had been announced, he was at the time eating; with his mouth still full he went out and asked, "Is there a certain Yang?" The reply was, "No." Unconsciously crestfallen and dejected, he swallowed the food down into his diaphragm, which thereupon formed a morbid lump, causing such obstruction and pain that he could hardly swallow. Everyone urged him to enter as a candidate for the supplementary list; but he was troubled by lack of funds, so the others collected ten taels of silver and sent him on his way, and he reluctantly set out. That night he dreamed someone told him, "Ahead there is someone who can cure your illness—you should earnestly beg him." As he was leaving, the man gave him a poem, which contained the lines: "By the river's edge, beneath the willows, three tunes on the flute / Cast them to the river's heart and do not sigh." The next day on the road, he indeed saw a Daoist seated beneath a willow, and so went to pay his respects and plead for help. The Daoist laughed and said, "You are mistaken—how could I cure illness? I can play three tunes for you, that is all." Thereupon he took out his flute and played. Yang, recalling his dream, bowed and pleaded all the more earnestly, and even emptied his purse to offer it. The Daoist took the silver and flung it into the river. Yang, thinking how hard it had been to come by, gasped in dismay and regret. The Daoist said, "Can you not bear to let it go? The silver is by the riverbank—go and take it yourself." Yang went to look and indeed found it there. He was even more amazed, and hailed him as an Immortal. The Daoist casually pointed and said, "I am no Immortal—the Immortal is coming over there." He tricked Yang into turning his head, then forcefully slapped his nape and said, "How mundane!" Yang received the slap, opened his mouth and made a sound, and vomited forth an object from his throat, which struck the ground with a thud. He bent down and broke it open: within red filaments, the rice he had swallowed was still preserved. His illness vanished as if it had never been. When he looked back, the Daoist had already disappeared. The Historian of the Strange comments: "When alive, he was a mountain or a river; when dead, he is a sun or a star—why should one need longevity to be undying? Some, lamenting that he could not escape the mundane and so did not become a Celestial Immortal, grieve for him; but I say that one more Immortal in Heaven is not as good as one more Sage on Earth—those who understand will surely not say my words are topsy-turvy." Chaya Mountain Cave At Chaya Mountain in Zhangqiu, there was a stone hollow like a well, several feet deep. On the northern wall there was a cave entrance; by lying prone and craning the neck one could see it. It happened that several villagers, on the Double Ninth Festival, climbed the mountain and drank at that spot, and together planned to enter and explore it. Three men took lamps and were lowered down. The cave was high and spacious, equal to a large hall; after entering a few paces it narrowed somewhat, and then suddenly they saw the bottom. At the bottom there was a small opening, through which one could crawl in serpentine fashion. When they shone their lights in, it was pitch-dark, deep and unfathomable. Two, daunted, retreated; one snatched the torch and scoffed at them, then squeezed his body through and entered. Fortunately the narrow part was only the thickness of a wall, whereupon it suddenly grew high and wide again, so he stood up, and then walked. Above, the rocks jutted out perilously, seeming about to fall yet not falling. The two walls were jagged and rugged, resembling the sculptures in temples and monasteries, all taking the forms of birds, beasts, humans, and ghosts: birds as if flying, beasts as if running, humans as if sitting or standing, and demons and specters displaying wrathful expressions—strange and grotesque, mostly ugly with few fair. His heart was chilled with terror. He was glad that the path was level, with no great slopes. He groped his way for several hundred paces, when on the western wall a stone chamber opened; to the left of the door stood a strange stone demon, facing him like a man, with glaring eyes, a gaping mouth like a winnowing fan, and fierce teeth and tongue; its left hand was clenched into a fist and pressed against its waist; its right hand spread its five fingers as if to pounce on him. In great fear, his hair stood on end. Gazing into the distance he saw ashes in the doorway, and knew that someone had been there before; his courage then somewhat revived, and he forced himself to enter. He saw bowls and cups arranged on the ground, filled with mud and filth; but these were all recent objects, not ancient ware. Beside them were placed four pewter pots; he coveted them, so he untied his belt, tied them to his neck, and fastened them at his waist. Then he looked to the side, and saw a corpse lying in the western corner, its two arms and legs spread out crosswise. He was terrified beyond measure. Gradually he examined it: the feet wore pointed shoes, and the plum-blossom patterns on the soles were still visible, so he knew it was a young woman. From what place she came, and in what year she died, he did not know. The color of her clothing was faded and rotten, so that blue and red could not be distinguished; her hair was disheveled, like a basketful of tangled silk, stuck to her skull; there were two eye sockets and two nostrils; two rows of white, gleaming teeth, which he supposed were her mouth. The thought came to him that there should be gold or pearl ornaments on her head; when he brought the fire near her head, it seemed as if a breath of air blew at the lamp, which flickered unsteadily, the flame turning a dark yellow, and her clothes stirred and fluttered. Again greatly terrified, his hand trembled, and the lamp was suddenly extinguished. Recalling the path, he ran back in haste, not daring to feel the walls with his hands, for fear of touching some ghostly thing. His head struck a rock and he fell, but immediately rose again; cold moisture soaked his chin and cheeks; he knew it was blood, yet felt no pain, and dared not even groan; gasping for breath he rushed to the small opening, and was about to crouch down when it seemed someone seized his hair, and he fainted on the spot. The others sat above the well and waited a long time; growing suspicious, they lowered two more men. They thrust their bodies into the opening and saw hair caught on the rock, with blood oozing, and the man already stiff. The two were pale with fright and did not dare enter, but sat in anxious lament. Soon two more were sent down from above; among them was a brave one, who went boldly in and dragged him out. They placed him on the mountain; after half a day he revived, and told the story in detail. His only regret was that he had not reached the very bottom; had he explored it fully, there surely would have been even finer sights. Later, the magistrate of Zhangqiu heard of it and sealed the opening with clay, so that no one could enter again. In the years 1687–1688, the southern cliff of Yangmu Valley collapsed, revealing a cave mouth; looking into it, stalactites stood in groves like dense bamboo shoots. Yet it was deep and perilous, and no one dared enter. Suddenly a Daoist arrived, calling himself a disciple of Zhongli, and said, "My master sent me ahead to cleanse the cave dwelling." The locals supplied him with oil and torches; the Daoist took them and descended, but fell onto a stalactite, which pierced his belly and killed him. The matter was reported to the magistrate, who ordered the cave sealed. There surely must have been wondrous scenes within, but alas the Daoist had achieved "corpse liberation" and left no reply. Anqi Island Changshan Grand Secretary Liu Hongxun, together with a certain military officer, went as envoy to Korea. He heard that Anqi Island was where immortals dwelt, and wished to have a boat take him there for a visit. The Korean ministers all said it was not possible, and told him to wait for Xiao Zhang. — For Anqi did not communicate with the world; only his disciple Xiao Zhang would come once or twice a year. Those wishing to go to the island must first inform him. If he deemed it feasible, then one sail would take them there; if not, a typhoon would capsize the boat. After a day or two, the king summoned him. Entering the court, he saw a man, wearing a sword and a palm-bark hat, seated in the hall; about thirty years old, with a refined and clean appearance. Upon inquiry, it was Xiao Zhang. Liu then stated his desire to visit, and Xiao Zhang consented. But he said: "The deputy envoy cannot go." He went out again, surveyed all the attendants, and only two could accompany them on the excursion. He then ordered a boat to guide Liu and they all went together. The distance by water was unknown, but they felt as if riding on a gentle breeze through clouds and mist; in a moment they had arrived at the place. It was then severe winter, but upon arrival the climate was warm and mild, with mountain flowers covering the valleys. They were led into a cavern dwelling, where they saw three old men sitting cross-legged. Those on the east and west, seeing the guests enter, were indifferent as if unaware; only the one seated in the middle rose to welcome the guests and exchanged courtesies. After they sat down, he called for tea. A boy took a tray and went away. On the stone wall outside the cave there was an iron awl, its point sunk into the stone; the boy pulled out the awl, and water sprayed out, which he caught with a cup; when it was full, he plugged it again. Then he brought it over; its color was pale green. When tasted, its coldness made one's teeth chatter. Liu, fearing the cold, did not drink. The old man looked at the boy and motioned with his chin. The boy took the cup away, sipped the remainder; then again at the same place pulled out the awl, collected more and returned, and now it was fragrant and steaming, as if freshly taken from a cauldron. Liu secretly found it strange. He asked about good and ill fortune; the old man laughed and said: "We who are outside the world do not know the years and months; how can we understand human affairs?" He asked about the art of averting old age; he said: "This is not something a wealthy and noble person can accomplish." Liu rose to take his leave, and Xiao Zhang still escorted him back. Upon arriving in Korea, he recounted all the marvels in full. The king sighed and said: "Pity you did not drink the cold one. That was the primordial jade liquid; one cup can extend one's life by a hundred years." Liu was about to return, and the king presented him with an object, wrapped in many layers of paper and silk, and instructed him not to open it near the sea. After he left the sea, he hastily took it out and opened it; after removing several hundred layers, he saw a mirror. Examining it closely, he could see the dragon palaces and dragon tribes clearly in full detail. While he was gazing intently, he suddenly saw the tide rise higher than pavilions and towers, roaring and already approaching. Greatly alarmed, he galloped away; the tide pursued him, as fast as wind and rain. In great fear, he threw the mirror into it, and the tide immediately fell. Yuan Su Li Jilin, acting as magistrate of Yuanjiang, upon first taking office, saw cats and dogs filling the hall and was astonished. His subordinates said: "These are the common people of this countryside coming to behold your distinguished presence." After a short while, half of them had turned into humans; after more time, they all became humans again and departed in succession. One day, he went out to visit a guest, with his sedan chair on the road. Suddenly one of the sedan bearers cried out: "I have been harmed!" He then asked a servant to take over the carrying, and knelt on the ground asking for leave. The magistrate angrily berated him, but the servant did not heed him and ran off swiftly. He sent someone to follow him. The servant ran into the market, found an old man, and begged him to examine him. The old man looked at him and said: "You have indeed been harmed." Then he felt his flesh with his hand, pushing from top to bottom with force; when he pushed down to the thigh, he saw a bulge rise under the skin, and with a sharp knife cut it open, extracted a stone, and said: "It is healed." Then he ran back. Later it was heard that in that place there was a custom where if a person lay in his room, his hand would fly out, enter people's chambers, and steal possessions. If the owner detected it and bound it so it could not leave, then that person's arm would become useless. Yunluo Gongzhu An Daye was a native of Lulong. At birth he could speak; only after his mother fed him dog's blood did he stop. When he grew up, he was handsome and elegant, without peer in his reflection; clever and fond of reading. The great families vied to betroth their daughters to him. His mother dreamed: "Your son shall marry a princess." She believed it. By the time he was fifteen or sixteen, it had still not come true, and he gradually began to doubt it himself. One day, An was sitting alone when he suddenly smelled a strange fragrance. Soon a pretty maid rushed in and said, "The princess has arrived." She then spread a long felt rug on the ground from outside the door straight to the foot of the couch. While he was still startled and uncertain, a young lady entered, leaning on the maid's shoulder; her attire and radiant countenance lit up all four walls. The maid at once placed an embroidered cushion on the couch and helped the young lady to sit. An, flustered and at a loss, bowed and asked, "What immortal from what place has taken the trouble to descend with jade steps?" The young lady smiled faintly, covering her mouth with her sleeve. The maid said, "This is Princess Yunluo from the Palace of the Holy Empress. The Holy Empress has taken a liking to you, sir, and wishes to give the princess to you in marriage, so she has sent her to inspect your residence in person." An was overjoyed and surprised, not knowing what to say; the lady also bowed her head: they sat facing each other in silence. An had always loved chess, and a board was often placed by his seat. One maid took a red cloth to dust it, moved it onto the table, and said, "Her Highness indulges in this daily—I wonder which of you, her intended, is the better player?" An moved his seat closer to the table, and the princess smilingly followed suit. They had just played over thirty moves when a maid wilfully scrambled the pieces, saying, "The consort has lost!" She gathered the pieces into the box and said, "The consort must be a master among common players; Her Highness can only give you a handicap of six stones." Thereupon she placed six black stones on the board, and the princess followed suit. Whenever the princess sat, she would have a maid lie under her seat to support her feet with her back; when her left foot touched the ground, she would have another maid lie on the right. Two young handmaids also attended her at the sides; whenever An was deep in thought, she would bend one elbow and lean it on his shoulder. Before the game was over, a handmaid laughed and said, "The consort is one stone behind." Then she added, "Her Highness is weary; it would be best to withdraw for now." The lady then leaned over and whispered to the maid. The maid went out, and after a short while returned, placing a thousand pieces of gold on the couch, and said to the student, "Her Highness has just said that your dwelling is cramped and low; she asks you to trouble yourself with this to make some repairs, and when they are completed, she will meet you again." One maid said, "This month is inauspicious for building, due to the Heavenly Punishment star; after the month it will be auspicious." The lady rose; An tried to stop her and closed the door. The maid produced an object shaped like a leather bellows, worked it on the ground; clouds of vapor burst forth, and in a moment they had spread on all sides, so that nothing could be seen in the gloom. When he groped for them, they had vanished. His mother, learning of this, suspected it to be demonic. But An's mind was so entranced that he could not give her up. Eager to complete the building, he had no time for taboos; he set a strict deadline and pressed the work, and soon the halls and rooms were newly finished. Now, there was a scholar from Luanzhou named Yuan Dayong, who was lodging in a neighbouring lane. He sent in his visiting card at An's gate; but An, who had always kept few acquaintances, pleaded that he was out, and later, when he saw Yuan was away, he returned the call. After more than a month, they happened to meet outside the gate—a young man of about twenty. He wore a thin silk robe of palace gauze, a silk belt, and black boots; his bearing was very refined. They exchanged a few words, and he was quite gentle and courteous. An took a liking to him and bowed him inside. He invited him to play chess, and they won and lost in turn. Soon he set out wine and they lingered, laughing and chatting most happily. The next day, Yuan invited An to his lodging, where delicacies were served in abundance and he treated him with great warmth. There was a young boy of twelve or thirteen who sang clearly to the clappers and also performed tumbling tricks. An became very drunk and could not walk, so he asked to be carried. An thought the boy too slight and frail, afraid he could not manage it. Yuan insisted. The boy had more than enough strength; he bore him on his back and carried him home. An found it remarkable. The next day, he rewarded him with gold; after repeated refusals, the boy accepted it. From then on their friendship grew close, and they visited each other every few days. Yuan was by nature taciturn, but generous and fond of giving. In the market, if he saw someone who had sold a daughter because of debt, he would open his purse to redeem her, without any sign of reluctance. An therefore esteemed him all the more. After a few days, Yuan came to take his leave and presented An with more than ten items—ivory chopsticks, nanmu beads, and the like—and five hundred taels of silver, to help with the building work. An returned the silver but kept the gifts, and gave him a bolt of silk in return. Over a month later, a retired official from Leting returned home with a full bag of riches. Thieves broke in at night, seized the master, burned him with iron pincers, and ransacked everything. The household recognized Yuan, and a warrant was issued for his arrest. A neighbouring butcher, named Tu, had long been on bad terms with An's family, and because An was in the midst of extensive construction, he secretly harboured suspicion and jealousy. Just then, a young servant stole the ivory chopsticks and sold them to Tu's household; recognizing them as Yuan's gift, Tu reported the matter to the magistrate. The magistrate sent soldiers to surround An's house. Finding that An and his servants were out, they arrested his mother and took her away. The old lady, frail and terrified, was left barely breathing, and for two or three days she could not eat or drink. The magistrate released her. When An heard of his mother's calamity, he hurried home, but his mother's illness was already critical; after a night, she died. He had barely finished the funeral when he was arrested by constables. The magistrate, seeing that he was young, gentle, and refined, privately suspected a wrongful accusation, and so intimidated him with threats. An honestly related the circumstances of his acquaintance with Yuan. The magistrate asked, "How did you become so suddenly rich?" An said, "My mother had a hidden store of silver; because I was about to welcome my bride, I was refurbishing the bridal chamber." The magistrate believed him and prepared the documents to send him to the prefectural court. The neighbour, knowing that he was innocent, bribed the guards heavily to kill him on the road. As they passed through deep mountains, they dragged him toward a steep cliff and were about to push him over. At this desperate moment, when his peril was extreme, suddenly a tiger burst out from the thicket, bit both guards to death, and carried An away in its mouth. It brought him to a place with multiple storied buildings and pavilions, entered, and set him down. There he saw Yunluo, leaning on a maid, come out. She comforted him sorrowfully: "I wished to keep you here, but your mother's burial has not yet been settled. You may take this warrant and go; present yourself at the prefectural court, and you will be safe." Then she took the cord at An's chest, tied more than ten knots in it, and instructed: "When you see the official, take this knot and undo it—this will avert disaster." An followed her instructions and presented himself at the prefectural court. The prefect was pleased with his honesty, and after examining the documents, recognized his innocence; he expunged his name and ordered him released. On the way back, he met Yuan, who dismounted and took his hand, and An told him everything that had happened. Yuan flushed with anger but remained silent. An said, "With your refinement, why do you debase yourself so?" Yuan replied, "Those I have killed were all unjust men; what I have taken was all ill-gotten wealth. Otherwise, even if it were left by the roadside, I would not pick it up. Your advice to me is good indeed, but as for your neighbour—how could such a man be left in this world?" With that, he sprang onto his horse and rode away. An returned, buried his mother, and closed his gate to visitors. Suddenly, one night, thieves entered the neighbour's house, killing the entire family of more than ten, father and sons, leaving only one maid. They swept up the goods and divided them with the boy servants. Before leaving, the leader took a lamp and said to the maid: "Mark this—the killer is I, and no one else is involved." They did not even open the gate, but flew over the eaves and crossed the walls and departed. The next day, the matter was reported to the authorities. Suspecting that An knew something, they arrested him again. The county magistrate's tone and expression were harsh. An went up to the hall, gripping his cord, and while defending himself he undid it; the magistrate could not question him further and released him again. After returning, An kept even more to himself, studying and not going out, with only a lame old woman to do the cooking. When the mourning period was over, he swept the courtyard daily, awaiting good news. One day, a strange fragrance filled the courtyard. He went up to the pavilion and looked—inside and out, everything was newly arrayed and gleaming. He quietly lifted the painted curtain, and there was the princess, fully made up and seated. He hurriedly bowed to her. The lady took his hand and said, "You would not trust fate, and so you let building works bring disaster; and then, with the grief of mourning, you delayed our wedded bliss for three years—thus by rushing you only gained delay. Most things under heaven are like this." An was about to bring out money to prepare refreshments. The lady said, "Do not trouble yourself." A maid opened a box, and the dishes and soups were as hot as if freshly taken from the pot, and the wine was also fragrant and mellow. They drank for a while, and by the time the sun had set, the maids under her feet had gradually all disappeared. The princess, languid and delicate, stretched and bent her feet and legs as if resting on nothing. An caressed and embraced her. The lady said, "You may let me go for a moment. There are two paths before you—please choose one." An put his arms around her neck and asked what they were. She said, "If we are companions in chess and wine, we may have thirty years together; if we enjoy the pleasures of the bedchamber, we may have but six years of harmony. Which do you take?" An said, "Let us discuss it again after six years." The lady fell silent, and they gave themselves to each other's delight. The lady said, "I knew you could not escape the common way—this too is fate." Thereupon she had An keep maidservants and an old woman in a separate southern courtyard, where they cooked, spun, and wove to make a living. In the northern courtyard, there was no smoke or fire at all—only a chessboard and wine vessels. The door was usually closed; when An pushed it, it opened of itself, and no one else could enter. Yet the lady always knew whether the people in the southern courtyard were diligent or lazy in their work, and she would send An to rebuke them, and they always confessed everything. The lady spoke no superfluous words, gave no loud laugh; when she had something to say, she would only bow her head and smile faintly. When sitting shoulder to shoulder, she liked to lean slantwise against him. An would lift her and place her on his knee; she was as light as holding a baby. An said, "You are so light—you could dance on a palm." She said, "What difficulty is there in that!" But as for what those maidservants do, I disdain it. Feiyan was originally the attendant of my ninth sister; she repeatedly offended by frivolity, and in anger I banished her to the mortal world. Yet she did not keep to a woman’s chastity; now she has been confined. The pavilion was covered with brocade, so that in winter it was never cold, and in summer never hot. The lady in deepest winter always wore light gauze; the scholar had new clothes made for her and forced her to put them on. After a while she took them off, saying, "These dusty and filthy things nearly weigh down my bones to the point of exhaustion!" One day, holding her on his knees, he suddenly felt her twice as heavy as before and wondered. She laughingly pointed to her belly and said, "There is a mundane seed in here." After a few days, frowning and not eating, she said, "I have lately suffered from morning sickness and rather crave the taste of cooked food." The scholar then prepared delicacies for her. From then on her eating and drinking were no different from ordinary people. One day she said, "My constitution is frail and cannot bear childbirth. The maidservant Fan Ying is quite robust; she may be used to take my place." So she took off her undergarment and dressed Fan Ying in it, then shut her in a room. After a short while, they heard a baby cry. Opening the door to look, it was a boy. She joyfully said, "This child has a blessed countenance; he is a great vessel!" So he was named Daqi. She wrapped him in swaddling and placed him in the scholar’s arms, to be given to a wet nurse and raised in the southern courtyard. After her delivery, the lady’s waist was as slender as before, and she no longer ate cooked food. Suddenly she took leave of the scholar, wishing to make a brief visit to her family. When asked the date of return, she replied, "Three days." She mounted the drum-skin raft as before and then disappeared. When the time came she did not appear; after over a year, all news ceased, and he had given up hope. The scholar locked his door and lowered his curtains to study, and then passed the provincial examination. He never would marry again; he always slept alone in the northern courtyard, soaking in her lingering fragrance. One night, tossing on his bed, he suddenly saw lamplight shining through the window; the door also opened by itself, and a group of maidservants escorted the lady in. The scholar was delighted, rose, and asked her about the fault of breaking her promise. The lady said, "I have not overstayed; in heaven it has been only two and a half days." The scholar, pleased with himself, boasted and told her of his autumn success, expecting that she would be delighted. The lady said with a worried look, "What use are such chance gains! They bring neither honor nor disgrace, only shorten one’s lifespan. In three days of not seeing me, you have sunk another layer into the worldly veil." From then on the scholar no longer sought advancement. After a few months, she again wished to visit her family. The scholar was extremely sad and reluctant. The lady said, "This time I will certainly return early, so do not worry about looking out for me. Besides, in life, meetings and separations all have their fixed numbers; if economized, they are long, if indulged, they are short." After she left, she returned in a little over a month. From then on, about once every year or half-year she would make a trip, often taking several months to return; the scholar became used to it and no longer found it strange. She bore another son. The lady held him up and said, "A wolf!" She immediately ordered him abandoned. The scholar could not bear it and stopped her, naming him Keqi. As soon as he was one year old, she urgently sought to divine a match for him. Many matchmakers came one after another; when asked their birth dates, they all said they did not match. She said, "I wanted to make a deep pen for this wolf cub, but could not find one; now let him suffer ruin for six or seven years—that too is fate." She instructed the scholar: "Remember that four years from now, the Hou family will have a daughter with a small mole on her left side—she will be this child’s wife. You must betroth him to her, and do not mind her family status." She immediately had it written down and recorded. Afterwards she again went to visit her family and never returned. The scholar often told relatives and friends about her instructions. Indeed there was a daughter of the Hou family with the mole; the Hous were lowly and behaved badly, and everyone despised them, but the scholar nevertheless engaged her through a matchmaker. Daqi passed the imperial examination at seventeen and married Yun; the couple were both filial and fraternal. The father doted on him. Keqi grew up, did not like study, and often secretly gambled with rogues; he constantly stole things to pay his gambling debts. The father was angry and beat him, but he never changed. They warned each other to be on guard, not letting him get anything. So he went out at night and committed petty burglaries. He was caught by the owner, bound, and sent to the county magistrate. The magistrate examined his surname and sent him home with a visiting card. The father and elder brother together bound him and tortured him severely, almost to the point of death. The elder brother pleaded for mercy on his behalf, and only then was he released. The father, enraged and resentful, fell ill and his appetite sharply decreased. So he drew up a property division document for the two sons, giving all the pavilions and fertile fields to Daqi. Keqi, full of resentment and anger, took a knife into the room at night to kill his elder brother, but mistakenly struck his sister-in-law. Previously, the lady had left a pair of trousers, extremely light and soft; Yun picked them up and made them into a nightgown. Keqi chopped at it, sparks flew in all directions; greatly frightened, he ran out. When the father learned of this, his illness worsened, and after several months he died. Keqi, hearing of his father’s death, then returned. The elder brother treated him well, but Keqi became even more reckless. After over a year, he had almost squandered all the property allotted to him, and went to the prefecture to sue his brother. The official, having examined and learned of his character, reprimanded and expelled him. Thus the fraternal harmony was broken. Another year passed; Keqi was twenty-three, and the Hou girl fifteen. The elder brother recalled his mother’s words and wished to quickly arrange the marriage. He summoned him home, prepared a fine house for them to live in, and welcomed the bride into the household. He registered all the fine fields left by their father and handed them over, saying, "These few hectares of modest property I have risked my life to preserve for you; now I give them all to you. My younger brother has no conduct; even a blade of grass given to him would be wasted. Henceforth success or failure rests with the new wife: if she can make him change his ways, you need not worry about hunger or cold; otherwise, I, as elder brother, cannot fill a bottomless pit." Though Hou was of a humble family, she was clever and beautiful; Keqi greatly feared and loved her, and dared not disobey anything she said. Whenever he went out, she set a time limit; if he exceeded it, she would scold him harshly and give him no food or drink, so Keqi restrained himself a little. After over a year, she bore a son. The wife said, "From now on I have no need to beg from others. With several hectares of fertile land, why should mother and son worry about food and clothing? Even without a husband, it would be fine." It happened that Keqi stole grain to go gambling; the wife learned of it and bent a bow at the door to block him. Greatly frightened, he fled. Peeping that his wife had gone inside, he hesitantly entered as well. The wife picked up a knife and stood up. Keqi turned and fled; the wife pursued and slashed him, cutting his clothes and wounding his buttocks, blood staining his socks and shoes. Furious, he went to complain to his elder brother, but his brother did not receive him courteously; aggrieved and ashamed, he left. After a night, he came again, kneeling before his sister-in-law and weeping pitifully, begging her to intercede with his wife; but his wife firmly refused to take him back. Keqi became angry and was about to go kill his wife; his brother remained silent. Keqi, in a rage, seized a lance and rushed out. His sister-in-law was startled and wanted to stop him; his brother restrained her with a look. After he left, he said, "He is only putting on this show; he really dare not go home." He sent someone to spy, and he had already entered his house. The elder brother then changed expression and was about to rush over, but Keqi had already come back panting. It turned out that when Keqi entered, his wife was playing with their child; seeing him, she threw the child onto the bed and went to get a kitchen knife. Keqi was terrified, dragged his lance and fled back; his wife chased him outside the door before returning. The elder brother already knew the truth and deliberately questioned him. Keqi said nothing, only wept facing the corner, his eyes swollen. The elder brother took pity on him and personally led him back; only then did his wife accept him. After the elder brother had gone, she punished him by making him kneel for a long time, exacted a solemn oath from him, and then gave him food in an earthen basin. From then on he reformed and did good. The wife managed accounts and calculations, daily increasing their wealth; Keqi merely relied on her achievements. Later, when he was seventy, with children and grandchildren all around, his wife would still sometimes stroke his white beard and make him crawl on his knees. Yishi Shi said: "Fierce wives and jealous women—those who encounter them are like having a gangrene attached to the bone, which only ceases at death. Is that not poisonous! Yet arsenic and aconite are the most poisonous things under heaven; if properly used, they cause dizziness and cure grave illnesses, something that ginseng and poria cannot match. But unless one is an immortal who can see into the viscera, who would dare to bequeath poison to one’s descendants!" Li Shanjian, a provincial graduate of Zhangqiu, was unconventional and unrestrained in his youth, and excelled in music, lyrics, and operatic arias. His two elder brothers both passed the highest imperial examinations, but he became even more frivolous. He married Lady Xie, who somewhat restrained him. He then ran away and did not return for three years; they searched everywhere but could not find him. Later they found him in the pleasure quarters of Linqing. When the servants entered, they saw him sitting facing south, with a dozen young concubines attending him on both sides—they were all people who had studied music and arts under him. When he left, he accumulated several chests of clothes, all gifts from those concubines. After returning home, his lady confined him to a single room and piled books all over the table. She tied a long rope to the leg of his bed, ran its end out through the window lattice, threaded a large bell onto it, and tied it in the kitchen. Whenever he needed anything, he would step on the rope; when the rope moved, the bell rang, and she would respond. The lady personally ran a pawnshop, letting down a curtain to receive goods and appraise their value; in her left hand she held an abacus, in her right a writing brush; an old servant merely ran errands. In this way she accumulated wealth. She was always ashamed that she could not match the rank of her sisters-in-law. After three years of confinement, her husband passed the provincial examination. Delighted, she said, "Three eggs, two hatched; I thought you were a rotten one, but now you have succeeded too?" Again, there was a _jinshi_ named Geng Songsheng, also a native of Zhangqiu. His wife always used the light of her spinning wheel to assist his reading: while she spun without stopping, he dared not rest from his reading. When friends or old acquaintances came to call, she would secretly listen: if they discussed literature, she would brew tea and prepare food; if they indulged in wanton jokes and banter, she would drive them out with harsh words. Whenever he obtained a merely average result in an examination, he dared not enter the inner chamber; only when he achieved the top grade would she greet him with a smile. All the money he earned from teaching he handed over to her, not daring to conceal the slightest bit. Therefore, when his patrons gave presents, she would always haggle over every coin face to face. People might mock or laugh at her, but they did not know how difficult it was for her to balance the accounts. Later, his father-in-law invited him to teach his younger brother. That year the brother passed the prefectural examination, and the father-in-law gave ten taels of silver as a thank-offering. Geng took the gift box but returned the silver. When his wife learned of it, she said, “Though he is a close relative, still what is your teaching for?” She pursued and brought it back, and he accepted it. Geng did not dare to argue, but he always felt uneasy in his heart and thought of secretly repaying it. So each year he reported his teaching fees to her in reduced amounts. After accumulating for over two years, he had a certain sum. Suddenly he dreamed that a man told him, “Tomorrow climb to a height, and the sum will be complete.” The next day, he tried to go and look out from a height, and indeed he found some lost silver, which exactly matched the deficit; thereupon he repaid his father-in-law. Later he became a _jinshi_, yet his wife still scolded and rebuked him. Geng said, “Now that I have entered officialdom, how can you still act like this?” His wife said, “The proverb says: ‘When the water rises, the boat also rises high.’ Even if you become prime minister, would you then be any higher?” --- **Bird Language** In the central plains there was a Daoist priest who begged for food in villages. After eating, he heard an oriole sing, and thereupon told the host to be careful with fire. When asked why, he replied, “The bird says: ‘Great fire, hard to save—frightening!’” The people laughed at him and did not prepare. The next day, a fire indeed broke out, spreading to several houses, and they began to marvel at his divinity. Some followers caught up with him and called him an immortal. The Daoist said, “I only understand bird language—how am I an immortal?” Just then there was a spotted sparrow singing in a tree, and they asked what it said. He said, “The sparrow says: ‘Raised on the sixth, raised on the sixth; die on the fourteenth or sixteenth.’ I think this household has had twins. Today is the tenth; within five or six days, they will both die.” They inquired, and indeed they had given birth to two sons; before long, both died, and the dates exactly matched. The county magistrate heard of his marvels, summoned him, and retained him as a guest. At that time a flock of ducks passed by, and he asked about them. He replied, “Your Honour’s inner chambers must be quarrelling. The ducks say: ‘Stop, stop! Favoring him! Favoring him!’” The magistrate was greatly impressed, for indeed his wife and concubine had been at odds, and he had just come out because of the uproar. Thereupon he kept him in his office and treated him with courtesy. He often interpreted bird language, and many of his predictions proved remarkably accurate. But the Daoist was simple and rustic, and when he spoke freely he had no restraint. The magistrate was extremely greedy; he converted all supplies and goods for use into cash and pocketed them. One day, while they were sitting, the ducks came again, and the magistrate questioned him once more. He answered, “What they say today is not the same as before—it is about Your Honour’s accounting.” Asked, “What accounting?” He said, “They say: ‘Candles, one hundred eight; cinnabar, one thousand eight.’” The magistrate felt ashamed and suspected that he was mocking him. The Daoist asked to leave, but the magistrate would not allow it. After a few days, while entertaining guests, he suddenly heard a cuckoo. The guests asked about it. He replied, “The bird says: ‘Lose office and leave.’” Everyone was stunned and turned pale. The magistrate flew into a rage and immediately drove him out. Not long after, the magistrate was indeed dismissed for corruption. Alas! This immortal gave him a warning, but unfortunately, those whose hearts are consumed by peril and profit did not awaken to it. In Qi custom, cicadas are called “Shaoqian” (slightly promoted), and the green ones are called “Duliao” (all done). In a certain county there was a father and son, both students of the Qing and She schools, who were about to take the annual prefectural examination when suddenly a cicada alighted on their lapels. The father rejoiced, saying, “Shaoqian—an auspicious omen.” A servant looked at it and said, “What ‘Shaoqian’? It is nothing but ‘Duliao.’” The father and son were displeased. Soon afterward, they were both dismissed from the list. --- **Heavenly Palace** Guo Sheng was a man from the capital. He was over twenty years of age, with a handsome and refined appearance. One day, at dusk, an old woman brought him a flagon of wine. He found it strange that there was no reason for it. The old woman smiled and said, "There is no need to ask; just drink it, and you will naturally reach a fine state." Then she went straight away. He lifted the flagon and gave it a slight sniff; a chilly fragrance spread in all directions, so he drank it. Suddenly he became greatly intoxicated, and fell into a daze without awareness. When he awoke, he was lying pillow to pillow with a person. Touching the person, the skin was smooth as tallow, with the scent of musk and orchid wafting about—it was a woman. He asked her, but she did not answer. He then had intercourse with her. After it was done, he felt the wall with his hand; the wall was all stone, with a dank earthen smell, very much like a tomb. He was greatly alarmed and suspected that he had been bewitched by a ghost. He therefore asked the woman, "What spirit are you, mistress?" The woman said, "I am not a spirit; I am an immortal. This is a grotto-mansion. We have a karmic affinity from a former life; do not be startled, but simply endure living here. Go through another inner door, and where there is a crack of light, you may relieve yourself." Then the woman rose, closed the door, and left. After a long while, he grew hungry, and soon a maid came and brought him wheat cakes and duck soup, telling him to feel for them and eat. Everything was pitch-black, and he could not tell day from night. Before long, the woman came to sleep, and only then did he know it was night. Guo said, "By day there is no sun or sky, by night no lamp or fire; when eating roasted food I do not know where my mouth is. If it is always like this, then how does Chang'e differ from a rakshasa, and how does heaven differ from hell?" The woman laughed and said, "Because you are a mundane person, talkative and given to revealing things, I did not wish to show you my form and countenance. Besides, groping in the dark, beauty and ugliness should still be distinguishable—why must there be candles?" After a few days of living there, he was exceptionally depressed and repeatedly begged to go home temporarily. The woman said, "Tomorrow evening I shall take you on a tour of the heavenly palace, and then we shall part." The next day, suddenly a little maid entered carrying a lantern and said, "The lady has been waiting for you for a long time." He followed her out. In the starlight, he saw countless towers and pavilions. After passing through several winding painted corridors, they arrived at a place where a beaded curtain hung in the hall, and huge candles burned making it as bright as day. When he entered, there was a beautiful woman in splendid makeup seated facing south, about twenty years of age; her brocade robe dazzled the eyes; pearls on her head quivered and hung down on all sides; short candles were placed all over the floor, illuminating the hem of her skirt—truly a heavenly being. Guo was so dazed and disoriented that he unconsciously bent his knee. The woman ordered a maid to help him up and seat him. Soon, a feast of eight delicacies was spread out. The woman poured wine and said, "Drink this to send you off on your journey." Guo bowed and said, "I did not recognize an immortal when I saw her face to face before, and I am truly filled with remorse; if you will permit me to atone, I wish to be your servant for life without change." The woman glanced at the maid and smiled, then ordered the table moved to the bedchamber. In the chamber were tasseled embroidered curtains and fragrant, soft quilts and mats. She had Guo take a seat on the couch. As they drank, the woman repeatedly said, "You have been away from home for a long time; a temporary return would not be amiss." When another round of wine was finished, Guo still did not speak of parting. The woman called for a maid to light a lantern and escort him out. Guo said nothing, but pretended to be drunk and lay motionless on the couch; when they shook him, he did not move. The woman had the maids help him undress. One maid touched his private parts and said, "This man has a gentle and elegant face, but why is this thing so lacking in refinement!" They lifted him onto the bed and left laughing loudly. The woman also lay down to sleep, and then Guo turned over. The woman asked, "Are you drunk?" He said, "How could I be drunk! It is only that just now I saw an immortal, and my mind and spirit were thrown into confusion." The woman said, "This is the heavenly palace. It is not yet dawn, and you should leave early. If you find the grotto too dull and oppressive, it would be better to part sooner." Guo said, "If a man were to obtain a famous flower at night, smelling its fragrance and feeling its trunk, but bitterly lacking a lamp or candle—how could such feelings be endured?" The woman laughed and agreed to provide lighting. At the fourth watch, she called a maid to bring a lantern and clothes and escort him into the grotto. Once inside, he saw that the whitewash and plaster were exquisitely done, and the bedding consisted of leather mats and palm-fiber rugs a full foot thick. Guo took off his shoes and wrapped himself in the quilt, but the maid lingered and did not leave. Guo gazed at her fixedly; she had a lovely and delicate bearing. He teased her, saying, "Was it you who called me lacking in refinement?" The maid laughed and nudged the pillow with her foot, saying, "You should lie still! Do not speak further." He saw that the tips of her shoes were set with pearls as large as broad beans. He caught hold of her and pulled her, and the maid fell into his arms, whereupon they became intimate, though she moaned and could not bear the pain. Guo asked, "How old are you?" She smiled and replied, "Seventeen." He asked, "Does a virgin also know passion?" She said, "I am not a virgin, but I have been unused for three years now." Guo pressed her about the immortal's surname, her official rank, and her seniority. The maid said, "Do not ask! Even if she is not from heaven, she is still not of the human world. If you must know the exact truth, I fear you will find nowhere to die." Guo thus dared not ask further. The next evening, the woman indeed came with a candle, and they slept and ate together; this became the regular routine. One night, the woman entered and said, "I had intended for us to be together forever; but unexpectedly human feelings have turned contrary and obstructive. Now I am about to cleanse the heavenly palace, and I can no longer accommodate you. Let me offer a cup of wine as farewell." Guo wept and begged for some rouge or powder as a keepsake. The woman did not consent, but gave him one catty of gold and a hundred pearls. When the third cup was drained, he suddenly fell into a drunken stupor. When he awoke, he felt his limbs bound tightly, wrapped in fine cords, so that he could not stretch his legs or get his head out. With great effort he turned and twisted, and then swooned and fell off the bed. Reaching out to touch it, it was a brocade bag that wrapped him, tied with fine string. He sat up and thought intently, and then he vaguely saw the bed frame and realized it was his own study. By then he had been away from home for three months, and his family had thought him dead. At first Guo did not dare to speak clearly, fearing immortal punishment, but in his heart he was suspicious and puzzled. Secretly he told close friends about it, but none could guess the reason. The quilt was placed at the head of the bed, and its fragrance filled the whole room; when he opened and examined it, it was made of lake-silk mixed with scented powders, so he treasured it and kept it. Later, a certain high official heard of it and questioned him. The official laughed and said, "This is an old trick of Empress Jia's. How could an immortal do such a thing? Nevertheless, this matter should be kept carefully secret; if it is leaked, your whole clan will be wiped out!" There was a shamaness who often visited noble households and said that the shape of the towers and pavilions described was exactly like those of Yan Donglou's mansion. When Guo heard this, he was greatly frightened and fled with his family; not long after, Yan was executed, and only then did he return. The Different Scribe comments: "The lofty pavilions in a daze, fragrance filling the embroidered curtains; the little slave girls tripping along, pearls adorning their shoes—without the lewd indulgence of powerful villains and the arrogant extravagance of the mighty and wealthy, how could such things exist? Yet once the dice of lust are cast, a golden chamber turns into a long gate; before the spittoon has dried, the fields of passion are overgrown with weeds. The empty bed wounds the spirit, the dark candle melts the soul. Frowning before the jade terrace, gazing fixedly within the precious canopy. Thus it leads one from the terrace of the wine vat into the heavenly palace; within the land of tenderness, one suspects the person to be an immortal. The rustic's loose household morals are indeed not worth being ashamed of, but for those who let their own broad fields lie fallow, there is also a warning!" Qiao Nü Qiao Sheng of Pingyuan had a daughter who was dark and ugly: she had a snub nose and was lame in one foot. At twenty-five or twenty-six, no one had come to ask for her hand. In the same district there was a certain Mu, over forty, whose wife had died. Being poor, he could not afford to remarry, so he took her as his wife. After three years, she bore a son. Not long after, Mu died, and the family became even more impoverished, greatly distressed, so she begged for pity from her mother. Her mother was quite impatient with her. The daughter, angered, did not return again, but supported herself by spinning and weaving. There was a certain Meng who had lost his spouse, leaving a son named Wutou, just over a year old. Needing someone to nurse the child, he was eager to find a match, but the matchmakers' proposals several times did not suit him. Suddenly he saw the daughter and was greatly pleased; he secretly sent someone to hint at her. The daughter declined, saying: "In such hunger and cold, to follow you, sir, and gain warmth and food—how could I not wish it? But I am deformed and ugly, inferior to others; the only thing I can be confident of is virtue. Moreover, to serve a second husband—what would you, sir, find in that?" Meng admired her all the more, and his longing grew even keener; he sent a matchmaker with a letter and a gift of money and silk to persuade her mother. The mother was pleased and went herself to the daughter's place to press her; but the daughter's resolve remained unshaken. The mother, ashamed, offered to betroth her younger daughter to Meng; the family was all delighted, but Meng was not at all willing. Before long, Meng suddenly fell ill and died. The daughter went to mourn and wept most sorrowfully. Meng had no relatives or faction; after his death, the village ruffians all bullied his household, carrying off all his furniture. They were plotting to divide his fields and property. The servants also each stole away, leaving only an old woman holding the child and weeping in the curtained bed. The daughter, having learned the facts, was greatly indignant. Hearing that Lin was on good terms with Meng, she went to his gate and said: "Husband and wife, and friends—these are the great bonds of human relations. I, because of my extreme ugliness, am despised by the world; only Meng Sheng could appreciate me. Though I firmly refused him before, yet in my heart I had already pledged myself to him. Now that he is dead and his child young, I ought to have some way to repay one who knew me. But to preserve an orphan is easy; to withstand insult is hard. If there be no brothers, parents, or other kin, and one sits by and watches the child die and the family perish without lifting a finger to help—then among the five relationships there may as well be no such thing as friendship. I do not ask much of you, sir; only that you write a brief note to the county magistrate. As for caring for the orphan, I dare not decline." Lin said: "Very well." The daughter took leave and returned. Lin was about to do as she had instructed; but the ruffians, enraged, all threatened him with drawn blades. Lin, greatly frightened, shut his door and dared not act further. The daughter waited a few days but heard nothing; when she inquired, Meng's fields and property had already been completely seized. The daughter, furious, went boldly in person to the official. The official asked her what relation she was to Meng. She said: "You, sir, govern this district; what you rely on is principle. If my words are false, even a close relative cannot escape punishment; if they are not false, then even a passerby may be heard." The official, angered by her blunt speech, scolded and drove her out. The daughter, with no way to redress her grievance, wept and appealed at the gates of the gentry. A certain gentleman, hearing of it, deemed her righteous and pleaded her case before the magistrate. The magistrate investigated and found it true; he punished all the ruffians severely and had everything taken from them returned. Some proposed that the daughter remain in Meng's house to care for his orphan; but she would not agree. She locked the door, had the old woman carry Wutou, and followed her back to her own home, where she lodged them separately. Whatever Wutou needed daily, she would open the storehouse with the old woman and take out grain to provide for him; she did not take a single coin for herself, but raised her own child in poverty as before. After several years, when Wutou had grown a little, she engaged a tutor for him; her own son she set to learn manual work. The old woman urged her to have him study too. The daughter said: "Wutou's expenses are his own; if I spent another's wealth to teach my own son, how could I clear my conscience?" After several more years, she had accumulated several hundred piculs of grain for Wutou, then arranged a marriage with a respectable family, prepared his dwelling, and divided the household, ordering him to return. Wutou wept and begged to live together, and the daughter consented; but she continued spinning and weaving as before. Wutou and his wife took away her tools. She said: "If I and my son sit and eat without working, how can our hearts be at ease?" So from morning to night she managed affairs for them, and had her son walk the fields like a hired laborer. When Wutou and his wife committed small faults, she would reproach them severely without leniency; if they did not mend their ways a little, she would become angry and want to leave. The couple would kneel and apologize, and only then would she stop. Before long, Wutou entered the county school; she again asked to return. Wutou would not allow it, and presented betrothal gifts to complete the marriage of the Mu son. Then the daughter divided the household and ordered her son to return. Wutou could not keep her, but secretly had someone buy a hundred mu of permanent property in a nearby village and then gave it to her. Later, the daughter fell ill and asked to go home. Wutou would not permit it. Her illness grew worse, and she charged him: "You must bury me back in my own family grave!" Wutou agreed. After she died, he secretly bribed the Mu son to have her buried together with Meng. When the time came, the coffin was so heavy that thirty men could not lift it. Suddenly the Mu son fell down, blood issuing from his seven orifices, and spoke of his own accord: "Unfilial child, how could you sell your mother!" Wutou, terrified, bowed and prayed, and only then did he recover. Then they delayed several days more, repaired the Mu grave, and finally buried them together. The Historian of the Strange remarks: "The feeling of being understood, pledging one's very self—this is what a brave man would do. What could that woman know, and yet she acted so extraordinarily? If she had met Jiufang Gao, he would have regarded her straight as a stallion." --- **Clam** In the Eastern Sea there is a clam. When hungry, it floats to the shore, its two shells opening wide. Inside is a small crab, attached by a red thread, which comes out several feet from the shell. After it has fed and is full, it returns, and the shell closes. If someone secretly cuts the thread, both creatures die. This too is a curious principle of nature. --- **Madam Liu** Lian Sheng was a man from Zhangde. He was studious from youth; but his father died early, and his family was extremely poor. One day he went out, and on returning at dusk he lost his way. Entering a village, an old woman came to him and said, "Where are you going, Master Lian? Is it not rather late?" Sheng was frightened and at a loss, and without even asking who she was, he asked for a place to stay. The old woman led him away into a great mansion. There were two maids with hair in loops carrying lanterns, guiding a woman who came out, over forty in age, with the bearing of a great household. The old woman greeted her, "Master Lian has arrived." Sheng hurried forward to bow. The woman was pleased and said, "The young master is handsome and brilliant—why should he only be a rich country squire?" She then set out a feast, sitting at the side, and urged him to drink with great warmth, but she herself never raised her cup to drink, nor ever took up her chopsticks to eat. Sheng, puzzled and uneasy, repeatedly inquired about her family. She laughed and said, "After you finish three more cups, I will tell you." Sheng did as she bade. She then said, "My late husband was of the Liu family, and was traveling in Jiangxi when he met with disaster and suddenly died. I, his widow, live alone in this desolate place, daily falling into neglect. Though I have two grandsons, they are either owls or hacks. Though you, young master, are of a different surname, you are also flesh and bone of three lifetimes; moreover, your nature is pure and sincere, so I have ventured to meet you thus. I have no other trouble—I have a small store of gold, and I wish to entrust you to take it and go abroad to trade, sharing the profits—that would be better than dying like a firefly over your desk." Sheng declined, saying he was a bookish young fool and feared he would fail such a heavy trust. The woman said, "The plan for study begins with making a living. You are clever—what cannot you do?" She sent maids to bring out the capital and handed over more than eight hundred taels of silver. Sheng, frightened, firmly declined. The woman said, "I know you are not used to trading, but just try it—there should be no disadvantage." Sheng worried that so much money could not be managed by one man, and thought of finding a merchant partner. The woman said, "No need. Just find a simple, honest, experienced servant to serve you, and that is enough." She then bent her slender fingers and divined, saying, "One surnamed Wu is auspicious." She ordered a servant to prepare a horse and bags of gold to see Sheng off, saying, "At the end of the year, clean your cups—I will await your return with your treasures." She then turned to the servant and said, "This horse is well-trained and can be ridden—give it to the young master, no need to bring it back." Sheng returned home; it was only the fourth watch of the night. The servant tied the horse and left on his own. The next day, he sought a servant everywhere and indeed found one surnamed Wu, whom he hired at a good price. Wu was experienced in travel and also honest and clumsy but meticulous, so Sheng entrusted all his funds to him. They traveled through Jing and Xiang, and only at the end of the year did they return, having tripled their profits. Sheng, thinking that Wu had contributed much, gave him extra rewards beyond the usual, and planned to distribute them secretly so that the mistress would not know. Just as he arrived home, the woman had already sent people to welcome him, so he went with them. He saw that a sumptuous feast had already been laid in the hall; the woman came out and expressed great solicitude. After Sheng handed over the money, he presented the account books; the woman put them aside without looking. Soon they took their seats, and there was music and dancing; Wu was also feasted in an outer chamber, and only returned when drunk. Because Sheng had no family, he stayed for the New Year. The next day, he again asked to check the accounts. The woman laughed and said, "There is no need for that in future; I have long since calculated it." She then brought out a ledger and showed it to Sheng; everything was recorded in detail, even the payments to the servant were noted. Sheng said in astonishment, "Madam, you are truly a divine being!" After several days, the hospitality was lavish, and she treated him like a nephew. One day, she set a feast in the hall—one seat facing east, one facing south; and a banquet below the hall facing west. She said to Sheng, "Tomorrow the Star of Wealth will shine upon you—it is suitable for a long journey. Now I am roughly setting up a farewell feast for our master and servant, to give you a grand send-off." After a while, Wu was also called in and given a seat below the hall. Drums and gongs sounded loudly. Actresses presented a list of songs, and Sheng ordered them to perform "The Wealth of Tao Zhu." The woman laughed and said, "This is an omen—you shall have Xi Shi as your helpmate." After the feast, she again gave the entire capital to Sheng, saying, "This journey cannot be measured by months or years; do not return until you have gained tens of thousands. What I rely on with you, young master, is fortune and fate; what I trust in is the heart and mind. Do not trouble yourself with calculations—I myself know the gains and losses in distant places." Sheng assented and withdrew. He went to Huai, where he became a salt merchant; after a year, his profits again multiplied several times. Yet Sheng loved reading, and even while handling accounts he never forgot his books. Those he associated with were all scholars. When his gains were ample, he secretly thought of stopping, and gradually began to delegate his duties to Wu. He was on very good terms with a scholar named Xue from Taoyuan; he happened to visit him, but the entire Xue household had moved to a country estate, and it was dusk, so he had nowhere else to go. The gatekeeper invited Sheng in, made up a bed, and prepared a meal. On inquiring in detail about his host's affairs, he learned that at this time there was a false rumor that the court wanted to select girls from good families to reward the frontier troops, causing great agitation among the people. It was said that whenever there was a young man without a wife, they would not go through a matchmaker but directly send daughters to his house, so that in one night a man might get two wives. Xue had also recently married into a great family, but was still afraid that the noise of carriages and horses would be reported to the magistrate, so he had temporarily moved to the countryside. When the first watch was nearly over, and he was just about to sweep the bed and retire, he suddenly heard several people pushing open the door and entering. The gatekeeper did not know what they were saying, but Sheng heard one man say, "Since the master is not at home, who is that by the candlelight?" The gatekeeper replied, "It is Master Lian, a traveler from afar." Soon the questioner entered; his robe and hat were clean and bright, and he gave a slight gesture of salute, then asked about his native place and family. Sheng told him. Delighted, the man said, "We are from the same hometown. Whose family is your wife's?" Sheng answered, "I have none." The man was even more pleased, went out quickly, called in a young man, and respectfully greeted Sheng. Then abruptly he said, "To tell you the truth, sir: my surname is Mu. Tonight I came to deliver my younger sister to Master Xue, but now I find it is to no avail. At a loss what to do, I happened to meet you—surely this is fate!" Sheng, not knowing the man, hesitated and dared not respond. Mu would not listen to his protests, and quickly called for the one who would deliver the girl. After a moment, two old women supported a young lady and brought her in, seating her on Sheng's bed. Glancing at her, she was fifteen or sixteen, exquisitely beautiful without equal. Sheng was delighted, and then straightened his cap and bowed to Mu in thanks; he also told the gatekeeper to buy wine, and they exchanged a little cordiality. Mu said, "My ancestors were from Zhangde; my mother's family was also a noble house, but now it has declined. I heard that my grandfather left two grandsons, but I do not know how their household is faring." Sheng asked, "Who are they?" He replied, "My grandfather's surname was Liu, his courtesy name Hui-ruo; I heard he lives thirty li north of the prefectural city." Sheng said, "I am from the southeast of the prefectural city—quite far from the north; and I am very young, with few acquaintances. That surname is very numerous in the prefecture; I only know that north of the city there is Liu Jingqing, also a scholar, but I am not sure if it is he; however, he is poor." Mu said, "My ancestral graves are still in Zhang prefecture. I have always wished to take the two coffins back to bury them in our native soil, but lacking funds, I have delayed. Now that my younger sister is going with you, my plan to return is all the more certain." When Sheng heard this, he eagerly took the responsibility upon himself. Both Mus were pleased. After several rounds of wine, they took their leave. Sheng dismissed the servant and moved the lamp; their conjugal affection was beyond words. The next day, Xue learned of it and went to the city to find a separate courtyard to lodge Sheng. Sheng went to Huai, settled accounts, left Wu to manage the shop, packed his goods and returned to Taoyuan, then together with the two Mus opened the coffins of his wife's parents, and with all the family dependents, he brought them back. After entering the house and settling everything, he took his gold and went to his patroness. The former servant was already waiting on the road. He followed him; the woman came to meet him, and with a joyful expression said, "Tao Zhu has brought Xi Shi! Previously you were a guest; now you are my grand-nephew-in-law." She set out wine to welcome him, and treated him with double affection and closeness. Sheng, marveling at her foreknowledge, asked, "What relation is Madam to my wife's mother?" The woman said, "Do not ask; in time you will know." She then piled the gold on the table and divided it into five portions; taking two for herself she said, "I have no use for it; I will give it to my eldest grandson." Sheng thought the amount too great and declined. She said sadly, "My household has declined; the tall trees in the garden have been cut for firewood. My grandsons live far from here, and the household is desolate—I trouble you to manage it for them." Sheng agreed, but only accepted half of the gold. The woman forced him to take it. She saw him off, and with tears in her eyes, turned back. Sheng, puzzled, looked back at the mansion—it was nothing but a mound and a tomb. Then he realized that the woman was his wife's grandmother. After returning, he bought a qing of grave land, and planted trees to make it magnificent. Liu had two grandsons: the elder was Jingqing, the younger Yujing, a wastrel given to drinking and gambling, both poor. The brothers came to Sheng to express thanks, and Sheng gave them generous gifts. From then on they visited each other often. Sheng once related the story of how he became a merchant, and Yujing secretly thought there was much gold in the tomb, so one night he gathered a band of gamblers and dug open the grave; they broke open the coffin and exposed the bones, but found nothing at all, and dispersed in disappointment. When Sheng learned that the grave had been opened, he told Jingqing. Jingqing went with Sheng to inspect it; entering the tomb chamber, they saw on the table a pile of gold—exactly the portions that had been distributed before, all there. Jing Qing wanted to take it together with the scholar. The scholar said, "That lady originally left it here to await her elder brother." Jing Qing then packed it in a bag and carried it back, reporting the matter to the county magistrate, who conducted a very strict search and investigation. Later, a man sold a jade hairpin taken from the tomb; he was captured, and upon exhaustive interrogation of his accomplices, it was learned that Yu Qing was the ringleader. The magistrate was about to sentence him to the extreme penalty; Jing Qing pleaded on his behalf, and he was only barely granted a reprieve from death. Both families, inside and outside the tomb, joined forces in restoration and repair, making it even stronger and more beautiful than before. From this point on, both the Lian and Liu families became wealthy; only the Yu family remained as before. The scholar and Jing Qing often helped them financially, like a river moistening dry land, but it was never enough to supply Yu Qing's gambling. One night, bandits broke into the scholar's house, seized him, and demanded gold and valuables. The gold the scholar had stored was all in units of fifteen hundred pieces; he opened it up to show them. The bandits took two units; there was only a ghost horse in the stable, which they used to carry it away. They made the scholar escort them into the countryside, then released him. The villagers, seeing that the bandits' torches had not gone far, raised a clamor and gave chase; the bandits fled in fright. When they all arrived at the place, the gold was lying by the roadside, and the horse had already collapsed into ashes. Only then did they realize that the horse too was a ghost. That night, only a single gold bracelet was lost. Earlier, the bandits had seized the scholar's wife, and finding her beautiful, were about to rape her. One bandit, wearing a mask, forcefully shouted at them to stop; his voice sounded like Yu Qing. The bandits released the scholar's wife, but took the bracelet from her wrist and left. The scholar suspected Yu Qing because of this, yet in his heart he secretly felt grateful to him. Later, the bandits pawned the bracelet for gambling stakes, and were captured by constables; when their accomplices were interrogated, Yu Qing was indeed among them. The magistrate was enraged and subjected him to all five kinds of torture. The elder brother and the scholar planned to bribe officials to secure his release, but before the plan could be carried out, Yu Qing had already died. The scholar still often gave aid to his wife and children. The scholar later passed the provincial examination, and for several generations his descendants remained wealthy commoners. Alas! The shape of the character for "greed" (貪) very much resembles that for "poverty" (貧). Yu Qing's case can serve as a mirror! The Fox of Ling County In the household of Li Taishi of Ling County, it was often seen that antique vases, tripods, and curios would be moved to the edge of the table, standing precariously as if about to fall. Suspecting that the servants had done it, he would always angrily rebuke them. The servants all protested their innocence, but no one knew the cause; so he tightly locked the study door, yet the next morning it was the same again. Knowing that something strange was afoot, he secretly observed. One night, light filled the entire room, and he was startled, thinking it was thieves. Two servants crept close to look, and saw a fox lying atop a cabinet, with light emanating from its two eyes, glittering and shining in all directions. Fearing it would escape, they hurried in to seize it. The fox bit at their wrists, trying to break free, but the servants held on even more firmly, and together they bound it. When they lifted it up, they saw that all four legs had no bones, swaying limply as if ribbons hung from them. Taishi, thinking that it had attained spiritual understanding, could not bear to kill it; he covered it with a willow basket. The fox could not get out, but carried the basket on its head and ran about. He then enumerated its offenses and released it, whereupon the strange occurrences ceased.