Chapter 12

Volume Nine Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, Volume Ten, Author: Pu Songling Volume Eleven → Wang Huolang An old wine merchant of Jinan sent his second son, Xiao Er, to Qihe to collect a debt. As Xiao Er went out the West Gate, he saw his elder brother A Da—though A Da had been dead a long time. Xiao Er asked in surprise, "Brother, how is it you have come here?" A Da answered, "There is a doubtful case in the underworld and I need you to testify." Xiao Er's face darkened and he complained bitterly. A Da pointed to a man behind him who looked like a yamen runner, saying, "An official's attendant is here—how could I act of my own will?" He then reached out and beckoned, and Xiao Er, without realizing it, followed him. They ran all night and all day until they reached the foot of Mount Tai. Suddenly they saw a government office and were about to enter together when they saw a crowd of people streaming out. The runner bowed and asked, "How stands the matter?" One of the crowd replied, "There is no need to go in again; it is settled." The runner then released Xiao Er and told him to go home. A Da worried that his younger brother had no money for the journey. The runner thought for a long while, then led Xiao Er away. After walking twenty or thirty li, they entered a village and came to the eaves of a house. The runner instructed, "If anyone comes out, have him see you home; if he refuses, then say, 'Wang Huolang says so.'" Then he left. Xiao Er fell into a deathlike stupor. At dawn, the master of the house came out, saw a dead man at his door, and was greatly alarmed. He kept watch for a while; Xiao Er slightly revived. He was helped inside and given food, and then he told where he lived and asked for money to be sent home. The master found it difficult. Xiao Er repeated what the runner had said. The master was astounded and immediately hired a mount to take him home. When Xiao Er offered to repay him, the master would not accept it; when asked why, he gave no answer, but took his leave and departed. The Tired Dragon Assistant Censor Wang of Jiaozhou was sent as an envoy to Ryukyu. As his ship sailed the sea, suddenly a huge dragon plummeted from the clouds, churning the water to a height of several zhang. The dragon floated half-submerged, raising its head and resting its chin on the ship; its eyes were half-closed, listless as if in a daze. Everyone aboard was terrified and stopped rowing, not daring to move. The boatmen said, "This is a tired dragon that had been sent to bring rain in the sky." Wang hung his imperial commission above and burned incense while all prayed together. After some time, the dragon drifted away leisurely. The ship had just gotten under way when another dragon fell in the same manner. This happened three or four times a day. After another day, the boatmen told everyone to prepare plenty of white rice, warning, "We are not far from Clearwater Pool. If you see anything, only scatter rice on the water and keep absolutely silent." Soon they reached a place where the water was clear to the bottom. Below were schools of dragons of five colors, some as large as basins, some as large as crocks, all lying prostrate in rows. Some coiled and writhed, their scales, manes, claws, and teeth clearly countable. The whole company was utterly terrified, holding their breath and closing their eyes—not only did they not dare to look, they could not even move. Only the boatmen kept handfuls of rice and scattered it. After a long while, when the sea had turned deep black, some began to groan. When they asked why the rice had been thrown, they were told, "Dragons fear maggots, afraid they may enter between their scales. White rice resembles maggots, so dragons hide at the sight of it, and the ship passes over them safely." Zhen Sheng Jia Zilong, a scholar of Chang'an, happened to pass through a neighboring lane and saw a guest with an elegant and free bearing. On asking, he learned it was Zhen Sheng, a lodger from Xianyang. Jia admired him. The next day, he went to present his visiting card, but Zhen happened to be out. He called three times and never found him at home. So he secretly sent someone to see when Zhen was in, then went over; Zhen fled and would not come out. Jia searched for him and at last he came out. They sat knee-to-knee in deep conversation and became great friends. Jia went to the inn and sent a boy to buy wine. Zhen was also a good drinker and could make elegant jokes, and they were very merry. When the wine was nearly gone, Zhen searched his bag and brought out a drinking vessel—a jade goblet with no bottom. He poured wine into it, and it was immediately full; he used a small cup to dip wine out into the flask, yet the amount did not diminish in the least. Jia was amazed and earnestly begged for the method. Zhen said, "The reason I was reluctant to see you is not that you have any other flaw, but that your greedy heart is not yet purified. This is an occult art of the immortals—how could I teach it to you?" Jia said, "How unjust! How am I greedy? If I sometimes harbor extravagant hopes, it is only because of poverty." They laughed and parted. From then on, they visited each other constantly, forgetting all formality. Whenever Jia was in need, Zhen would bring out a black stone, blow an incantation on it, rub it on gravel, and immediately it would turn into white silver, which he then gave to Jia—just enough for his needs, never any surplus. Jia always asked for more. Zhen said, "I said you were greedy—was I not right?" Jia thought that if he asked outright, he would certainly not get it, and planned to wait until Zhen was drunk and asleep, then steal the stone and press him with it. One day, after drinking, Zhen lay down; Jia rose quietly and searched in the lining of his clothes. Zhen sensed it and said, "You are truly depraved—I cannot stay with you!" So he took his leave, moved away, and went elsewhere. More than a year later, Jia was strolling by the river when he saw a sparkling clean stone, exactly like the one Zhen had. He picked it up and treasured it like a gem. A few days later, Zhen suddenly arrived, looking dejected as though he had lost something. Jia inquired after him. Zhen said, "What you saw before was an immortal's gold-touching stone. I once traveled with Master Baozhen, who, pitying my integrity, gave it to me. After I was drunk I lost it; I divined secretly that it must be in your possession. If you would return it as one returns a lost belt, I dare not forget your favor." Jia laughed and said, "I have never in my life dared deceive friends; your divination is indeed correct. But as you know, no one knew Guan Zhong's poverty better than Bao Shu—so what will you do about me?" Zhen offered to give him a hundred taels of silver. Jia said, "A hundred taels is not a small sum, but if you would only teach me the incantation so I may try it once myself, I would have no regrets." Zhen feared he would not keep his word. Jia said, "You are an immortal—do you not know that Jia would never break faith with his friends?" Zhen then taught him the incantation directly. Jia looked at the large stone on the step and was about to try it. Zhen pulled his elbow to stop him from going forward. Jia then bent down, scooped up half a brick, and placed it on the anvil, saying, "Is this not too much?" Zhen then let him proceed. Jia did not rub the brick but rubbed the anvil; Zhen's face changed and he was about to protest, but the anvil had already turned into solid gold. Jia returned the stone to Zhen. Zhen sighed and said, "Since it has come to this, what more can I say? But to recklessly bestow blessings and riches on others will surely bring divine punishment. If you wish to escape my crime, will you be willing to provide one hundred coffins and one hundred padded garments?" Jia said, "The reason I wanted the money was never to hoard it. Do you still take me for a miserly boor?" Zhen departed happily. Jia, having obtained the gold, gave alms and traded with it; within three years, the tally of charity was complete. Zhen suddenly arrived, took his hand, and said, "You are a man of faith and righteousness! After I left you, the God of Blessings reported me to the Emperor and my name was stricken from the immortal register; but thanks to your extensive charity, I have now used the merit to erase my crime. I beg you to persevere and not slacken." Jia asked what office Zhen held in heaven. He said, "I am merely a fox who has attained the Way. My origins are very humble. I cannot bear the burden of transgression, so I have always been cautious and have never dared to act recklessly." Jia set out wine for him, and they drank together merrily as before. Jia lived past ninety, and the fox still visited his home from time to time. A man of Changshan sold a cure-all medicine; even in the gravest danger, if administered, no one failed to revive. Yet he kept the formula secret, not passing it on even to close relatives and friends. One day, he was arrested as an accessory. His brother-in-law brought him food in prison and secretly mixed the medicine into it. He sat waiting until after he had eaten, then told him. The prisoner did not believe him. After a short while, his guts churned violently, and he was greatly alarmed, cursing, "You beast—go quickly! Although there is powdered medicine at home, it is too far to wait for; hurry into the city and find some climbing fig, pound it to powder, and bring it at once in a cup of clear water!" His brother-in-law did as told. By the time he brought it back, the man was already vomiting and purging nearly to death. He hastened to administer it, and immediately he was well. The formula was thereafter transmitted far and wide. This was just like the fox's secret of the stone. Cloth Merchant The Cloth Merchant A certain cloth merchant, on his way to the Qingzhou region, chanced upon an abandoned temple. Seeing its courtyards and buildings in ruins, he sighed in deep lament. A monk at the side said, "Now if there were a devout donor willing to temporarily restore the mountain gate, that too would be a glory to the Buddha's countenance." The guest generously took the task upon himself. The monk was delighted, invited him into the abbot's quarters, and entertained him with great courtesy. Soon he brought up the inner and outer halls and pavilions, and additionally asked that they be decorated and repaired; the guest declined, saying he could not manage it. The monk insisted forcefully, his words growing harsh and angry. The guest, afraid, agreed to empty his purse, whereupon he turned out his bag and handed over all his money to the monk. As he was about to leave, the monk stopped him and said, "You have exhausted your funds quite against your will—surely you do not bear a grudge against me? Better that I act first." He then drew a knife and confronted him. The guest pleaded piteously, but the monk would not listen; he asked to be allowed to hang himself, and the monk consented. He forced him into a dark chamber and hurried him along. Just then a coastal defense general happened to pass outside the temple, and from afar through a gap in the wall he saw a woman in red garments enter the monk's quarters, which aroused his suspicion. He dismounted, entered the temple, and searched high and low in every corner, but found nothing. When he reached the dark chamber, the double doors were tightly locked, and the monk refused to open them, making excuses about demons and strange occurrences. The general, enraged, broke through the doors and entered, where he saw the guest hanging from a beam. He rescued him, and after a while he revived; upon interrogation, he learned the whole truth. He then had the monk put to the rack and asked where the woman was; in fact there was no such person—it was a manifestation of the gods and Buddhas. The monk was executed, and the goods and money were returned to the guest. The guest further raised funds to repair the temple, and from then on the incense offerings flourished greatly. This was related in full by the provincial graduate Zhao Fengyuan. Peng Erzheng Han Gongfu of Yucheng himself related: "I was walking along the road with my townsman Peng Erzheng, when suddenly I turned around and no longer saw him—only an empty donkey following along. But I heard cries for help, very urgent, and listening closely, they came from inside the carrying bag. On close inspection, the bag was lumpy inside, and though it was heavier on one side, nothing could fall out. I tried to open it, but the mouth of the bag was sewn very tightly; I cut the threads with a knife, and then saw Peng lying inside curled up like a dog. Once he was out, I asked how he had gotten in, but he himself was utterly unaware. It turned out that his household was plagued by a fox-spirit, and there were many such incidents." He Xian Wang Ruiting, a gentleman of Changshan, could divine by the planchette. The spirit that descended called itself He Xian, a disciple of Pure Yang (Lü Dongbin), and some said it was the crane that Lü Zu had ridden. Whenever it descended, it would discuss literature and compose poetry with people. The Grand Secretary Li Zhijun took it as his teacher; it corrected and graded his exercises, with clear and incisive reasoning. The Grand Secretary's success in his studies was largely due to He Xian's help, and as a result many literary scholars came to follow it. However, when it resolved difficult matters for people, it mostly relied on reason and did not speak much of good or ill fortune. In the year Xinwei, when Inspector Zhu held the examinations in Jinan, after the tests, several friends asked He Xian to determine their rankings. He Xian asked for their test essays and commented on each. Among those present was a friend of Li Bian of Leling, who was a diligent and thoughtful scholar and much admired by the crowd; so they produced his essay and petitioned on his behalf. The planchette wrote: "First class." A moment later, it wrote again: "Just now I evaluated Student Li based on his essay. But this student's luck is very adverse this year; he should suffer the rod. Strange! The essay and the numbers do not correspond—could it be that the examiner does not judge by the essay? Gentlemen, wait a moment; I shall go and look into it." After a short while, it wrote again: "I just went to the examination commissioner's office and saw that the commissioner was overwhelmed with official business—what he worries about is not the essays at all. He has delegated everything to a half-dozen or seven clerks, among them grain-supply students and supernumerary licentiates, all of whom in their previous lives had no karmic roots at all; most are wandering souls from the realm of hungry ghosts, begging for food in all directions. They spent eight hundred years in the dark hell, which damaged the essence of their eyesight, like a man long in a cave who, on emerging, finds the colors of heaven and earth altered and no true brightness. Among them one or two were transformed from human bodies, but as they are divided into groups for marking, they may not happen to match up." The company asked for a remedy. The writing said: "The remedy is perfectly straightforward and known to all—why ask?" They understood its meaning and told Li. Li was alarmed and submitted his essay to Grand Secretary Sun Zilai for evaluation, also telling him of the omen. The Grand Secretary praised his essay and dispelled his doubts. Since the Grand Secretary was a master of letters held in high esteem throughout the realm, Li's confidence grew, and he no longer took the planchette's words to heart. Later, when the results were announced, he actually placed in the fourth class. The Grand Secretary was greatly astonished and took his essay to read again—there was truly no flaw to pick. He commented: "The preceptor Shimen has always had a reputation for literary discernment; he could not possibly be so absurd as this. This must be the work of some drunken clerk in the office who cannot even recognize punctuation." Thereupon everyone was even more convinced of He Xian's divine power, and they burned incense together to give thanks. The planchette wrote: "Let Student Li not be ashamed of this temporary setback. He should make many copies of his examination essay and spread them widely; next year he will obtain a superior grade." Li did as instructed. After a long while, the office heard of it and put up a special notice to comfort him. The following year he indeed ranked among the top names—such was its miraculous response. The Historian of the Strange remarks: "With so many such clerks in the offices, no wonder that in the Ugly Women's Lane of the capital, there is no empty bed by nightfall. Alas!" Niu Tongren (Above missing) Niu passed by his father's room and saw the old man lying on the bed still asleep, and from this he knew it was a fox. Enraged, he said: "A fox I might tolerate, but how dare it ruin my human relations! The Sage Guan is styled 'Subduer of Demons'—where is he now, that he allows such creatures to run rampant?" Thereupon he composed a memorial to the Jade Emperor, in which he mildly reproached Guan Di for dereliction of duty. After a long while, suddenly a shouting and neighing was heard in the air—it was Guan Di himself. He angrily rebuked: "How dare a scholar be so insolent! Am I exclusively appointed to drive away foxes for your household? If you had submitted a petition and it was not acted upon, then what excuse would you have for blame?" He immediately ordered Niu to be given twenty strokes, and the flesh of his thighs was nearly stripped off. Shortly thereafter, a black-faced general bound a fox and led it away, and the strange occurrences ceased. Three years later, the daughter of the Jinan guerrilla commander was bewitched by a fox, and no method could dispel it. The fox said to the girl: "In all my life, the only one I fear is Niu Tongren." The guerrilla did not know from which village Niu came, and could find no trace of him. Just then the education commissioner arrived to hold the examinations, and Niu went to the provincial capital to take the tests, where he happened to be insulted and abused by a garrison soldier. Angered, he went to the guerrilla's gate to lodge a complaint. As soon as the guerrilla heard his name, he was overcome with joy and greeted him with great deference. He immediately had the soldier brought and bound, and had him flogged to the full extent of the law. After that, he truthfully told Niu the situation. Niu had no choice but to petition Guan Di on his behalf. In an instant, a golden-armored god descended upon the house. The fox was just then in the room; its expression suddenly changed, and it appeared in the form of a dog, yelping and running wildly around the house. Soon it came out and threw itself down the steps. The god said: "Formerly the Sage Emperor would not execute you, but now you have offended again and cannot be pardoned!" He bound it to his horse's neck and led it away. Shennü Mi Sheng was a man of Fujian; the one who told this story has forgotten his name and his native place. He happened to go to the prefectural city, and while passing through the market in a drunken state, he heard the sound of flutes and drums like thunder from within a tall gate. He asked the residents, who said it was a birthday feast being given, yet the gate and courtyard were quite still and quiet. Listening, he heard the lavish strains of song and music. In his cups he greatly delighted in the music, and did not even ask whose house it was; he straightway bought congratulatory gifts from the market and presented a visitor's card with his junior status. Someone seeing his simple and coarse attire asked him: "What relation is you to this old gentleman?" He replied: "None." Another said: "This is a sojourner, lodged here temporarily; we do not know what office he holds, but he is very noble and haughty. Since you are not a relative, what do you seek?" Hearing this, Sheng regretted it, but his card had already been delivered. Before long, two young men came out to receive the guests, their rich garments dazzling the eyes, their bearing elegant and refined; they bowed and ushered Sheng in. He saw an old man seated facing south, with several seats arranged east and west; there were six or seven guests, all seeming to be of noble lineage. When they saw Sheng arrive, they all rose and bowed; the old man also rose, leaning on his staff. Sheng stood for a long while, waiting to exchange courtesies, but the old man did not leave his seat at all. The two young men addressed him: "Our father is aged and infirm; rising to bow is truly difficult for him. We brothers, on his behalf, thank you, worthy gentleman, for deigning to call." Sheng modestly excused himself, and that was all. Then an additional seat was placed above, adjoining the old man's. Before long, female musicians performed below. Behind the seats a琉璃 screen was set up to screen the inner ladies. The drums and pipes sounded with great force, so that the guests could no longer converse freely. When the feast was nearly over, the two young men rose and each urged the guests with large goblets; each goblet could hold three decaliters. Sheng showed a look of difficulty; but seeing that the other guests accepted, he also accepted. In an instant he looked around; host and guests all emptied their cups. Sheng, with no alternative, also forced himself to finish. The young men poured again. Sheng felt extremely weary, rose, and took his leave. The young men forcibly tugged at his robe. Sheng, greatly drunk, fell to the ground, but felt someone splashing cold water on his face; in a daze he seemed to wake. He rose and looked around; all the guests had dispersed. Only one young man held his arm and escorted him out; they parted, and he returned home. Later, when he passed by that gate again, they had already moved away. On returning from the prefectural city, he chanced to go to the market. A man came out from a shop and invited him to drink. He looked at him and did not recognize him; he followed him in anyway, and there at the table was already his fellow villager Bao Zhuang. He asked about the man; his surname was Zhu, and he was a mirror-polisher in the market. He asked: "How do you know me?" The man said: "The other day at the birthday celebration—did you know the host?" Sheng said: "I did not." Zhu said: "I am most familiar with that household. The old gentleman's surname is Fu, but I do not know from which province or what office he held. When you, sir, offered your congratulations, I was right there below the steps, so I recognized you." When dusk fell, they finished drinking and parted. Bao Zhuang died that night on the road. Bao's father did not know Zhu, but he named Sheng in a lawsuit. An examination found heavy wounds on Bao Zhuang's body, and Sheng was condemned to death for homicide, subjected to all manner of tortures and fetters. Because Zhu was not captured, there was no evidence to clear him, and he was kept in prison. After more than a year, the imperial censor on circuit, upon investigating, learned of his injustice and released him. His family property was entirely squandered, and his scholar's cap and gown had been stripped; hoping to restore them through appeal, he packed his bag and went to the prefectural city. As dusk approached, he was quite weary and rested by the roadside. From afar he saw a small carriage approaching, with two servants in blue following it. After it passed, it suddenly ordered a halt. From within the carriage came some words he could not hear. Presently one of the servants asked Sheng: "Are you not surnamed Mi?" Sheng rose in surprise and assented. The servant asked: "Why are you so impoverished?" Sheng told him the reason. The servant asked again: "Where are you going?" He told him again. The servant went back and spoke to the carriage; soon he returned and invited Sheng to approach the carriage. From within, a slender hand lifted the curtain; he glanced sidelong and saw a woman of surpassing beauty. She said to Sheng: "That you should suffer such an undeserved calamity is indeed lamentable. Today, in the office of the education commissioner, one cannot gain entry empty-handed, and I have nothing on the road to give you..." Thereupon she took a pearl-flower from her coiffure and handed it to Sheng, saying: "This can be sold for a hundred taels of gold; please keep it carefully." Sheng prostrated himself and wished to ask her rank, but the carriage drove off very swiftly and was already far away; he could not tell who she was. Holding the flower, he pondered; it was studded with pearls, no ordinary thing. He treasured it and continued his journey. Arriving at the prefecture, he submitted his petition, but those above and below extorted him cruelly; he took out the flower and looked at it, unable to bear parting with it, so he returned home. On his return he had no home and lived with his elder brother and sister-in-law. Fortunately his brother was worthy and managed affairs for him; though poor, he did not neglect his studies. After the new year, he went to the prefecture to take the preliminary examination for child scholars, but mistakenly entered deep mountains. It happened to be the Qingming festival, and there were many sightseers. Several women rode by on horseback; among them was a maiden, the very one in the carriage from previous years. She saw Sheng, reined in her horse, and asked where he was going. Sheng told her everything. The maiden said in surprise: "Have you not yet regained your cap and rank?" Sheng sadly produced the pearl-flower from under his robe, saying: "I could not bear to part with this, so I am still a child scholar." A flush of red rose to the maiden's cheeks. Then she bade him sit and wait by the roadside, and she rode off at an easy pace. After a long while, a servant girl came galloping on horseback and handed Sheng a wrapped object, saying: "The lady says: today the education commissioner's gate is crowded like a market; she presents two hundred taels of silver as funds for your advancement." Sheng declined, saying: "The lady has already favored me greatly! I am confident that winning the lowest degree is not difficult; I dare not accept this heavy sum. But if she would only tell me her name, I will paint a small portrait and burn incense before it—that will be enough." The servant girl paid him no heed, dropped it on the ground, and left. From then on Sheng had ample means, yet he never stooped to seek advancement through influence. Later he placed first in the prefectural school. He gave the silver to his brother; his brother was good at accumulating wealth, and in three years they recovered all their former property. It happened that the governor of Fujian was a former student of Sheng's grandfather, and showed him great favor and generosity; the brothers became known as a wealthy family. However, Sheng had always been pure and upright; though he was connected to high officials, he never sought their favor. One day, a guest in fine furs and on a fine horse arrived at his gate; he did not know him at all. Going out to look, it was Master Fu. He bowed and entered; they exchanged news of each other's welfare. Sheng prepared a feast to entertain him. The guest excused himself on account of pressing matters, yet he did not leave entirely. Presently, when the dishes and wine were laid out, the young master rose and asked for a private word; they went inside together, and he prostrated himself on the ground. Sheng asked in surprise: "What is the matter?" The other said sorrowfully: "My father has just met with a great calamity; we need something from the governor, and only you can do it." Sheng declined, saying: "Although he is a family friend of long standing, to use private ties to seek personal advantage is something I have never done in my life." The young master prostrated himself and wept piteously. Sheng said sternly: "I, young scholar, and you, young master, are merely acquaintances from a single drinking bout—how can you force me to sacrifice my integrity?" The young master was greatly ashamed, rose, and took his leave. The next day, as Sheng sat alone, a servant in blue entered; looking at him, it was the one who had given him the silver in the mountains. Sheng was just rising in surprise when the servant said: "Have you forgotten the pearl-flower?" Sheng said: "Yes, yes, I have not forgotten!" The servant said: "Yesterday's young master is the lady's elder brother." Hearing this, Sheng secretly rejoiced, but pretended: "This is hard to believe. If the lady would come and speak to me in person, then I would be willing to tread a cauldron of boiling oil; otherwise, I dare not obey." The servant went out and galloped away. After the watch had changed, he returned, knocked, and entered, saying: "The lady is here!" Before he finished, the maiden entered sorrowfully, faced the wall, and wept, without saying a word. Sheng bowed and said: "Without you, young lady, I would not be where I am today. If you have any commands, how dare I not obey?" The maiden said: "Those who receive requests are often proud; those who make requests are often fearful. To rush about in the middle of the night—in my life I have never known such hardship; it is only because of fear that I do so. What more can I say?" Sheng comforted her, saying: "The reason I did not agree at once was that I feared that after this meeting it would be hard to see you again. That I have caused you to be exposed to dew all night—I know my offense!" Thereupon he took her sleeve and secretly pressed and stroked it. The maiden angrily said: "You are indeed a base man! You do not remember our former kindness, but wish to take advantage of another's distress. I was wrong! I was wrong!" She angrily rose and went to the carriage to leave. Sheng pursued her out, apologized, and knelt to block her way. The servant also interceded on his behalf. The maiden's anger somewhat subsided, and from the carriage she said to Sheng: "I will tell you truthfully: I am not human; I am a goddess. My father is the Director of the Southern Peak's Judicial Office; he inadvertently offended the Earth Official, and the matter is about to be reported to the Heavenly Emperor. Without the official seal of the local commander-in-chief, it cannot be resolved. If you have not forgotten our former friendship, take a sheet of yellow paper and obtain it for me." With that, the carriage set off and was gone. Sheng returned home, trembling with fear. He then pretended that he needed to exorcise evil spirits and spoke to the governor. The governor said the matter smacked of sorcery and refused. Sheng bribed his confidants with heavy gold; they promised, but could not find an opportunity. When he returned home, the servant in blue was waiting at the gate. Sheng told him everything; the servant silently left, seeming to resent his lack of devotion. Sheng pursued and sent him off, saying: "Go back and tell the lady: if the matter is not accomplished, I will give my life for it!" After returning, he tossed and turned all night, unable to devise any plan. Just then, a favored concubine in the official residence was purchasing pearls, so he presented the pearl flower to her. The concubine was greatly delighted and secretly took the seal to stamp it as an inlay. He brought it back home, and just then the maid in blue arrived. She smiled and said, "Fortunately I have not disgraced your command. Yet this thing that for years in poverty and destitution I could not bear to sell even while begging for food—now it has been discarded by its owner!" Thereupon she told him the whole story, and added: "As for the gold thrown away, I do not regret it at all; but I have a message for your lady: the pearl flower must be repaid!" After a few days, Master Fu came to the hall to express his thanks and presented a hundred taels of gold. The scholar's expression turned stern, and he said, "The reason I did what I did was because your younger sister showed me selfless kindness; otherwise, even ten thousand taels of gold would not be enough to make me trade my honor!" When they pressed him further, his voice and expression became even more severe. Master Fu withdrew in shame, saying, "This matter is not yet settled!" The next day, the maid in blue, following the young lady's command, brought a hundred bright pearls and said, "Are these enough to repay the pearl flower?" The scholar said, "What I value is the flower, not the pearls. If on that day you had given me treasures worth ten thousand yi, I would merely have sold them and become a rich man; why would I wrap them in layers and willingly remain poor and lowly? You, young lady, are a divine being; how would I, a humble scholar, dare to hope for anything more? If I can repay even a ten-thousandth of your great kindness, I shall die without regret." The maid in blue placed the pearls on the table; the scholar bowed toward them and then declined them. After several days, the young master came again. The scholar ordered that wine and food be prepared. The young master sent his attendants into the kitchen and cooked the dishes himself. They drank facing each other freely, as happily as one family. A guest sent some bitter glutinous wine; the young master drank it and found it excellent, draining a hundred cups, his cheeks slightly flushed. Then he said to the scholar, "You are an upright and steadfast gentleman. My brothers and I did not know you earlier—we are greatly shamed before our younger sister. Our father, moved by your great virtue, has no way to repay you and wishes to give our younger sister to you in marriage, though he fears you might take offense at the union of the living and the dead." The scholar was overcome with both joy and fear, and did not know how to reply. The young master took his leave and went out, saying, "Tomorrow night, the ninth day of the seventh month, when the crescent moon hooks the stars, the Heavenly Grandson has a younger daughter descending in marriage—it is an auspicious day. You may prepare the bridal bower." The next evening, they indeed delivered the young lady to him; everything about her was no different from an ordinary person. Three days later, the lady gave gifts and rewards to everyone, from her elder brother and sister-in-law down to the maids and servants. She was also most virtuous, serving her sister-in-law as if she were her mother-in-law. For several years she bore no child, and urged him to take a concubine, but he would not agree. Just then, her elder brother, who was trading in Jianghuai, bought a young concubine and brought her home. The concubine was of the Gu family, her childhood name Boshi; her appearance was also delicate and lovely, and both husband and wife were pleased with her. They noticed that her hairpin was set with a pearl flower, very much like the old object from years past; they took it down to look at it, and it was indeed the very same. Surprised, they questioned her. She replied, "In former days, a巡抚's beloved concubine died, and her maid stole this and sold it in the market. My late father, finding the price reasonable, bought it and brought it home. I loved it. My father had no sons, and I was his only child, so whatever I desired, I obtained. Later my father died and the family declined; I was placed in the care of Old Woman Gu. Old Woman Gu is my aunt by marriage. Seeing the pearls, she repeatedly tried to sell them, but I threatened to throw myself into a well, so they remain with me to this day." The husband and wife sighed and said, "An object from ten years ago has returned to its original owner—is this not fate?" The lady then took out another pearl flower and said, "This object has long been without its match." Thereupon she gave it to her as well, and personally placed it in her hair. After Boshi withdrew, she inquired in detail about the lady's family background, but the household members all avoided the subject. Secretly she said to the scholar, "I observe that our lady is not of the human world; there is a divine air between her brows and eyes. Yesterday when she placed the flower in my hair, I was able to look closely—her beauty emanates from within her very flesh, not like ordinary people who merely excel in the arrangement of black and white features." The scholar laughed at her. Boshi said, "Do not speak of this, sir; I will test her. If she is indeed divine, then whenever there is something I need, I shall burn incense in a secluded place and pray, and she will know of it on her own." The lady's embroidered socks were exquisitely made, and Boshi admired them but did not dare to ask for them. She then burned incense in her chamber and made her prayer. The lady rose early the next morning, suddenly searched through her trunk, took out a pair of socks, and sent a maid to present them to Boshi. The scholar saw this and laughed. The lady asked why, and he told her the truth. The lady said, "What a clever maid!" Because of Boshi's intelligence, she loved her all the more. And Boshi grew ever more respectful; at dawn each day she would bathe and perfume herself before paying her morning respects. Later Boshi gave birth to twin boys, and the two women each named one. The scholar lived to be eighty, yet the lady's appearance was still like that of a maiden. When the scholar fell ill, the lady summoned carpenters to prepare a coffin and had it made twice the usual size. After he died, the lady did not weep. When the other family members had gone elsewhere, she had already entered the coffin and died. They buried them together. To this day it is known as the "Great Coffin Mound." The Historian of the Strange remarks: "The lady was indeed divine, yet Boshi was able to perceive it—by what art was this? From this we know that human intelligence can sometimes surpass that of the gods!" **Xiang Qun** Yan Zhong, a native of Yan'an in Shaanxi, lived with his elder brother Yan Bo in close harmony and deep fraternal affection. Yan Bo died at thirty without issue; his wife also passed away soon after. Zhong grieved deeply for him and often thought that if he had two sons, he would give one to carry on his brother's line. But he had just fathered one son when his own wife died. Fearing that a second wife would not care for his child, he planned to purchase a concubine. In a neighboring village there was a family selling a maidservant, so Zhong went to look her over. He was not at all satisfied and felt dispirited. A friend detained him for drinks, and he returned home quite drunk. On the way, he encountered his former schoolmate Liang, who took his hand warmly and invited him to his home. In his drunkenness he forgot that Liang was already dead, and followed him. Upon entering the gate, he saw it was not the old residence. He asked in doubt, and Liang said, "I have recently moved here." When they went inside to call for wine, the household brew was exhausted, so Liang asked Zhong to wait while he took a flask to buy some. Zhong went out and stood at the gate to wait. He saw a woman riding a donkey pass by, with a boy following her, about eight or nine years old, whose face and expression bore a striking resemblance to his elder brother. His heart was moved with pity, and he hurried to follow them. He asked the boy his surname. The boy answered, "Yan." Zhong was even more startled, and asked again, "What is your father's name?" The boy replied, "I do not know." As they spoke, they had already reached the gate; the woman dismounted and went in. Zhong took the boy's hand and said, "Is your father at home?" The boy assented and went in. After a moment, an old woman peeked out—it was indeed his sister-in-law. She was surprised to see her brother-in-law and asked why he had come. Zhong was overcome with grief and followed her inside. He saw that the house was also neat and orderly. He asked, "Where is my elder brother?" She said, "He has gone to collect a debt and has not returned." He asked, "Who was that woman on the donkey?" She said, "She is your brother's concubine, née Gan; she has borne two sons. The elder, A Da, has gone to market and not yet returned; the one you saw is A Xiao." They sat for a long time, and as the wine wore off, Zhong gradually realized that all he had seen were ghosts. Yet because of his deep fraternal affection, he was not afraid. His sister-in-law warmed wine and prepared food. Zhong was eager to see his brother and urged A Xiao to go find him. After a long while, A Xiao returned weeping, saying, "The Li family did not repay their debt and instead quarreled with Father." Hearing this, Zhong hurried off with A Xiao. He saw two men pinning his brother to the ground. Enraged, Zhong threw himself forward with his fists, knocking down all in his way. He quickly helped his brother up, and the adversaries had already fled. He chased down one of them and beat him mercilessly before letting him go. Taking his brother's hand, he stamped his foot and wept sorrowfully; his brother also wept. After they returned home, the whole family offered their condolences. Wine and food were laid out, and the brothers celebrated together. Before long, a young man entered, about sixteen or seventeen. The elder brother called him A Da and told him to bow to his uncle. Zhong pulled him close and wept, saying to his brother, "Elder Brother, you have two sons in the underworld, yet your grave lies unswept; and I, with but one son and a widower—what is to be done?" The elder brother also looked grieved. His sister-in-law said to the elder brother, "Let A Xiao go with Uncle—that would do." Hearing this, A Xiao pressed himself under his uncle's elbow, unwilling to leave. Zhong stroked him, his sorrow deepening. He asked, "Would you like to come with me?" The boy answered, "I would gladly come." Zhong reflected that although a ghost is not human, its comfort was still better than nothing, and so he brightened. The elder brother said, "If he goes, do not spoil him. He should be fed on flesh and blood and made to sit in the sunlight, until after noon. A child of six or seven, if he passes through spring and summer, his flesh and bones will regenerate; he can then take a wife and have children. But I fear he will not live long." While they were speaking, a young girl outside the door was eavesdropping, her manner gentle and warm. Zhong thought she might be his brother's daughter, so he asked his brother about her. His brother said, "This is Xiangqun, my concubine's younger sister. She is orphaned and without a home; I have taken her in and raised her for ten years." Zhong asked, "Has she been betrothed?" Bo said, "Not yet. Recently a matchmaker has been discussing a match with the Tian family of the eastern village." The girl outside the window whispered, "I will not marry that cowherd of the Tian family." Zhong was quite moved within, but could not speak plainly. Presently Bo rose, set up a couch in the study, and asked his younger brother to stay the night. Zhong was reluctant to remain, but his heart was drawn to Xiangqun, so he planned to find a way to sound out his brother's intentions, and thus took leave of his brother and went to the couch. It was early spring, and the weather was still cold; the study had never had a fire, and a chill struck him so that he shivered. He sat alone before the candle, cold, and thought of having a little drink. Soon A Xiao pushed the door open and came in, placing a cup of broth and a flagon of wine on the table. Zhong was overjoyed and asked who had sent it. The reply was, "Aunt Xiang." When the wine was nearly finished, she again covered a basin of embers with ashes and tossed it under the bed. Zhong asked, "Have father and mother gone to sleep?" She said, "They have been asleep for a long time." "Where do you sleep?" he asked. She said, "With Aunt Xiang, on the same bed." A Xiao waited until her uncle was asleep, then closed the door and left. Zhong thought of Xiangqun's kindness and understanding, and his love for her grew; and because she could care for A Xiao, his desire to have her became even stronger. He tossed and turned on the bed, unable to sleep the whole night. Early the next morning, he told his elder brother, "Your younger brother is alone and without a mate; I trouble you, elder brother, to give it some thought." Bo said, "Our household is not one of poverty; when the time comes, we shall find someone. Even if there are fair ladies in the underworld, I fear they would not benefit you." Zhong said, "The ancients also had ghost wives; what harm is there?" Bo seemed to understand his meaning, and said, "Xiangqun is indeed good. But if one takes a large needle and pierces the Renying acupoint, and blood flows without stopping, then she may be a living man's wife—how can this be done carelessly?" Zhong said, "If I could have Xiangqun to care for A Xiao, that would suffice." Bo merely shook his head. Zhong pleaded without end. His sister-in-law said, "Try seizing Xiangqun and piercing her to test it; if it cannot be done, then let it be." She then took up a needle and went out. Outside the door she met Xiangqun, and hurriedly grasped her wrist—the bloodstain was still wet, for when she had heard Bo's words, she had already tested herself. The sister-in-law released her hand and laughed, then went back and told Bo, "She has long been a willing lover; do you still need to worry for her?" When the concubine heard this, she was enraged, approached Xiangqun, and poked her in the eye with her finger, cursing, "Shameless wanton! Do you wish to run off with your uncle? I will certainly not let you have your wish!" Xiangqun, ashamed and indignant, wept and sought death, and the whole household was in an uproar. Zhong was greatly embarrassed, took leave of his brother and sister-in-law, and left with A Xiao. His brother said, "Younger brother, go for now; do not let A Xiao come again, lest it harm his vital spirit." Zhong agreed. After returning home, he falsely added to her years, claiming she was the posthumous child of a maidservant his brother had sold. Because her appearance closely resembled his brother's, everyone believed she was his brother's offspring. Zhong taught her to read, and would always have her take a scroll and recite it in the sunlight. At first she found it hard, but as time passed she grew accustomed. In the sixth month, the desk burned to the touch, yet the child played and read, showing no complaint. The child was very clever, finishing half a scroll each day, and at night, sleeping foot to foot with her uncle, she would often recite from memory. Zhong was greatly comforted. And because he could not forget Xiangqun, he no longer entertained thoughts of the "Swallow Pavilion." One day, two matchmakers came to arrange a marriage for A Xiao, but there was no one to manage the household, and Zhong was greatly agitated. Suddenly Sister-in-law Gan entered from outside and said, "Uncle, do not be surprised—I have brought Xiangqun here. Because that maid knew no shame, I humiliated her. But you, uncle, are so distinguished—if she does not follow you, whom else would she follow?" Seeing Xiangqun standing behind her, his heart was filled with delight. He bowed and asked Sister-in-law Gan to be seated; he told her that there were guests in the hall, and hurried out. After a moment he returned, but Sister-in-law Gan had already left. Xiangqun removed her ornaments and went into the kitchen; the sound of knife and chopping board filled the air. Soon dishes and meats were arrayed, all well cooked. When the guests left, Zhong entered and saw Xiangqun sitting in the room, fully adorned, and so they bowed to each other and performed the wedding rites. That evening, the girl still wished to sleep with A Xiao. Zhong said, "I wish to warm her with my yang qi; she must not be separated." So he placed the girl in another room, and only went there in the evening for a cup of wine and a happy meeting. Xiangqun cared for the former child as if she were her own, and Zhong esteemed her all the more. One night, as husband and wife were in intimate converse, Zhong teasingly asked, "Are there fair ladies in the netherworld?" The girl pondered for a long time, then replied, "I have not seen any. Only the neighbor girl Wei Lingxian is considered beautiful by all; yet her appearance is still like that of ordinary people, only she is skilled in adornment. She and I have had the longest dealings, and in my heart I secretly despise her wantonness. If you wish to see her, she can be brought here in an instant. But such people are not to be provoked." Zhong urgently wished to see her. The girl took up her brush as if to write a letter, but then threw it down and said, "No, no!" He pressed her again and again, and at last she said, "Do not be seduced by her." Zhong agreed. She then tore off a piece of paper and drew a few marks like a talisman, and burned it outside the door. After a short while, the curtain stirred and the hooks clinked, and there came a tittering laugh. The girl rose and pulled her in—she wore a high coiled coiffure, almost like a painting. They seated her at the head of the bed and poured wine, exchanging news of their separation. At first, when she saw Zhong, she still covered her mouth with her red sleeve and did not speak much; after several cups, she became playful and unrestrained, gradually stretching out one foot to press against Zhong's clothing. Zhong's mind was in a whirl, and he did not know where his soul had gone. At the moment, only Xiangqun stood in the way; and Xiangqun was deliberately on guard, never leaving his side for an instant. Wei Lingxian suddenly rose, lifted the curtain and went out; Xiangqun followed her, and Zhong followed as well. Wei Lingxian took Zhong's hand and led him into another room. Xiangqun was deeply resentful, but could do nothing; she angrily returned to her chamber and let him do as he pleased. Presently Zhong came back, and Xiangqun reproached him, saying, "You did not listen to my words; later I fear you will not be able to get rid of her." Zhong suspected she was jealous, and parted from her in displeasure. The next evening, Wei Lingxian came without being summoned. Xiangqun was very weary of seeing her, and treated her with haughty discourtesy; but the immortal went off with Zhong all the same. This went on for several nights. The girl would curse and revile her when she came, but could not drive her away. After a month, Zhong fell ill and could not rise; then he greatly regretted it, and called Xiangqun to share his bed, hoping to avoid her; but whenever his vigilance relaxed even a little, the man and the ghost were already in the Yang Terrace. Xiangqun took a staff to drive her away, but the ghost angrily fought back; Xiangqun was weak, and her hands and feet were all injured. Zhong gradually sank into lethargy. Xiangqun wept and said, "How shall I ever face my elder sister!" After a few more days, Zhong died in a daze. At first he saw two bailiffs holding documents and entering; without realizing it, he followed them. On the road, he worried that he had no travelling money, so he invited the bailiffs to take a detour past his brother's house. When his brother saw him, he was shocked and his face changed color, asking, "What have you been doing lately, younger brother?" Zhong said, "Nothing else, but I have a ghostly illness." He told him the truth. His brother said, "So that's it." He then took out a wrapped packet of silver and said to the bailiffs, "Please accept this as a token. My younger brother's crime does not deserve death; I beg you to release him and let him return. I will send my son to go with you, and perhaps all will be well." He then called A Da to accompany the bailiffs in drinking. He turned and went into the house, and told everyone the whole story. Then he sent Sister Gan to call Wei Lingxian from next door. When she arrived and saw Zhong, she tried to flee. Bo grabbed her and pulled her back, cursing, "Lewd creature! In life a wanton woman, in death a base ghost—you have long been beneath the notice of all; and now you haunt my younger brother!" He immediately slapped her; her cloud-like tresses flew about, and her bewitching appearance suddenly diminished. After a long time, an old woman came, prostrated herself on the ground, and pleaded piteously. Bo again reproached the old woman for indulging her daughter's licentiousness; he berated her for a good while, and only then ordered her to take the girl and leave. Bo then saw Zhong out; in a flash they had already reached his home gate, and went straight to the bedroom. Zhong suddenly felt wide awake, and realized that he had just been dead. Bo reproached Xiangqun, saying, "Your elder sister and I thought you were virtuous and capable, so we let you follow my younger brother; instead you wish to hasten his death! Were it not for the bounds of propriety, I would have flogged you!" Xiangqun, shamed and frightened, sobbed, and prostrated herself before Bo to apologize. Bo turned to A Xiao and said joyfully, "The child is indeed now a living person!" Xiangqun wished to go out and prepare millet, but Bo declined, saying, "My younger brother's affairs are not yet settled; I have no leisure." A Xiao was now thirteen, and was gradually learning to cling to her father; seeing her father leave, she wept and followed him. Her father said, "Following your uncle is the happiest; I will go and return again." He turned and vanished, and from then on there was no further communication. Later, A Xiao married and had a son, who also died at thirty. Zhong raised his orphan, just as he had when his nephew was alive. Zhong was eighty, and his son was over twenty, so he divided the property. Xiangqun had no children. One day, she said to Zhong, "Shall I go ahead and drive away the foxes underground?" She dressed in full adornment, went to bed, and died. Zhong did not mourn; half a year later, he also died. The Strange Historian said: "In the world, how many are as fraternally devoted as Zhong? It is fitting that he did not die and was given additional years. The severance of the yang line and the continuation through the yin—these were all brought about by his sincere heart that could not bear to see his brother die; among men there is no such principle, but in Heaven could there be such a fate? Those who are born underground and wish to inherit the former estate—I imagine there are not a few; I fear that the worthy elder brothers and younger brothers who inherit the abandoned property are unwilling to take them in and care for them!" Three Lives A certain man from Hunan could remember his past three lives. In the first life, he was a magistrate, and entered the examination hall as a reader. A famous scholar named Xing Yutang was rejected, and in indignation he died. He went to the underworld holding his papers and sued him. Once this complaint was filed, the same sufferers who had died numbered in the thousands, and they made Xing their leader, gathering in groups. The man was arrested and brought to confront them. King Yama asked: "Since you were judging the essays, how could you reject the worthy and advance the mediocre?" The man defended himself: "There was a chief examiner above; I merely carried out orders." King Yama then issued a warrant to arrest the chief examiner. After a long while, he was brought. King Yama recounted the man's words. The chief examiner said: "I merely oversaw the overall result; even if there were fine essays, if the room officials did not recommend them, how could I have seen them?" King Yama said: "You cannot pass the buck; both have failed in their duties, and by rule both should be caned." Just as the punishment was about to be carried out, Xing was dissatisfied and suddenly let out a great howl; all the ghosts on both sides echoed with ten thousand voices. King Yama asked the reason, and Xing said defiantly: "The cane punishment is too light; we must dig out his two eyes as retribution for not recognizing writing." King Yama refused, and the crowd shouted even more fiercely. King Yama said: "It is not that he did not wish to get good essays; it is merely that his judgment was vulgar." The crowd then demanded to cut out his heart. King Yama had no choice but to have someone strip off their robes and slit their chests with a white blade; the two bled and screamed. The crowd was greatly pleased and all said: "We have been depressed underground, and no one has been able to vent this anger; now that we have Mr. Xing, our resentment is all gone." They dispersed in uproar. After the man was cut, he was escorted to be reborn as the son of a commoner in Shaanxi. When he was over twenty, there was a great uprising of local bandits, and he fell into the bandits. A military patrol commander went to suppress the bandits and captured many, and the man was among them. He still thought to himself that he was not a bandit and hoped to be released after explanation. But when he saw the official in the hall, also over twenty, he looked closely and saw that it was Xing Yutang. He was shocked and said: "I am done for!" Then all the captives were released, but only the man arrived last and was not allowed to plead; he was beheaded. The man went to the underworld and filed a complaint against Xing. King Yama did not immediately arrest him but waited until his official salary was exhausted; after thirty years, Xing finally arrived and was confronted. Xing, for treating human lives like grass, was sentenced to be reborn as an animal. Upon investigating the man's deeds, he had once beaten his parents, so his crime was equal. The man, fearing retribution in the next life, asked to be a large animal. King Yama judged him to be a large dog, and Xing a small dog. The man was born in the marketplace of Beishun Prefecture. One day, lying in the street, a traveler came from the south carrying a golden-haired dog, as large as a civet. The man saw it was Xing. He looked down on its small size and bit it. The small dog bit his throat, hanging on like a bell. The large dog tossed, pounced, howled, and ran; the crowd could not separate them. In a moment, both died. They both went to the underworld and argued with each other. King Yama said: "Revenge upon revenge—when will it end? Now I will resolve it for you." So he judged that Xing in the next life would be the man's son-in-law. The man was born in Qingyun, and at twenty-eight passed the provincial examination. He had a daughter, graceful and beautiful, and all the noble families proposed marriage. He refused them all. Once, passing by a neighboring prefecture, he encountered the education commissioner announcing the results for the students; the first volume was a man named Li, who was actually Xing. He then invited him to his lodging and treated him well. He asked about his family, and he happened to have no spouse, so he betrothed his daughter to him. Everyone said the man valued talent, but they did not know the past cause. Afterward, he married the daughter, and they got along very well. However, the son-in-law, relying on his talent, often insulted his father-in-law, and often did not visit his door for a year. The father-in-law tolerated it. Later, the son-in-law suffered setbacks in middle age and struggled to pass the examinations; the father-in-law tried every means to help him, and finally he succeeded in the examination arena. From then on, they became as harmonious as father and son. The Strange Historian said: "For one rejection to persist through three lives without resolution—such is the extremity of rancor! King Yama's mediation is certainly good; but with the thousands upon thousands in the court below, so tumultuous—could it be that all the beloved sons-in-law in the world are those who had been wailing and stirring in the underworld?" Changting Shi Taipu, a native of Mount Tai, was fond of the arts of exorcism and warding off evil. A Daoist priest once met him, appreciated his intelligence, and accepted him as a disciple. He opened a tooth-shaped ivory slip-case and took out two scrolls—the upper scroll dealt with driving away foxes, the lower with driving away ghosts. He gave the lower scroll to Shi, saying, "If you reverently devote yourself to this book, both food and clothing and fair ladies will be yours." Shi asked his name, and he replied, "I am Wang Chicheng of the Xuanwu Temple in the northern village of Biancheng." He stayed several days and imparted all his arts to Shi. From then on, Shi became skilled in talismanic magic, and those who came with offerings to become his disciples thronged at his gate. One day, an old man came, calling himself Mr. Weng. He displayed gifts of silk and cloth and said that his daughter was afflicted by a ghost and gravely ill, insisting that Shi personally visit. Hearing that the illness was critical, Shi declined the gifts and went along with him. After more than ten li, they entered a mountain village and arrived at his home, which had fine galleries and handsome rooms. Entering the inner chamber, he saw a young girl lying within a gauze curtain; a maid hooked the curtain aside with a pole. She appeared about fourteen or fifteen years of age, lying propped on the bed, her appearance already withered. As Shi drew near, she suddenly opened her eyes and said, "The good physician has come." The whole family rejoiced, saying that she had not spoken for several days. Shi then withdrew and inquired about the course of the illness. The old man said, "In the daytime a young man comes and lies with her; when we try to seize him, he vanishes, but soon returns. We suspect he is a ghost." Shi said, "If it is a ghost, driving it away is not difficult; but if it is a fox, that is beyond my knowledge." The old man said, "It is certainly not, certainly not." Shi gave him a talisman and stayed that night at the house. At midnight, a young man entered, neatly and properly dressed. Shi, thinking he might be a member of the master’s family, rose and asked who he was. He said, "I am a ghost. The Weng household is entirely foxes. I chanced to fancy their daughter Hongting, so I have stayed here for a while. A ghost harassing foxes does no harm to the moral order—why must you break the bond between a man and a woman and protect them? The girl’s elder sister, Changting, is even more dazzlingly beautiful. I respectfully keep her untouched, awaiting a worthy sage. If they promise her to you, then you may treat her; at that time I shall leave of my own accord." Shi agreed. That night the young man did not reappear, and the girl revived at once. At dawn the old man was delighted and told Shi, asking him to come in and examine her. Shi burned the old talisman and then sat down to diagnose her. He saw a young lady behind the embroidered screen, lovely as a heavenly being, and knew in his heart that this was Changting. After the diagnosis, he asked for water to sprinkle the curtain. The young lady quickly handed him a bowl of water; as she moved to and fro, her glance was full of meaning and her spirit flowed. At that moment, Shi’s mind was no longer on the ghost. He took his leave of the old man, pretending that he needed to go prepare medicine, and did not return for several days. The ghost became even more rampant; except for Changting, all the women—daughters-in-law and maidservants—were all seduced by him. The old man again sent servants and horses to summon Shi, but Shi pleaded illness and did not go. The next day, the old man came in person. Shi pretended to have a lame leg and supported himself with a staff as he went out. After the old man had bowed, he asked the reason. Shi said, "This is the trouble of a widower! The other night a maid came to my bed, stumbled, and scalded both my feet with the hot-water bottle." The old man asked, "Why have you not remarried all this time?" Shi replied, "I only regret that I cannot find a family of pure standing like yours." The old man fell silent and left. Shi limped after him, saying, "When I am well, I will come of myself; there is no need for you to trouble your steps again." After several more days, the old man came again; Shi appeared with his limp. After a few words of sympathy, the old man said, "I have just spoken with my wife. If you drive away the ghosts and restore peace to our whole household, our younger daughter Changting is seventeen years old, and we are willing to send her to serve you." Shi was overjoyed and knocked his head on the ground. Then he said to the old man, "If that is your kind intention, how dare I spare my ailing body any longer?" He immediately went out, mounted his horse, and rode off with him. After he had examined all those who were haunted, Shi, fearing that the old man might break his promise, asked to swear an oath with the old woman. The old woman came out at once and said, "Why does the master harbor such doubts?" She then took the golden hairpin that Changting wore and gave it to Shi as a pledge. Shi bowed to her in thanks. After that, he gathered the whole family together and performed purification rites for all. Only Changting stayed deeply hidden and left no trace; so he wrote a talisman to wear and sent someone to present it to her. That night all was silent, and every ghostly shadow vanished; only Hongting still moaned without cease. He applied the magic water, and her affliction departed as if lost. Shi wished to take his leave, but the old man detained him with great earnestness. By evening, dishes and fruits were laid out, and they urged each other to drink with great warmth. At the second watch, the host took his leave and went out. Shi had just lain down when he heard urgent knocking at the door. He rose to look, and Changting slipped in, her manner hurried and her words flustered: "My family intends to take revenge on you with drawn swords—you must flee at once!" Having said this, she turned and left. Shi trembled with fear, his face losing all color. He climbed over the wall and fled in haste. In the distance he saw firelight and ran toward it; it turned out to be villagers hunting by night. He was overjoyed. He waited until they finished hunting and then returned home with them. His heart was filled with resentment, but he had no way to vent it. He thought of going to Biancheng to seek out Wang Chicheng, but his aged father was at home, long incapacitated by illness. Day and night he deliberated, unable to decide whether to go or stay. Then suddenly one day, two sedans arrived at his gate; it was the old man and his wife bringing Changting to him. They said to Shi, "When you fled that night, why did you not discuss it with us again?" When Shi saw Changting, all his resentment melted away, so he kept silent and did not mention it. The old woman urged them to bow to each other in the courtyard. Shi was about to prepare a feast, but she declined, saying, "I am not a person of leisure; I cannot stay to enjoy good food. My old husband is senile, and if he should fail to understand something, I would count it a great fortune if you, sir, would think of this old woman for Changting’s sake." She then boarded the carriage and left. Now the plot to kill the son-in-law had not been known to the old woman; it was only after they pursued him and failed to catch him that she learned of it. She was quite displeased and quarreled with the old man every day; Changting also wept silently and ate nothing. The old woman had forcibly sent her daughter to Shi, against the old man’s wishes. When Changting entered the household, Shi questioned her and thus learned the whole story. After two or three months, the Weng family came to take their daughter home for a visit. Shi expected that she would not return and tried to stop her. From that time, Changting often wept. Over a year later, she gave birth to a son, named Hui’er. Shi hired a wet nurse to care for him. But the child was given to crying and always had to return to his mother at night. One day, the Weng family again sent a sedan, saying that the old mother missed her daughter greatly. Changting grew even more sorrowful, and Shi could no longer bear to keep her. She wished to take the child with her, but Shi would not allow it; Changting therefore went alone. At parting, they set a limit of one month, but after half a year there was no news. He sent someone to inquire, and the house they had previously rented had long stood empty. After another two years and more, all hope had faded; yet the child wailed all night, and his heart ached as if cut. Then Shi’s father fell ill and died, adding doubly to his grief; he became worn down by sorrow, and during the mourning period he lay gravely ill, unable to receive the condolences of friends and relatives. While he lay in a daze, he suddenly heard a woman weeping as she entered. He looked and saw Changting in mourning dress. Shi was overcome with grief and, with one great sob, fainted. The maid cried out in alarm; Changting then choked back her tears and stroked him for a long time before he gradually revived. He suspected that he had died and that they were meeting in the underworld. She said, "No. I was unfilial and could not win my stern father’s heart; I was kept from returning for three years, truly failing in my heart toward you. Just now my family, passing by this way from east of the sea, learned of your father’s death. I obeyed my father’s strict command to cut off all feelings between husband and wife, but I dare not disobey a perverse order and neglect the rites due to my father-in-law. When I came, my mother knew, but my father did not." As she spoke, the child threw himself into her arms. After she had spoken, she caressed him, weeping, and said, "You have a father, but this child has no mother!" The child also wailed loudly, and the whole room was filled with sobs. Changting rose and took charge of the household affairs; before the spirit tablet, the sacrificial offerings were plentiful and cleanly prepared, and Shi was greatly comforted. But his illness had lasted long, and he could not rise at once. Changting then asked Shi’s elder cousin to receive and entertain the mourners. When the mourning rites were over, Shi was finally able to rise with the aid of a staff, and together they made arrangements for the burial. After the funeral, Changting wished to take leave and return, to avoid the censure of having disobeyed her father. But her husband held her back and the child wailed, so she suppressed her feelings and stayed. Before long, someone came to report that her mother was ill. She then said to Shi, "I came here for your father’s sake; will you not let me go for my mother’s sake?" Shi agreed. Changting had the wet nurse take the child elsewhere, and then, weeping, left the house. After she left, she did not return for several years. Shi and his son gradually forgot about her. One day, at dawn, he opened the door, and Changting drifted in. Shi was startled and was about to ask, but she sat mournfully on the bed and sighed, saying, "Born and raised in the inner chambers, I used to regard a single li as far; now I have traveled a thousand li in one day and night—I am exhausted!" When Shi questioned her closely, she wanted to speak but stopped. He pressed her again and again, until she wept and said, "Now I shall tell you, though I fear what grieves me will please you. In recent years we moved to the border of Jin and rented a house in the mansion of a certain Mr. Zhao, a gentleman-official. The host and guest were on the best of terms, and he married Hongting to his son. The son was a wastrel and gambler, and the household was quite unsettled. My sister returned and told our father; he kept her there and would not let her go back for half a year. The son-in-law, enraged, somehow hired a villain who sent spirits with chains to bind my old father and carry him off. The whole family was terrified, and in an instant they scattered in all directions." When Shi heard this, he could not stop laughing. Changting angrily said, "Though he is unkind, he is still my father. You and I have been husband and wife for several years—only mutual affection, never mutual blame..." Today people are dead and the family ruined, all its members scattered in exile. Even if you do not grieve for your father, should you not mourn for me? Hearing of it, you danced for joy and did not utter a single word of comfort—how unrighteous you are!" She flicked her sleeve and left. Shi pursued to apologize, but she had already vanished. Dejected, he reproached himself, resigned to the final break. After two or three days, the old woman and the girl both came. Shi was delighted and offered his condolences. Mother and daughter both prostrated themselves. Startled, he asked why; mother and daughter both wept. The girl said, "I left in anger, but now I cannot hold to my resolve, and have come back to beg—how can I have any face left?" Shi said, "My father-in-law is indeed not a good man; but your mother's kindness and your affection I do not forget. Yet to rejoice at another's misfortune is also human nature—why could you not bear it for a moment?" The girl said, "Just now on the road I met my mother, and learned that the one who has bound my father is your teacher." Shi said, "If so, it is very easy. But if my father-in-law does not return, then father and daughter will be parted; yet if he does return, I fear your husband will weep and your child will grieve." The old woman swore to make amends, and the girl also vowed to repay him. Shi then immediately prepared his baggage and went to Bian. He inquired his way to the Black Warrior Temple, and found that Chi Cheng had not long returned. He entered and paid his respects. Chi Cheng asked, "Why have you come?" Shi looked under the kitchen stove and saw an old fox, its foreleg pierced and tied. He laughed and said, "Your disciple has come for this old demon." Chi Cheng questioned him, and he said, "He is my father-in-law." Thereupon he told the whole truth. The Daoist considered the fox crafty and would not release him lightly. Shi pleaded persistently, and at last he consented. Shi then recounted in full the fox's deceptions. The fox, hearing this, shrank its body into the stove, as if ashamed. The Daoist laughed and said, "His sense of shame is not entirely lost." Shi rose, pulled the fox out, and with a knife cut the cord and drew it out. The fox howled in agony, its teeth chattering. Shi did not pull it out all at once, but stopped and started, and asked with a smile, "Father-in-law, if it hurts, would you like me to stop?" The fox's eyes glinted with anger. When at last released, it wagged its tail and left the temple. Shi took his leave and returned home. Three days earlier, someone had already brought the old man's news; the old woman had gone ahead, leaving the girl to await Shi. When Shi arrived, the girl came to meet him and prostrated herself. Shi raised her, saying, "If you do not forget our conjugal feelings, it is not a matter of gratitude." The girl said, "Now we have moved back to our old dwelling; the village is close by, so messages can come without hindrance. I wish to go home to visit my parents; I can return in three days—do you trust me?" He said, "You were born without a mother, yet did not die young. I have long lived as a widower, and am used to it. Now I am not like that young Master Zhao, but instead repay your kindness—I have done all I can for you. If you do not return, then on your part it is a breach of faith; though the distance be short, I shall not trouble myself further. Why should I not trust you?" The girl left the next day and returned in two. He asked, "Why so fast?" She said, "Father, because you had teased him in Bian, cannot forget it, and kept prattling on; I did not wish to hear any more, so I came back early." From then on, there was constant intercourse between the women's chambers, but between father-in-law and son-in-law there was still no exchange of congratulations or condolences. The Historian of the Strange comments: "The fox's affections were fickle, and its deceit extreme. In the matter of breaking the marriage contract, two daughters followed the same course—one may guess their craftiness. Yet to compel marriage by force was what opened the door to repentance from the very beginning. Moreover, since the son-in-law loved his daughter and saved her father, he should have set aside old grievances and transformed him with kindness; instead he toyed with him in his hour of danger—no wonder he bore a lifelong grudge! Such are the cases in this world where father-in-law and son-in-law cannot get along." Xi Fangping Xi Fangping was a man of Dong'an. His father, named Lian, was simple and blunt. Because he had a quarrel with a wealthy man of the same village named Yang, Yang died first; several years later, Lian fell ill and was near death, and said to people, "Yang has now bribed the underworld messengers to flog me." Soon his body turned red and swollen, and he cried out and died. Xi was grief-stricken and could not eat, saying, "My father was honest and inarticulate, and now he is bullied by a fierce ghost; I will go down to the underworld to plead his grievance for him." From then on he stopped speaking, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, in a dazed manner—for his soul had already left his body. Xi felt that he had just left his home, not knowing where to go, but whenever he saw pedestrians on the road, he asked for the town. After a short while, he entered the city. His father was already in prison. When he reached the prison gate, he saw his father lying under the eaves, looking very miserable; his father raised his eyes and saw his son, and tears flowed down. He said, "The jailers have all taken bribes, and flog me day and night; my shins and thighs are utterly ruined!" Xi was enraged and cursed the jailers loudly: "If my father has committed a crime, there are the king's laws—how can you dead fiends wield them?" He then went out, took up his brush, and wrote a plaint. It happened that the City God was holding morning court, so he presented his grievance. Yang was afraid, and bribed both inside and outside, so that at last they came to trial. The City God, finding the accusation groundless, ruled against Xi. Xi, his anger finding no outlet, walked over a hundred li to the prefectural capital, and reported the misconduct of the officials and underlings to the Prefect. After a delay of half a month, he was finally brought to trial. The Prefect flogged Xi and sent the case back to the City God for re-examination. Xi returned to the county and underwent all manner of tortures, his bitter injustice beyond relief. The City God, fearing he would appeal again, sent bailiffs to escort him home. The bailiffs left at his door. Xi refused to enter, and fled straight to the Netherworld Prefecture to sue the county and prefectural officials for their cruelty and greed. The King of Hell at once summoned them for cross-examination. The two officials secretly sent trusted agents to negotiate with Xi, offering him a thousand taels of gold. Xi would not listen. After several days, the innkeeper told him, "You are too defiant; the officials have sought reconciliation but you refuse. Now I hear that each has sent a letter to His Majesty—I fear matters are in peril." Xi still did not fully believe hearsay. Soon a black-robed man summoned him in. He entered the hall and saw the King of Hell wearing an angry expression; without allowing him to speak, he ordered twenty strokes. Xi cried out sharply, "What crime have I committed?" The King of Hell ignored him as if he had not heard. Xi, under the strokes, shouted, "I deserve the beating—who told me I had no money?" The King grew angrier and ordered the fire bed. Two demons seized Xi and threw him down; he saw an iron bed in the eastern courtyard, with fire blazing beneath it, the bed surface red-hot. The demons stripped off his clothes, flung him onto it, and kneaded him back and forth. The pain was extreme; his flesh and bones were scorched black, but he could not die. After about an hour, a demon said, "Enough." Then they helped him up, made him get off and put on his clothes—fortunately he could still limp along. He came again before the hall, and the King asked, "Dare you appeal again?" Xi said, "My great injustice is not redressed; my heart will not rest. If I said I would not appeal, I would be deceiving Your Majesty. I will certainly appeal!" The King asked, "Appeal on what grounds?" Xi said, "Whatever I have suffered, I will tell." The King again was angry and ordered him to be sawn in two. Two demons dragged him away; he saw an upright post about eight or nine feet high, with two boards laid on top, covered in congealed blood. As he was about to be bound, suddenly a shout from the hall—"Xi Fangping!"—and the two demons dragged him back. The King asked again, "Do you still dare to appeal?" He answered, "I will certainly appeal!" The King ordered them to take him and saw him quickly. Once down, the demons clamped Xi between the boards and tied him to the post. The saw had just begun to descend when he felt his skull splitting—the pain was unbearable, yet he endured without crying out. He heard a demon say, "Brave fellow!" The saw rumbled down to his chest. Then he heard another demon say, "This man is utterly filial and innocent; tilt the saw a little, do not damage his heart." Then he felt the saw blade twist and go down at an angle, the pain twice as bitter. In a moment, his body was split in two. The boards were removed, and both halves fell. The demons went to the hall and reported loudly. A voice from the hall ordered them to bring him back together. The two demons pushed the halves together and dragged him to walk. Xi felt the line of the saw cut as if it would split again, and he fell after half a step. One demon took a silk belt from his waist and gave it to him, saying, "I give this to reward your filial piety." He took it and bound himself with it; his whole body became strong at once, with no trace of pain. Then he went up to the hall and prostrated himself. The King asked again as before; Xi, fearing further cruel torture, answered, "I will not appeal." The King at once ordered him to be sent back to the world of the living. An underling led him out the north gate, pointed out the way home, and turned back. Xi Fangping reflected that the darkness and obscurity of the Yin underworld were even worse than in the Yang world, but there was no way to reach the Emperor’s ears. It was commonly said that Erlang of Guankou was a kinsman of the Emperor’s household, and that this god was intelligent, upright, and just; appealing to him would surely yield a miraculous response. Secretly pleased that the two bailiffs had already left, he turned southward and set off at a run. While he was hurrying along, two men caught up with him and said, “The King suspected you would not return, and now it is indeed so.” They seized him and brought him back before the King of Hell. Xi privately thought the King would be even more enraged and that the disaster would surely be more terrible; but the King showed no harsh expression and said to Xi, “Your will is sincere and your filial piety deep. But as for your father’s grievance, I have already redressed it for you. He has now been reborn into a wealthy and noble family—why should you still cry out for him? Now I shall send you back, granting you a fortune of a thousand taels of gold and a lifespan of a hundred years—will that satisfy your wishes?” Thereupon he recorded it in the register, stamped it with a great seal, and made Xi look at it himself. Xi thanked him and withdrew. The ghosts came out with him, and on the way they drove him along, cursing: “Cunning knave! You keep turning things upside down, making us run about till we are exhausted! If you offend again, we will seize you and throw you into the great millstone to be ground fine!” Xi opened his eyes and shouted back, “What do you ghostly brats think you are doing! My nature can endure knives and saws, but not beatings and floggings. I beg to go back and see the King; if the King orders me to return on my own, why should I trouble you to escort me?” He then turned and ran back. The two ghosts were frightened and spoke softly, trying to persuade him to go back. Xi deliberately walked slowly, and after a few steps he would rest by the roadside. The ghosts were angry but dared not speak again. After about half a day, they came to a village. One gate was half open, and the ghosts led him in to sit down with them; Xi then took his place on the threshold. The two ghosts, taking advantage of his unpreparedness, pushed him inside the gate. When his shock subsided and he looked at himself, he found he had been reborn as an infant. Angry and crying, he refused to nurse, and after three days he died. His soul, wavering, did not forget Guankou, and he ran for some ten leagues, when suddenly he saw a feathered canopy approaching, with banners and halberds blocking the road. He crossed the road to avoid them, but in doing so he offended the retinue, and was seized by the leading horsemen and bound before the carriage. Looking up, he saw a young man in the carriage, handsome and magnificent in appearance. He asked Xi, “Who are you?” Xi, his grievance and anger having no outlet, and thinking that this must be a great official who might well be able to wield power, therefore recounted in full his bitter sufferings. The man in the carriage ordered his bonds loosened and told him to follow the carriage. Soon they arrived at a place, where more than ten officials came out to welcome and pay respects on the left side of the road; the man in the carriage exchanged greetings with each of them. Then he pointed to Xi and said to one official, “This man is from the lower world and wishes to lodge a complaint; you should immediately decide his case.” Xi asked the attendants, and only then learned that the man in the carriage was the Ninth Prince under the Emperor of Heaven, and the one he had addressed was Erlang. Xi observed Erlang—tall, with a full beard, unlike the image popularly handed down. After the Ninth Prince left, Xi followed Erlang to an official yamen, where his father, along with the sheep-surnamed man and the yamen runners, were all present. After a short while, prisoners were brought out in a cage-cart—they were the King of Hell, the prefectural judge, and the city god. They were confronted and examined in court; all that Xi said was not false. The three officials trembled in terror, like mice cowering. Erlang took up his brush and immediately passed judgment; soon the verdict was handed down, and all those involved in the case were made to look at it. The judgment read: “It is adjudged that the King of Hell, holding the rank of prince and enjoying the Emperor’s favor, should of course be chaste and pure so as to lead his subordinates, and ought not to be corrupt and covetous, thereby inviting official disgrace. Yet he flaunts tasseled reins and halberded gates, vainly boasting the honor of his station; wolfish and greedy, he has actually sullied the integrity of a minister. Axes strike, and the wood is split; the skin and bones of women and children are all emptied. Whales swallow fish, and fish eat shrimp; even the tiny lives of ants and crickets deserve pity. One should scoop up the waters of the Western River to cleanse your bowels; and burn the bed by the eastern wall—let you enter the caldron. The city god and the prefectural judge, as officials who are the parents of the common people, are charged with tending the flocks of the Emperor of Heaven. Though their posts are low, those who exhaust themselves do not refuse to bow; even if pressed by powerful superiors, those with ambition should also hold their heads high. Yet they turn their eagle-and-hawk hands up and down, giving no thought to the people’s poverty; and they flaunt their monkey-and-weasel cunning, not even sparing the leanness of ghosts. Taking bribes and perverting the law—truly human faces with beastly hearts! They deserve to have their marrow scraped and their fur plucked, and be temporarily condemned to death in the underworld; they should be stripped of their skin and changed to hides, and be reborn again as animals. As for the runners and lackeys: since they are already among ghostly ranks, they are no longer human. They ought only to cultivate virtue at the yamen gate, so as to regain the body of rebirth; how can they raise waves in the bitter sea and pile up heaven-defying sins? Insolent and overbearing, their dog-faces bear the frost of the sixth month; they shout and howl, their tiger’s might cuts off the roads of the nine thoroughfares. They display their brutal power in the underworld, so that all know the jailers are supreme; they abet the cruelty of dim-witted officials, so that all tremble at the butcher’s hand. They shall be hacked limb from limb within the execution ground; and their sinews and bones shall be fished out from the boiling cauldron. As for the sheep-surnamed man: rich but unkind, crafty and full of deceit. His gold shines over the earth, so that even in Yama’s hall all is covered with gloomy haze; his stench of copper fills the heavens, so that in the city of the wrongfully dead there is no sun or moon. The remaining stench can still command ghosts, and his great strength can directly reach the spirits. His family’s property shall be confiscated to reward Xi’s filial piety. The sentence shall be carried out at Mount Tai.” Then he said to Xi’s father, Xi Lian: “Considering that your son is filial and righteous, and your nature is good but weak, I shall grant you another thirty-six years of life.” He then had two men escort them back to their village. Xi copied down the judgment, and on the way father and son read it together. When they reached home, Xi first revived; he ordered his family to open the coffin and look at his father—the corpse was still frozen stiff. They waited all day, and gradually it grew warm and he came back to life. When they looked for the copied judgment, it was already gone. From then on, the family grew richer day by day; within three years, fine fields spread over all the countryside. The sheep-surnamed man’s descendants dwindled, and his mansions, pavilions, and lands all came into Xi’s possession. Some villagers who bought his fields would dream at night of a god rebuking them: “This is the Xi family’s property—how can you have it?” At first they did not quite believe it; but when they planted and cultivated, they got nothing for the whole year, so they sold the fields back to Xi. Xi’s father lived to over ninety and then died. The Historian of the Strange says: “Everyone speaks of the Pure Land, yet they do not know that life and death are separated by a world, and all thoughts are confused; they do not know whence they come, how then can they know whither they go? How much less those who die and then die again, and are born and then born again? When one’s will is fixed in loyalty and filial piety, it remains unshaken through ten thousand kalpas. Strange indeed is Xi Sheng—how magnificent he is!” Su Qiu Yu Shen, styled Jin’an, was from a well-established family in Shuntian. He went to the capital for the examinations and lodged in the suburbs. At that time he saw a young man across the street, as handsome as a jade pendant. He took a liking to him, gradually approached and spoke with him, and found him exceptionally refined and elegant. Delighted, he took his arm and invited him to his lodgings, where he entertained him with a feast. Upon asking his surname and given name, the young man said, “I am from Jinling, surnamed Yu, given name Shichen, styled Xunjiu.” The young master, finding that they shared the same surname, was even more warmly disposed, and they agreed to become sworn brothers; the young man then changed his given name by dropping one character to become just Chen. The next day, he went to their home; the study rooms were clean and bright, but the courtyard was deserted, without any servants. He led the gentleman inside and called his younger sister to come out and greet him. She was thirteen or fourteen years old, her skin clear and glossy, whiter than powdered jade. Shortly after, she brought tea to offer to the guest; it seemed there were no maids or old women in the house either. The gentleman found this strange, and after a few words, he left. From then on, their friendship was like that of brothers. Xunjiu came to his lodgings every day without fail; sometimes he stayed overnight, but he would excuse himself by saying his young sister had no companion. The gentleman said, "My younger brother has traveled a thousand li and has not even a doorkeeper; you and your sister are frail and weak—how can you make a living? I think it would be better for you to come with me; I have a small house where we can share lodging. What do you think?" Xunjiu was delighted and agreed to do so after the examinations. After the exams, Xunjiu invited the gentleman to go with him, saying, "The mid-autumn moon is as bright as day; my sister Suqiu has prepared some vegetables and wine; do not disappoint her." He then pulled him inside. Suqiu came out, exchanged a few pleasantries, then went into the inner room, drew the curtains, and prepared the feast. After a short while, she came out personally to serve the roasted meat. The gentleman rose and said, "How can I bear to have my younger sister run about like this?" Suqiu laughed and went back in. Soon she lifted the curtain and came out, followed by a maid in blue carrying a pot, and an old woman holding a tray with cooked fish. The gentleman was surprised and asked, "Where did these people come from? Why did they not attend to this earlier and have you, my sister, trouble yourself?" Xunjiu smiled slightly and said, "Suqiu is up to her tricks again." But from inside the curtain came only tittering laughter; the gentleman did not understand the reason. When the feast was over, the maid and old woman cleared the utensils. The gentleman happened to cough and accidentally spat on the maid's dress; the maid collapsed with the spittle and fell, breaking the bowl and spilling the roast. Looking at the maid, it was a small figure cut from silk, only about four inches tall. Xunjiu burst out laughing. Suqiu came out laughing, picked it up, and went away. Shortly after, the maid came out again and bustled about as before; the gentleman was greatly astonished. Xunjiu said, "This is merely a little trick my sister learned in her childhood, a skill of divining with the Purple Maiden." The gentleman then asked, "My younger brother and sister have both grown up; why have they not yet married?" He replied, "Our father passed away early, and we have no fixed place to stay; that is why we have delayed." Then they agreed on a date for departure, sold the house, and with his sister they both went west with the gentleman. After returning home, he cleared a room for them to stay and also sent a maid to serve them. The gentleman's wife was the niece of Vice Minister Han, and she especially loved Suqiu, sharing meals with her. The gentleman and Xunjiu were also like that. Xunjiu was extremely intelligent, able to read ten lines at a glance; when he wrote a composition, even old scholars could not match him. The gentleman urged him to take the preliminary examinations for child scholars. Xunjiu said, "I only dabble in this pursuit to share your labors. I know my own fortune is meager; I am not fit for official advancement. Moreover, once I enter this path, I cannot help but be anxious about success and failure, so I will not do it." After three years, the gentleman again failed the provincial examination. Xunjiu was deeply grieved and said with resolve, "How can a single name on the list be so difficult to attain? I initially did not want to be confused by success or failure, so I preferred to remain obscure. But now that I see my elder brother unable to find release, I cannot help but feel the heat within. Though I am an old child of nineteen, I shall strive to gallop." The gentleman was delighted. When the examination time came, he sent him into the venue; he came first in the county, prefecture, and circuit examinations. Then he studied even harder with the gentleman. After a year, in the departmental examinations, they both were champions of the prefecture and county. Xunjiu's reputation soared, and far and near they vied to marry him, but he refused all. The gentleman urged him strongly, and he excused himself by saying to wait until after the examinations. Soon the examinations were over, and those who admired him vied to copy his essays and circulated them; Xunjiu himself felt that he did not deign to take second place. When the results were posted, both brothers were rejected. At that time they were drinking together; the gentleman still forced himself to make jokes, but Xunjiu's face changed, his wine cup fell, and he collapsed under the table. They helped him onto the bed, and his illness was already critical. He urgently called for his sister, and opening his eyes, he said to the gentleman, "Though our affection is like that of blood brothers, we are not of the same clan. I myself know that I have already entered the register of ghosts. I can repay your kindness in no other way; Suqiu has grown up, and since she has received your wife's loving care, let her be your concubine." The gentleman's face changed and he said, "This is truly my brother's dying command that is utterly wrong! Do you take me for a beast in human form?" Xunjiu wept. The gentleman then spent much money to buy a fine coffin. Xunjiu ordered it brought in, and struggling with his illness, he entered it, and instructed his sister: "After I am gone, close the coffin quickly and let no one open it to look." The gentleman still wanted to say something, but his eyes were already closed. The gentleman grieved as if he had lost a limb. However, he secretly wondered about the strange instruction, and when Suqiu went out, he opened it to look; inside, the hat, scarf, and robes were like an empty shell; lifting them, there was a foot-long silverfish lying stiff within. While he was startled and puzzled, Suqiu hurried in and said sadly, "Why should there be any barrier between brothers? The reason I did this was not to hide it from you, but for fear that if it gets spread abroad, I too will not be able to stay long." The gentleman said, "Rites are based on emotions; where emotions exist, what difference does it make if we are of different clans? Does my sister not know my heart? Even within the inner chambers, nothing will be leaked, so please do not worry." Then he quickly chose an auspicious day and buried him with full honors. At first, the gentleman had wanted to marry Suqiu into a noble family, but Xunjiu had disapproved. After his death, the gentleman consulted Suqiu, but she did not respond. The gentleman said, "My sister is now twenty; if she grows old and does not marry, what will people say of me?" She replied, "If that is so, I will only follow my brother's command. But I know I have no fortunate appearance; I do not wish to enter a noble house. A poor scholar would be acceptable." The gentleman said, "Agreed." Within a few days, matchmakers came one after another, but none was suitable. Earlier, the gentleman's wife's younger brother, Han Quan, had come to pay a condolence call and caught a glimpse of Suqiu, admiring her greatly, and wanted to buy her as a concubine. He consulted his elder sister, who urgently warned him not to speak of it, for fear the gentleman would know. Han Quan left, but could not let go, and sent a go-between to hint to the gentleman, offering to secure a connection for the provincial examination. The gentleman was enraged, cursed and had the messenger slapped and driven out of the door, and from then on their intercourse ceased. At that time, a certain Jia, grandson of a former minister, was about to marry, but his betrothed suddenly died, so he also sent a matchmaker. His mansion was as extensive as clouds, and the gentleman knew him well; but he wanted to see the man himself, so he made an agreement with the matchmaker that Jia should come in person. On the appointed day, he hung a curtain inside and let Suqiu examine him herself. Jia arrived, with fine furs and horses, attendants and followers, making a great display in the neighborhood. And looking at him, he was elegant and handsome like a maiden. The gentleman was greatly pleased, and all who saw him praised him, but Suqiu was not at all happy. The gentleman would not listen and agreed to the match. He prepared an ample trousseau, spending no small sum. Suqiu firmly tried to stop him, only asking for one old maid to serve her, but the gentleman would not listen and finally gave generous gifts. After the marriage, they were very harmonious. But the brother and sister-in-law missed her, and she would return home every month. When she came, she would always bring several items of jewelry and embroidery from her dowry and give them to her sister-in-law to keep. The sister-in-law did not know her intention, but she complied. Jia had lost his father early and had only his mother, who doted on him excessively. He grew close to bad associates, who gradually led him into lewdness and gambling. The family heirlooms—calligraphy, paintings, bronze vessels—were all sold to pay gaming debts. Han Quan had a connection with him, so he invited him for a drink and secretly probed him, offering two concubines and five hundred taels of silver in exchange for Suqiu. Jia at first refused; but Han persisted, and Jia seemed to waver, fearing the gentleman would not agree. Han said, "I am a close relative of his, and this is not even his own clan. If the matter is accomplished, he can do nothing about it; and if anything happens, I will take responsibility. With my father around, why fear a Yu Jin'an?" So he dressed up two concubines to serve wine and said, "If indeed we agree, these are your household." Jia was tempted, set a date, and left. On the appointed day, fearing Han would deceive him, he waited on the road at night. Sure enough, a sedan came; he lifted the curtain and verified that it was not a fraud, then led it away and temporarily placed it in his study. Han's servant handed over the five hundred taels in full. Jia rushed in and falsely told Suqiu that the gentleman had been suddenly taken ill and called for her. Suqiu did not have time to dress up, hastily came out. The sedan set off, but at night they lost their way and did not know where they were. They traveled far but could not reach their destination. Suddenly two great torches appeared; the crowd secretly rejoiced that they could ask the way. Before long, they came near, and it turned out to be a giant python with eyes like lanterns. All were terrified; men and horses fled, abandoning the sedan by the roadside. At dawn they gathered again, but only the empty sedan remained. They assumed it must have been swallowed by the snake, and returned to report to their master, hanging their heads in dejection. A few days later, the young master sent someone to call on his sister, and only then learned that she had been deceived by a villain; at first he had not suspected that her "husband" was an impostor. He brought the maidservant back and closely questioned her about the circumstances, secretly discerning the changes, and was filled with rage, bringing complaints everywhere in the capital. A, fearful, sought help from Han. Han, having lost both the gold and the concubine, was himself distressed and vexed, so he rejected him and would not lift a finger. A, dull and foolish, had no further plan; when summons came from various quarters, he only used bribes to beg off compliance. Within a month, gold, pearls, clothing, and ornaments were all pawned or sold off. The young master pressed the case fiercely before the censorate, and the local officials all received strict orders. A knew he could no longer hide, so he finally came forward and confessed the full truth in court. A warrant was issued to summon Han for confrontation. Han, afraid, told the situation to his father. His father, then retired, was enraged at his son's unlawful conduct, seized him, and handed him over to the bailiffs. When they came before the various officials and mentioned the serpent disaster, all dismissed it as fabrication; the household servants were flogged nearly to death, and A himself was repeatedly beaten. Fortunately, his mother daily sold off land and property, bribing high and low, so that though punished, he was spared death—but Han's servant died in prison from abuse. Han, long confined in jail, was willing to help A bribe the young master with a thousand taels of gold and begged to drop the suit. The young master would not agree. A's mother further asked to add two concubines, only begging that the case be left open pending further inquiry; and A's wife, under her aunt's urging, pleaded with him day and night to relent. Only then did the young master consent. A's family was extremely poor; he put up his house for sale to raise the gold, but could not find a buyer quickly, so he first sent the concubines over and begged for a delay. A few days later, as the young master sat in his study at night, Suqiu suddenly entered, accompanied by an old woman. The young master started in surprise and asked, "So you were never harmed, sister?" She smiled and said, "The serpent business was merely a little trick of mine. That night I slipped away to a scholar's home and stayed with his mother. She said he knew you, and he is now outside—please invite him in." The young master hurried out, his shoes on backward, and by lamplight saw that it was none other than Zhou, a famed scholar from Wanping, with whom he had long been on friendly terms. He took his arm and led him into the study, treating him with the utmost cordiality. After talking at length, he learned the whole story. Originally, Suqiu had knocked on Zhou's door at dawn; his mother took her in, questioned her, and upon learning she was the young master's sister, wanted to send word at once. Suqiu stopped her and so stayed with the mother. Clever and pleasing, she won the mother's affection; and as the mother's son had no wife, she privately set her hopes on Suqiu and hinted at it. Suqiu pleaded that she had not yet received her brother's consent. Zhou, too, because of his close friendship with the young master, was unwilling to take a wife without a matchmaker, but he kept making inquiries on the sly. When he learned that the lawsuit had been mediated, Suqiu told the mother she wished to return home. The mother had Zhou escort her with an old woman, and instructed the old woman to act as matchmaker. The young master, knowing Suqiu had lived long in Zhou's household, had harbored thoughts but not spoken; when he heard the old woman's words, he was overjoyed and immediately made a formal betrothal to Zhou. Earlier, Suqiu had returned by night, intending to let the young master get the gold before making this known; but the young master would not agree, saying, "I was so angry I had nowhere to vent, so I demanded gold only to ruin him. Now that I see my sister again, how could ten thousand taels of gold compare?" He at once sent word to both families and called the whole matter off. He also thought that Zhou's family was not very well-off and that the distance was great, making the wedding journey difficult, so he moved Zhou's mother to live in Xunjiu's former residence. Zhou likewise prepared gifts, silks, drums, and music, and the wedding was celebrated with full rites. One day, the sister-in-law teased Suqiu: "Now that you have a new husband, do you still remember the pillow-and-mat pleasures of former years?" Suqiu smiled and turned to the maid, saying, "Do you remember?" The sister-in-law did not understand and pressed her for an explanation. It turned out that for three years in the bridal chamber, the maid had always taken her place. Every night, Suqiu would paint the maid's eyebrows with a brush, send her off, and then sit by the candle herself; the husband never could tell the difference. The sister-in-law found this even more extraordinary and asked for the technique, but Suqiu only smiled and said nothing. The next year came the provincial examinations, and Zhou was to go with the young master. Suqiu thought it unnecessary, but the young master insisted on dragging him along. In that examination, the young master passed the provincial level, while Zhou failed and returned home. He began to harbor thoughts of retreat. The following year, his mother died, and he no longer spoke of advancement. One day, Suqiu told her sister-in-law, "When you asked me about my art before, I was unwilling to alarm people's ears with it. Now that I am to depart on a distant journey in a few days, let me secretly teach it to you, so that you may also escape the ravages of war." Startled, she asked what she meant. Suqiu replied, "In three years, this place will be deserted. I am frail and cannot bear terror, so I will go into hiding by the seashore. My elder brother is a man of wealth and rank and cannot come with me, hence I speak of parting." Thereupon she taught the technique fully to her sister-in-law. A few days later, she told the young master as well. He tried to keep her, but could not, and even wept. When he asked where she was going, she would not say. At cockcrow the next morning, she rose early, took a white-bearded servant, mounted two mules, and departed. The young master secretly sent men to see her off, but at the border of Jiaolai, dust and mist filled the sky; when it cleared, they had lost all trace of her. Three years later, the rebel bandits rose in revolt, and villages and houses were reduced to ruins. Lady Han cut silk cloth and placed it inside her gate; when the bandits came and saw clouds swirling around a towering Vajra more than ten feet high, they fled in terror, and thus she remained safe. Later, a merchant in the village went to the coast and met an old man who greatly resembled the old servant, but with black beard and hair, so that he could not immediately recognize him. The old man stopped and smiled, saying, "Is my young master still well? Please take word back: Miss Qiu is also very happy and at peace." When asked where he lived, he said, "Far away, far away!" and hurried off. When the young master heard this, he sent men to search everywhere in that place, but found no trace. The Historian remarks: "The brush has no look of meat-eating—this has long been so. His initial resolve was clear, yet he could not hold to it firmly. How could he be like those dim-sighted examiners, who judge fate rather than literary merit? One strike misses, and he quietly perishes—the folly of the bookworm, how pitiable! Alas, the male's soaring flight is not as good as the female's quiet submission." Jia Fengzhi Jia Fengzhi was a man of Pingliang. His literary talent was renowned throughout the region, yet though he sat for the examinations time and again, he never succeeded. One day on the road he encountered a scholar who gave his surname as Lang. His bearing was free and easy, and his words subtly hit their mark. Jia invited him home, brought out his examination essays, and asked for corrections. After reading them, Lang was not particularly impressed, saying: "Your prose is more than sufficient for taking first place in the prefectural tests, but it falls short even for the bottom of the list in the provincial examinations." "What am I to do?" asked Jia. Lang replied: "In all matters under heaven, if you strain upward on tiptoe it is difficult, but if you stoop down to it, it is very easy. Why should I need to tell you this?" He then pointed to one or two men and one or two essays as models—all of which Jia in his disdain had dismissed as unworthy of mention. Jia laughed upon hearing this and said: "When a scholar establishes his words, what is prized is that they endure through the ages. Even if his writing is ranked among the eight delicacies, he should still make the world not deem it excessive. To snatch at fame and position in this manner, even if one reaches the highest councils of state, is still base." Lang said: "Not so. Though the writing be beautiful, if it is base it will not be transmitted. If you wish to clutch your scrolls to the end of your days, then so be it; if not, the examiners within the curtain all advanced themselves by means of just such stuff, and I fear they cannot be expected to change their eyes and bowels just to read your essays." Jia remained silent. Lang rose with a laugh: "Such youthful high spirits!" And with that he took his leave. That autumn Jia sat for the provincial examination and failed again. Dejected and disheartened, he thought much on Lang's words, so he took the previously recommended essays and forced himself to read them. Before he had finished even one, he grew drowsy and confused, his mind unsettled and unable to find its own direction. Three years passed, and when the provincial examination drew near, Lang suddenly appeared. They greeted each other with great delight. Lang then produced seven examination topics he had devised and had Jia compose essays on them. The next day he asked for the essays and read them, but did not consider them adequate, and made him write them again. When they were done, he criticized them once more. Jia, half in jest, gathered from his failed essays those diffuse, commonplace, and unspeakable phrases, strung them together into a composition, and showed it to Lang when he came. Lang exclaimed with delight: "This is it!" He made Jia memorize it, strictly enjoining him not to forget. Jia laughed and said: "To tell you the truth, these words do not come from the heart; in the twinkling of an eye they will be gone, and even under the bamboo rod I could not recall them again." Lang sat at the desk and forced Jia to recite it aloud once. Then he had him bare his back, wrote a talisman on it with his brush, and departed, saying: "This alone is enough; you may now put aside all your books." Jia examined the talisman; washing would not remove it—it had sunk deep into his flesh. When he entered the examination hall, not one of the seven topics was missing. But when he tried to recall his original compositions, they were a blank; only that jestingly cobbled-together essay was vivid in his mind. Yet as he took up his brush, he still felt ashamed. He wished to alter it slightly, but though he racked his brains in confusion, he could not change a single word. As the sun sank to the west, he copied it out straight and left the hall. Lang had been waiting for him a long time and asked: "Why so late?" Jia told him the truth, and immediately begged to have the talisman erased. When they looked at it, it had already faded away. When Jia tried again to recall his examination essay, it was as if it belonged to a former life. He was greatly astonished and asked Lang: "Why do you not seek such things for yourself?" Lang laughed and said: "It is precisely because I do not entertain such thoughts that I can avoid reading such essays." He then arranged to meet Jia the next day at his lodgings. Jia agreed. After Lang departed, Jia took out the essay and read it himself. It was utterly contrary to his true intentions. Dispirited and dissatisfied, he did not visit Lang again, but returned home in dejection. Before long the examination results were announced, and Jia had actually placed first among the provincial graduates. When he looked again at his old draft, with every reading he broke into a sweat. When he finished, even his padded garments were soaked through. He said to himself: "Once this essay sees the light, how shall I ever face the scholars of the world?" While he was still in shame and distress, Lang suddenly appeared and said: "You sought success and obtained it—why such dejection?" Jia replied: "I was just thinking that storing dog's excrement in a golden basin and jade bowl is truly a thing that leaves one without face to meet one's peers. I am about to withdraw into the hills and cut myself off forever from the world." Lang said: "That would indeed be most lofty, but I fear you could not accomplish it. If you truly can, I shall introduce you to someone with whom you may attain long life. Even the fame that lasts a thousand years would not be worth clinging to, let alone this windfall of wealth and rank." Jia was pleased and asked Lang to stay the night, saying: "Let me think it over." At dawn he said to Lang: "My resolve is fixed!" Without telling his wife or children, he drifted away and departed. Gradually they entered the deep mountains, until they came to a cavern mansion, where there was a world apart. An old man sat in the hall. Lang had Jia pay his respects and call him "Master." The old man asked: "Why have you come so early?" Lang replied: "This man's resolve for the Way is already firm; I hope you will take him in." The old man said: "Since you have come, you must place even this body of yours beyond all concern before you can begin." Jia assented humbly. Lang escorted him to a separate courtyard, settled his sleeping quarters, and gave him some elixir, then departed. The room was clean and elegant, but the doorway had no door, the windows had no lattice, and inside there was only a small table and a bed. Jia removed his shoes and mounted the bed, and the moonlight shone through. He felt a slight hunger, so he took the elixir and ate it; it was sweet and soon left him satisfied. He privately thought Lang would return, but after sitting for a long while all was silent, with not a sound. Yet a pure fragrance filled the room, and his internal organs felt clear and luminous; he could even count his own veins and sinews. Suddenly he heard a fierce sound, like a cat scratching itself, and peering through the window he saw a tiger crouching under the eaves. At the first sight he was greatly startled, but then recalling his master's words, he collected his spirit and sat in stillness. The tiger seemed to sense there was someone within; it entered and drew near the bed, snorting loudly as it sniffed his feet and legs. Soon after, he heard a howling and scrambling in the courtyard, as if a fowl were being bound, and the tiger dashed out. He sat a little longer, and then a beautiful woman entered, her perfume of orchids and musk wafting about her. She quietly mounted the bed, leaned to his ear, and whispered: "I have come." As she spoke, the fragrance of her lips diffused around him. Jia kept his eyes shut and did not stir in the least. She whispered again: "Are you asleep?" Her voice was very like his wife's, and his heart stirred slightly. But then he thought: "All these are the Master's testing illusions." He remained as before with closed eyes. The woman laughed and said: "The mouse stirs!" In former times, when he and his wife shared a room with a maid, they feared being overheard in their intimacies, so they had privately agreed on a secret phrase: "When the mouse stirs," it signalled their conjugal pleasure. Upon hearing these words, he could not help being greatly moved. Opening his eyes and staring intently, he saw that it was indeed his wife. He asked: "How could you come here?" She answered: "Mr. Lang feared you would grow lonely and long to return, so he sent an old woman to lead me here." As she spoke, she reproached him for having left without a word to her, and as they embraced, she harbored much resentment. Jia consoled her for a long while, and only then did she relent and allow themselves to be merry. When their union was over, dawn was approaching. They heard the Master's scolding voice, drawing nearer to the courtyard. The wife rose in haste, with no place to hide, and so leaped over the low wall and vanished. Presently Lang entered with the Master. The Master, in Jia's presence, caned Lang and ordered him to expel his guest. Lang then led Jia out over the low wall and said: "My hopes for you were too high, and I could not help being overeager; I did not foresee that your bond of passion was unbroken, and I have incurred a beating for it. For now we part; the day we meet again will not be far off." He pointed out the way home, made a bow, and took his leave. Jia looked down and saw his native village, still clearly in view. He thought that his wife, with her weak steps, must surely be delayed along the way. He hurried on for over a li, and soon reached his own gate. But he saw that the walls and houses were crumbling and dilapidated, and the old scene was completely changed. Among the old and young in the village, there was not a single familiar face. He began to feel alarmed. Suddenly he recalled the tale of Liu and Ruan returning from Mount Tiantai—the scene was truly similar. He dared not enter the gate, but rested across the road. After a long while, an old man came out leaning on a staff. Jia bowed to him and asked: "Where is the Jia family's house?" The old man pointed to the very dwelling and said: "This is it. Would you like to hear a strange tale? I know it all. It is said that this gentleman, right after passing the examination, fled. At the time of his flight, his son was barely seven or eight. Later, when the son reached fourteen or fifteen, his mother suddenly fell into a deep sleep and did not wake. While the son lived, he changed her clothes summer and winter; but after he died, his two grandsons fell into poverty, and the house was demolished, leaving only a wooden frame covered with thatch to shield it. A month ago, the lady suddenly awoke, and upon counting, it was over a hundred years. Far and near, people heard of the wonder and all came to visit; only recently has the crowd thinned." Jia suddenly understood and said: "Old sir, you do not know that Jia Fengzhi is none other than I." The old man was greatly shocked and ran to inform the household. By then the eldest grandson had already died; the second grandson, Xiang, was over fifty. Because Jia appeared young, they suspected fraud. After a short while, his wife came out and recognized him. Tears streamed down her face, and she called him to come in with her. But they were sorely pressed for housing, so they temporarily moved into the grandson's quarters. Men and women, young and old, crowded in from all sides—all were his great-grandsons and great-great-grandsons, mostly coarse and illiterate. The eldest grandson's wife, Wu, bought wine and prepared coarse fare; she also had her youngest son Gao and his wife share a room with her, clearing another room to house the ancestral grandfather and grandmother. When Jia entered that room, the mingled stench of smoke, dust, and children's urine assailed him. After a few days, he was so vexed and regretful that he could hardly bear it. The two grandsons' households took turns providing meals, but their cooking was particularly inept. The villagers, hearing of Jia's return, invited him to banquets daily, while his wife often could not get a single proper meal. Wu had originally been a scholar's daughter and was quite versed in proper domestic conduct; her dutiful service did not waver. Xiang's household, however, grew gradually more neglectful in their provisions, sometimes tossing them food with a rude "Here!" Jia was angry, took his wife and left, and set up a school in the eastern neighborhood. He often said to his wife, “I greatly regret this return, but it is too late. Having no choice, I resume my old profession; if my heart has no shame, wealth and rank are not hard to obtain.” After living there for more than a year, Lady Wu still occasionally sent gifts, but Xiang and his father stopped appearing altogether. That year, he passed the examination and entered the county school. The county magistrate valued his writing and gave him generous gifts, and from this his family became somewhat prosperous. Xiang gradually came to approach him. Jia called him in, calculated what he had spent before, gave him gold to repay it, and rebuked him, ordering him to leave. He then bought a new residence and moved Lady Wu to live with them. Lady Wu had two sons; the elder stayed to manage the old estate; the younger, Gao, was quite clever, and he made him study with his disciples. After Jia returned from the mountains, his mind became even clearer. Not long after, he passed the imperial examinations successively and became a jinshi. After several more years, he was sent as an Imperial Censor to inspect the Two Zhe provinces; his reputation was brilliant, and feasts and entertainments, towers and pavilions, were at that time famed for their splendor. Jia was upright and stern, not avoiding the powerful and noble; the high officials in the court plotted to slander him. Jia repeatedly submitted memorials requesting to retire quietly, but did not receive imperial approval; soon disaster occurred. Previously, Xiang’s six sons were all scoundrels; although Jia had rejected and despised them, they all secretly used his remaining influence to tyrannize, seizing fields and houses by force, and the villagers all suffered from them. There was a certain Yi who married a new bride; Xiang’s second son stole her away as a concubine. Yi was crafty and cunning; the villagers collected money to help him sue, and thus it was reported to the capital. Thereupon those in power submitted memorials one after another attacking Jia. Jia had no way to clear himself, and was arrested for a year. Xiang and his second son both died in prison. Jia was ordered by imperial decree to serve as a soldier in Liaoyang. At that time Gao had long been in the county school; he was quite kind and generous, and had a reputation for virtue. Lady Jia had borne a son, aged sixteen, so she entrusted him to Gao; the couple took one servant and one old woman and departed. Jia said, “More than ten years of wealth and honor were not as long as a dream. Now I know that the fields of glory are all realms of hell; I regret that compared to Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao, I have created one more layer of karmic offense.” After several days, they arrived at the seacoast; from afar they saw a great ship coming, drums and music booming, and the attendants all looked like heavenly gods. When it drew near, a person came out of the ship, smilingly invited the Censor to come over to the ship for a short rest. Jia saw him, was astonished and delighted, leaped over; the escorting guards dared not stop him. His wife urgently wanted to follow, but the distance had become great, so in anger she threw herself into the sea. After floating a few steps, she saw a person lowering a white silk rope into the water, who pulled and rescued her, taking her away. The guards ordered the boatmen to row the boat, chasing and shouting, but they only heard the drumbeats like thunder, intermingled with the roaring waves; in an instant, they vanished. The servant recognized that person; it was Lang Sheng. Yi Shi said: “The world relates that Chen Dashi, in the examination hall, having completed his essay, recited it several times, sighed and said, ‘Who else would appreciate it?’ So he discarded it and wrote anew; therefore his examination papers were not as good as his draft essays. Jia Sheng, ashamed, fled away; here he had immortal bones yet he returned again to the human world; then he debased himself for the sake of food and drink—how deeply does poverty and lowliness affect a man!” Yanzhi In Dongchang there was a family of the surname Bian who practiced cattle medicine. The family had a daughter, whose childhood name was Yanzhi, gifted in wit and lovely in appearance. Her father cherished her and wished to secure for her a match in a respectable family, but the gentry families looked down upon their humble poverty and disdained to form a marriage alliance, so that even after she had reached the age of fifteen, she remained unbetrothed. Opposite their household lived the wife of a man named Gong, née Wang, who was frivolous and fond of jesting, and she was Yanzhi's companion in talk within the boudoir. One day, as she was seeing Wang to the door, she saw a young man passing by, dressed in white with a skirt-like garment and a cap, of exceedingly handsome appearance. Yanzhi's heart seemed stirred, and her limpid eyes turned to follow him. The young man bent his head and hurried away. After he had gone far, she still gazed after him. Wang, observing her intent, teased her, saying: "With a lady's talent and beauty, were she to be matched with such a man, she might have no cause for regret." Yanzhi's cheeks flushed crimson, and she remained silent, full of unspoken feeling. Wang asked: "Do you know this young gentleman?" She answered: "I do not." Wang said: "This is the scholar E Qiujun of the southern lane, the son of the late tribute-scholar. I formerly lived in the same neighborhood, so I know him; among the men of this world, there is none so gentle and mild as he. Now he wears white because his wife's mourning period is not yet over. If you have any inclination, I can send word to have a matchmaker approach." Yanzhi said nothing, and Wang left with a smile. Several days passed without news, and Yanzhi's heart grew doubtful—whether Wang had not yet found the time to go, and also whether the son of an official family would deign to stoop to such a match. Restless and anxious, she brooded deeply, and her longing became quite bitter; gradually she forsook food and drink, and took to her bed, growing weak and ill. Wang came to visit her and inquired closely into the cause of her illness. She answered: "I do not know myself. But ever since that day after you left, I have felt listless and unwell; I am but prolonging my breath in a failing life, a person of morning and evening." Wang said softly: "My husband is abroad trading and has not yet returned, so no one has yet sent word to Scholar E. Could it be that your delicate condition is due to this?" Yanzhi flushed deeply for a long while. Wang teased her: "If it is indeed for this, and your illness has reached such a pass, what further scruples can there be? Let him come for a gathering by night first—would he be unwilling?" Yanzhi sighed: "Things have come to this, and I can no longer feel shame. But if he does not disdain our humble poverty, let him send a matchmaker, and I shall recover; but as for a private tryst, that I absolutely cannot allow!" Wang nodded and left. When Wang was young, she had had an affair with a neighboring student named Su Jie. After she married, whenever Su learned that her husband was away, he would seek out their old liaison. That night Su happened to come, and she told him of the girl's words in jest, playfully charging him to convey her sentiments to Scholar E. Su had long known of Yanzhi's beauty, and on hearing this he secretly rejoiced, fortunate that an opportunity had arisen for him to exploit. He thought of consulting with Wang, but feared her jealousy; so he pretended to ask casually, and inquired in great detail about the inner chambers of the Bian family. The next night, he scaled the wall and entered directly Yanzhi's quarters, tapping on the window with his finger. From inside came the question: "Who is it?" He answered: "I am Scholar E." Yanzhi said: "The reason I think of you is for a lifetime, not for a single night. If you truly love me, you should quickly engage a matchmaker; if you speak of a private union, I dare not comply." Su feigned agreement, but earnestly begged to hold her slender wrist once as a pledge. Yanzhi could not bear to refuse too harshly, and struggled up to open the door. Su at once entered and embraced her, seeking pleasure. Yanzhi had no strength to resist and fell to the ground, her breath failing. Su hastily pulled her up. Yanzhi said: "What ruffian is this? Surely you are not Scholar E. If you were truly Scholar E, he is gentle by nature and would know the cause of my illness; he ought to pity me, so why would he be so violent as this? If you continue thus, I shall cry out, and your character will be ruined, to no benefit for either of us!" Su, fearing that his imposture would be exposed, dared not press further, but only asked for a future meeting. Yanzhi named the wedding day as the time. Su thought it too far off and pressed again. Yanzhi, weary of his importunity, agreed to wait until she had recovered. Su asked for a token; Yanzhi would not give one. Su seized her foot, removed her embroidered shoe, and departed. Yanzhi called him back, saying: "I have already pledged myself to you—what is there to begrudge? But I fear that 'trying to paint a tiger and ending with a dog' may bring slander upon me. Now that my intimate possession has fallen into your hands, I suppose it cannot be returned. If you prove fickle-hearted, I have only death!" Su then left and went to lodge at Wang's place. After lying down, his mind could not forget the shoe; he felt inside his sleeve, and it was gone. He rose hastily, lit a lamp, shook out his clothes, and searched everywhere in the dark. When Wang asked him, he did not answer. He suspected that Wang had hidden it; Wang deliberately laughed to confuse him. Su could not conceal it and told her the whole truth. Having spoken, he lit a candle and searched outside the door, but still could not find it. Dejected and vexed, he returned to bed, secretly rejoicing that in the dead of night with no one about, if it had been dropped, it should still lie on the road. At dawn he went out to look for it, but again found nothing. Now, in the lane there was a man named Mao Da, an idle rogue without a profession. He had once tried to seduce Wang but failed; knowing that Su was intimate with her, he thought to catch them in the act and use it as leverage to threaten them. That night, passing by her gate, he pushed it and found it unlatched, so he slipped in. Just as he reached the window, he stepped on something soft as cloth or silk; picking it up and looking, it was a woman's shoe wrapped in a cloth. Crouching down to listen, he heard Su's account in full detail, and was overjoyed, so he withdrew and left. After several nights, he climbed over the wall into the Bian household, but not knowing the layout of the rooms, he mistakenly went to the old man's quarters. The old man, looking through the window, saw a man and, by his voice and movements, knew he had come for the daughter. Enraged, he seized a knife and rushed out. Mao Da, terrified, turned and fled. Just as he was about to climb the wall, Bian drew near, and in his desperate flight with no escape, he turned back and snatched the knife; the old woman rose and shouted loudly, and Mao, unable to break free, killed the old man. Yanzhi, somewhat recovered, heard the commotion and rose. They brought a light together and saw that the old man's skull had been split; he could no longer speak, and soon expired. Beneath the wall they found the embroidered shoe; the old woman looked at it and recognized it as Yanzhi's possession. They pressed Yanzhi, and she wept and told the whole truth—but she could not bear to implicate Wang, so she only said that Scholar E had come of his own accord. At daybreak they brought the case to the county magistrate. The magistrate arrested E. E was by nature cautious and taciturn, nineteen years old, and when meeting guests he was as bashful as a child. When apprehended, he was terrified out of his wits. In court he did not know what to say, and only trembled. The magistrate became all the more convinced of his guilt and subjected him to cruel tortures. E, unable to endure the pain, falsely confessed under duress. He was then transferred to the prefecture, where he was beaten as in the county. E's heart was filled with a sense of wrongful grievance; he often wished to confront the girl face to face. But when they met, she would curse and revile him, so he was struck dumb and could not defend himself, and on that account he was sentenced to death. The case was repeatedly reviewed, passing through several officials with no change in the verdict. Later it was referred to the Jinan Prefecture for re-investigation. At that time, Wu Nandai was the prefect of Jinan. At first sight of E, he doubted that he was a man who could commit murder, and secretly sent someone to question him quietly in private, so as to obtain his full account. From this Wu became even more certain of E's innocence. After several days of deliberation, he conducted the trial. First he asked Yanzhi: "After the agreement was made, was there anyone who knew of it?" She answered: "No one." "When you met Scholar E, was there anyone else present?" Again she answered: "No one." Then he called E forward and spoke to him gently. E said of himself: "I once passed by her gate, but only saw an old neighbor's wife, née Wang, coming out with a young girl; I at once avoided them, and after that I passed without a word." Wu angrily said to the girl: "You just said there was no one else nearby—how then could there be a neighbor's wife?" He was about to torture her. Terrified, Yanzhi said: "Although Wang was there, she truly had nothing to do with the affair." Wu suspended the interrogation and ordered Wang arrested. After several days she was brought in; he kept her separate from Yanzhi and immediately brought her out for questioning, asking: "Who is the murderer?" Wang answered: "I do not know." Wu tricked her, saying: "Yanzhi has testified that you know full well who killed Bian—why do you conceal it?" The woman cried out: "What injustice! The wanton girl was thinking of a man herself; though I spoke of matchmaking, it was only in jest. She herself brought a seducer into her courtyard—how should I know anything about it!" Wu questioned her closely, and she then recounted the words of their earlier jests. Wu called Yanzhi up and angrily said: "You said she knew nothing of it—why then does she now confess to having acted as matchmaker?" Yanzhi wept and said: "I myself was unworthy and brought about my father's cruel death; this litigation, I know not how many years it will end, and now I have implicated another—truly I cannot bear it." Wu asked Wang: "After that jest, did you tell anyone?" Wang answered: "No one." Wu angrily said: "Husband and wife in bed should have no secrets—how can you say there was no one?" Wang answered: "My husband has long been away on business and has not returned." Wu said: "Even so, those who tease others do so to laugh at their foolishness and display their own cleverness—if you did not tell a single soul, whom are you trying to deceive?" He ordered her fingers put in the rack. The woman, having no alternative, confessed: "I did tell Su." Wu thereupon released E and arrested Su. When Su arrived, he said: "I do not know." Wu said: "One who consorts with prostitutes is surely no virtuous man!" He subjected him to severe torture. Su confessed: "It is true that I deceived the girl. But after I lost the shoe, I never dared to go again; as for the murder, I truly know nothing." Wu angrily said: "One who climbs walls is capable of anything!" He tortured him further. Su could not bear the abuse and so confessed to the crime. The confession was sent up, and everyone praised Wu's divine discernment. The case became as firm as a mountain of iron, and Su awaited the autumn execution with his neck stretched out. Yet Su, though dissolute and without proper conduct, had been a famous scholar in the eastern region. Having heard that the Educational Commissioner, Mr. Shi Yushan, was reputed to be the most worthy and capable, and moreover had the virtue of pitying talent and sympathizing with scholars, she therefore submitted a petition to him to redress her wrongs, in language mournful and pathetic. He then examined the confessions and pondered over them repeatedly. He slapped the table and said, "This student is wronged!" He thereupon petitioned the provincial judge and the department, and had the case transferred for a retrial. He asked the student Su, "Where did you leave the shoe?" He replied, "I forgot. But when I knocked at the woman's door, it was still in my sleeve." He then questioned Wang: "Besides Su Jie, how many lovers have you had?" She replied, "None." The commissioner said, "A woman of loose words, how could she have only one paramour?" She replied, "I had intercourse with Su Jie when I was young, so I could not break it off; afterwards, though there were those who made advances, I did not dare to accede." He then asked her to name the persons to confirm it. She said, "Mao Da of our village, who made advances repeatedly but I refused him each time." The commissioner said, "Why are you suddenly so chaste?" He ordered her to be tortured. The woman kowtowed till blood flowed, strenuously denying it, so he released her. He further questioned: "When your husband was away, were there not those who came under some pretext?" She said, "There were: so-and-so A and B, who came once or twice on loans or gifts." Now A and B were both loiterers in the lanes, who had designs on the woman but had not yet acted. The commissioner registered all their names and summoned them. When they were assembled, the commissioner went to the City God temple and made them all kneel before the table. He then said, "Formerly I dreamt that a spirit told me that the murderer was among you four or five. Now, before the gods, you must not speak falsely. If you confess, you may be pardoned; if false, when found out, there will be no mercy." They all said they had no part in the killing. The commissioner placed the cangue and shackles on the ground, about to apply them to all; they had their hair tied up and bodies bared, and all cried out their grievances. The commissioner ordered them released and said, "Since you will not confess, I shall have the spirits point you out." He had the temple windows all covered with felt and mats, leaving no crack; he bared the prisoners' backs, drove them into the darkness, then gave each a basin of water and ordered them to wash their hands; then they were tied under the wall and warned to "face the wall and not move. The murderer will have a spirit write on his back." After a while, he called them out and examined them, pointed at Mao Da and said, "This is the real murderer!" For the commissioner had previously had the wall smeared with lime, and had their hands blackened with soot: the murderer, fearing that the spirit would write on him, pressed his back against the wall and thus had grey marks; when coming out, he protected his back with his hands, thus having black marks. The commissioner had suspected Mao, and now believed it even more. He applied severe torture, and Mao confessed everything. The judgment read: "Su Jie: He followed the path of Pen Chengkuo to destruction, and earned the name of a lecher. Only because they were young and innocent together did he cling to the wild duck as to a domestic hen; and because a single word leaked out, he coveted the Shu after getting the Long. Climbing over the garden wall like Zhongzi, he fell like a bird; pretending to be Liu Lang and reaching the cave mouth, he actually got the door opened. Startling the dog with a rustle of the girdle—has a rat skin that it acts thus? Plucking flowers and breaking branches—what shall be said of a scholar's conduct? Fortunately, he heard the sick swallow's coquettish cry, and still cherished the jade; pitied the withered willow's haggardness, and was not so wild as the oriole. And when he released the little phoenix from the net, he still had the scholar's intent; but when he extorted a fragrant pledge from under the sock, was he not the worst of scoundrels! The butterfly crossed the wall, and there were ears by the window; the lotus petal fell off, and left no trace on the ground. Falsehood bred falsehood, and who would believe a wrong beyond wrong? Heaven-sent calamity arose, and cruel shackles brought him near death; his own iniquity being full, his head was almost severed. That he climbed walls and crept through cracks indeed disgraced the scholar's cap; but that a dead plum should take the place of a peach—truly it is hard to dissipate that wronged spirit. It is fitting to mitigate the flogging, to lighten the suffering he has already endured; for the moment, degrade him to the green robes, and open a way for his reformation. As for Mao Da: a cunning, unregistered ruffian, a violent wretch of the marketplace. Having been repelled by the neighboring girl's shuttle, his lewd heart did not die; watching the wild youth enter the lane, his thievish wit suddenly stirred. He opened the door to welcome the breeze, rejoicing to tread in Zhang Sheng's footsteps; asking for water but encountering wine, he vainly thought to steal Han's fragrance. How unexpected that his soul was snatched by Heaven, his spirit seized by ghosts. Riding a raft of wood, he went straight into the palace of the moon; drifting in a fishing boat, he mistakenly took the road to Peach Blossom Spring. Thereby the flames of passion were quenched, and waves rose in the sea of desire. With knife laid across, he had no thought of harming the rat; but when the bandit was at bay, he turned and bit like a frantic hare. He climbed over the wall into the house, only intending to borrow a cap for Zhang; but seizing the weapon and leaving the embroidered shoe, he caused the fish to escape the net and the swan to fly away. That the way of romance should produce such a demon—that the bower of tenderness should have such a spook! Let his head be cut off, to gladden the people's hearts. Yan Zhi: She is not yet betrothed, though she has reached the age of hairpins. As a fairy from the moon palace, she should have a jade-like lover; originally of the rainbow garment company, why worry about a golden house? But moved by the 'Guanju' to think of a good mate, she fell into the dream of the spring woman; resenting the 'Biaomei' and longing for a fine gentleman, she let her soul depart like Qiannü's. Because of a single thread of entanglement, she caused all the demons to converge. Contending for a woman's beauty, they feared to lose 'Yan Zhi'; arousing the raptors to fly about, they also used 'Autumn Falcon'. The lotus hook was plucked away, hard to preserve the petal's fragrance; the iron threshold was knocked upon, nearly breaking the jade of a city. Inlaying red beans in dice, the bone of longing became a stair to disaster; felling the tall tree with axe and hatchet, the hateful creature truly became a flood of ruin! She guarded her luxuriant self, fortunately the white jade was without flaw; she struggled bitterly in bonds, happy that the embroidered quilt could cover her. I commend her refusal at the door, still a pure and chaste lover; and fulfilling her desire for thrown fruit is also a refined romantic affair. Let the county magistrate be your matchmaker." Once the case was concluded, it was recited far and wide. After Magistrate Wu had tried the case, the girl only then knew that E Sheng was wronged. When they met below the hall, she was shy and tearful, as if she had words of pity, but could not speak them. The student, touched by her deep affection, was very much in love; but he also thought of her lowly origin, and that she had daily appeared in court, pointed at by many, and feared that marrying her would invite ridicule. He pondered day and night, unable to decide. After the judgment was issued, his mind was set at ease. The county magistrate acted as matchmaker and sent a bridal procession with music. The Historian of the Strange says: "How true! In hearing lawsuits, one cannot be too careful! Even if one knows that the substitution of Li was unjust, who would think that the peach also suffered? Yet though a matter is obscure, there must be some gap; without careful thought and investigation, one cannot reach it. Alas! People all admire the wise man's clear judgment in cases, but do not know the bitter effort of the good craftsman's mind. Those in the world who dwell above the people spend their days over chess, and close the yamen early wrapped in silk; they do not deign to bestow a moment's thought on the people's condition and hardships. When the drum beats and the court opens, they sit loftily aloft, and still the clamoring crowd with fetters—how can it be wondered that under the overturned basin there are many submerged wrongs?" Mr. Yushan is my teacher. When he first became known, I was still a boy. I privately observed that he encouraged and promoted scholars with utmost earnestness, as if afraid he had not done enough; if there was a slight injustice, he would certainly protect them with all his might, and never used his authority in the schools to curry favor with the powerful. He was truly a defender of the Sage, not merely a great master of his age who examined essays without doing injustice to scholars. And his love of talent was such that later Educational Commissioners who merely went through the motions could never match him. Once a famous scholar entered the examination hall and wrote an essay on the theme "Where treasures arise," but mistakenly wrote "underwater" instead of "in the mountains." After transcribing it, he realized his error and expected to be disqualified. He wrote a verse: "The treasure lies in the mountains, but I mistook it for the waterside. On the mountain top I built a crystal hall. Coral grows on the peak, pearls cluster on the treetops. This time I shall fall to death from the cliff, a boatman who tried to sail on land! I appeal to Heaven: leave a little tail, so that I may show it to my friends." When the Commissioner read this passage in the essay, he responded with a verse: "The treasure boasted of the mountains, but suddenly I see it by the water. The woodcutter talks the fisherman's talk. The theme is wrong, but the prose is fine—how could I put it below others? I have seen him fear heights when climbing; but have I ever seen him drown because he knew the water?" This is one example of his refinement and one instance of his compassion for talent. A Xian Xi Shan was a native of Gaomi. He made his living as a trader, often traveling as a guest between Meng and Yi. One day, he was caught in rain on the road, and when he reached the inn where he usually stayed, it was already late at night. He knocked on every shop door, but no one answered. He paced about under the eaves. Suddenly two doors swung wide open, and an old man came out and invited the guest in. Xi Shan gladly followed him. He tethered his donkey and entered the hall, but there were no tables or couches. The old man said, "I pity you, guest, for having no place to return to, so I have taken you in. I am not actually in the business of selling food or drink. There are not many hands in my household — only my old wife and a young daughter, who are already fast asleep. Though we have some leftover dishes, we are short of firewood for cooking; do not mind taking them cold." With that, he went inside. Soon he brought out a footed bed, set it on the ground, and urged the guest to sit; then he went in again and brought out a short-legged table: he went back and forth, bustling about tirelessly. Xi Shan rose and sat restlessly, uneasy, and tugged at him to rest for a while. Shortly after, a young girl came out to serve wine. The old man looked at her and said, "My A Xian has risen." Xi Shan observed her — she was sixteen or seventeen, slender and delicate, graceful and charming. Xi Shan had a younger brother who was not yet married, and he secretly took a liking to her. So he asked the old man about his lineage and family status. The old man replied, "My name is Shi Xu, and my surname is Gu. All my sons and grandsons died young; only this daughter remains. Just now I could not bear to disturb her sound sleep — I suppose my old wife woke her up." He asked, "Who is her husband's family?" The answer was, "She is not yet betrothed." Xi Shan was secretly delighted. Then dishes of various flavors were laid out, as if they had been prepared long before. After the meal, Xi Shan said respectfully, "I am a mere drifting stranger, yet I have received such kindness — I shall never forget it as long as I live. Because of your great virtue, I dare to speak my humble mind bluntly: I have a younger brother, the third son, who is seventeen years old. He studies and pursues his schooling, and is not at all dull. I would like to seek a marriage alliance — would you disdain our poverty and lowliness?" The old man was pleased and said, "I am but a sojourner here myself. If I could entrust her to you, I would take a house elsewhere and move my family there, so as to avoid constant worry." Xi Shan agreed to all, then rose and thanked him. The old man attended to him with great care and then withdrew to rest. When the cock crowed, the old man had already come out and called the guest to wash and groom. After packing, Xi Shan offered money for the meal. The old man firmly declined, saying, "A guest staying for one meal — there is no reason to accept money; especially since we are now bound by marriage?" After parting, over a month passed before Xi Shan returned. When he was a little more than a li from the village, he encountered an old woman leading a young girl, both dressed entirely in white. As they drew near, they resembled A Xian. The girl also kept turning to look, and then she clutched the old woman's sleeve and whispered something in her ear. The old woman stopped and said to Xi Shan, "Is your surname Xi?" Xi Shan said yes. The old woman said sorrowfully, "Unhappily, the old man was crushed under a collapsing wall, and I am now going to his grave. There is no one at home — please wait a little by the roadside; I shall return shortly." She then entered the woods, and after some time came back. The road was already dark, so they walked together. She spoke of her loneliness and helplessness, and could not help weeping; Xi Shan also felt a pang of sorrow. The old woman said, "The people here are very unkind, and a widow and orphan can hardly get by. Since A Xian is to be your family's wife, if we delay further, it might take too long — better that we return together tonight." Xi Shan agreed. When they reached home, the old woman lit a lamp and attended to the guest, then said to Xi Shan, "I expected you would come, so I had all the stored grain sold off; there are still more than twenty dan left, but it is too far to transport them. Four or five li to the north, at the first gate in the village, there is a man named Tan Erquan, who is my buyer. Do not shrink from the trouble — take your mount and carry one sack there first, knock on the door and tell him, saying that the old woman of South Village has several dan of grain to sell for traveling expenses, and ask him to trouble his horses and mules to bring them over." She then gave Xi Shan a sack of grain. Xi Shan rode his donkey there, knocked, and a big-bellied man came out; he told him the matter, emptied the sack, and returned first. Soon two men arrived with five mules. The old woman led Xi Shan to the grain store, which was in a cellar. Xi Shan went down to measure and level, while the mother released and the daughter received; in a short while the loads were filled, and they were sent off. It took four round trips to exhaust the grain. Then the old woman gave the money to Xi Shan. She kept one man and two beasts, prepared the baggage, and headed east. After traveling twenty li, day broke. At a market town, they hired mounts, and the servant returned. After returning home, Xi Shan told the situation to his parents. They were very pleased to meet them, and they lodged the old woman in a separate house, chose an auspicious day, and completed the marriage for Sanlang. The old woman prepared a very complete trousseau. A Xian was sparing of words and rarely angry; if someone spoke to her, she only smiled; day and night she spun and wove without pause, so that all in the household, high and low, loved and delighted in her. She charged Sanlang, saying, "Send word to the eldest brother: when he passes by the western road again, do not mention my mother and me." After three or four years, the Xi family grew richer, and Sanlang entered the prefectural school. One day, Xi Shan lodged at the former neighbor of the old Gu, and happened to mention the matter of his having no place to go that year and being taken in by the old man and woman. The host said, "Guest, you are mistaken. The eastern neighbor is my elder uncle's separate villa; three years ago, the occupants constantly saw strange things, so it has stood empty and abandoned for a long time. What old man and woman would have taken you in?" Xi Shan was greatly surprised, but did not go into detail. The host added, "This house had been empty for ten years, and no one dared enter. One day, the back wall collapsed, and my uncle went to look; he saw a huge rat the size of a cat crushed under a stone, its tail still wagging outside. He hurried back, called everyone to go together, but it had already vanished. Everyone suspected that creature was a demon. After more than ten days, they entered again to test it, but there was utter silence; after another year or so, someone began living there." Xi Shan found it even more strange. When he returned home, he privately told this and secretly suspected that his new sister-in-law was not human, and inwardly worried for Sanlang; but Sanlang loved her as devotedly as ever. After a long time, the household buzzed with speculation and suspicion. The girl perceived it slightly, and one night said to Sanlang, "I have followed you for several years, and have never in the least failed in a wife's virtue; now I am cast aside and not counted among people. Please give me a divorce document, and let you choose a good match for yourself." And she wept. Sanlang said, "My humble heart you should have long known. Since you entered my door, the family has grown richer day by day; all credit your good fortune for that — how could there be any adverse talk?" The girl said, "I know you have no second thoughts, but with all these clamoring tongues, I fear I may be cast off like an autumn fan." Sanlang comforted her over and over, and so it ended. Xi Shan could not let it go; he daily sought good cat-catchers to see how she would react. Though the girl was not afraid, she grew fretful and unhappy. One evening, she said that her mother was slightly ill, took leave of Sanlang, and went to attend to her. At dawn, Sanlang went to inquire — but the room was empty. Alarmed beyond measure, he sent people to search along all roads, but there was no trace. His heart was in turmoil; he could neither eat nor sleep. But his father and elder brother all thought it a blessing, and consoled him one after another, planning to remarry him; yet Sanlang was utterly displeased. After another year or so, news had ceased entirely; his father and brother repeatedly reproached him, and he had no choice but to buy a concubine at great cost, yet his longing for A Xian did not abate. After several more years, the Xi family gradually grew poor, and so everyone recalled A Xian. A younger cousin, Lan, on business in Jiao, made a detour and stayed at the house of a relative by marriage, a Mr. Lu. At night he heard nearby weeping, very sorrowful, but did not have time to inquire. Upon his return, he heard it again, and so asked the host. The host replied, "A few years ago, a widow and her orphan daughter rented a place here. Last month the old woman died, and the daughter lives alone, with not a single relative — that is why she weeps." He asked, "What is her surname?" The answer was, "Her surname is Gu. She often keeps the door closed and has no dealings with the neighbors, so we do not know her family background." Lan was startled and said, "That is my sister-in-law!" So he went and knocked on the door. Someone came out weeping and answered through the closed door, "Who are you, guest? There are no men in my household." Lan peered through the crack and looked closely from a distance — it was indeed his sister-in-law. He then said, "Sister-in-law, open the door — I am A Sui of the younger branch." The girl heard this, drew the bolt, and let him in, relating her lonely misery, her expression mournful and desolate. Lan said, "Third brother misses you bitterly. Even if husband and wife had differences, why did you flee so far away?" He then wanted to hire a carriage to return together. The girl said sorrowfully, "Because I was not counted among people, I went into hiding with my mother; if I now return to depend on others, who will not look at me askance? If I am to return, I must separate households from the eldest brother; otherwise, I would rather take poison and die." When Lan returned, he told Sanlang. Sanlang traveled posthaste through the night to reach her. When husband and wife met, they both wept. The next day, they informed the landlord. The landlord, a Gongsheng named Xie, had long coveted the girl's beauty and secretly wanted to make her his concubine; for several years he had not collected the rent. He had frequently hinted at this to the old woman, but she had refused. When the old woman died, he thought he could now arrange a match, but then Sanlang suddenly arrived. He therefore calculated the total rent to block them. Sanlang's family was not wealthy, and on hearing the large sum, he looked quite worried. The girl said, "No matter." She led Sanlang to look at the grain storage — there were about thirty dan of grain, more than enough to pay the rent. Sanlang was delighted and told Xie. Xie would not accept grain, insisting on silver. The girl sighed, saying, "All this is the evil obstacle of my own person!" Thereupon she told the truth to Sanlang. Sanlang was angry and wished to bring suit before the county magistrate. Lady Lu stopped him, and instead distributed grain among the villagers and townsfolk, raised funds to compensate and apologize, and sent the two men back home in a carriage. Sanlang told the truth to his parents and separated his household from his elder brother's. A Xian produced her own private money and daily had granaries built, though at home there was not even a single picul of grain—everyone found this strange. After a year or more, when they checked, the granaries were full. In not many years, the family became greatly wealthy; while the elder brother's family remained bitterly poor. The girl took her father-in-law and mother-in-law to live with her and support them; she often gave grain and money to her elder brother, and this became customary. Sanlang said happily, "One might say we no longer hold old grievances against him." The girl said, "He himself loves his younger brother. And besides, if it were not for him, how would I have had the chance to meet Sanlang?" Later there was nothing very extraordinary. Rui Yun Rui Yun was a famous courtesan of Hangzhou, unmatched in beauty and artistry. At the age of fourteen, her mother, Old Madam Cai, was about to have her receive guests. Rui Yun told her, "This is the start of your slave's whole life career—it must not be done carelessly. The price may be set by Mother, but as for the guests, let your slave choose them herself." The old woman said, "Agreed." Thereupon she set the price at fifteen gold pieces, and she received guests daily. Any guest seeking an audience had to bring a gift: if the gift was generous, he was given a game of chess and a painting in return; if modest, only a cup of tea. Rui Yun's fame had long been widespread, and from this time on wealthy merchants and high-ranking gentlemen crowded her gate daily. A certain He Sheng of Yuhang was already well known for his literary talent, but his family was only of modest means. He had long admired Rui Yun, yet never dared to dream of sharing a mandarin-duck dream with her; he also exhausted his small gift, hoping for a glimpse of her radiant beauty. He secretly feared that having seen so many men, she would pay no heed to a poor scholar. But when they met and talked, she received him with exceptional warmth. They sat speaking for a long while, her brows and eyes full of feeling. She composed a poem and gave it to him: "Why does one seeking the nectar knock at the dawn gate of the Blue Bridge? If you truly seek the jade mortar, it is only here in the human world." When He Sheng received this he was wild with joy and wished to speak further, when suddenly a little maid announced, "A guest has arrived." He Sheng hurriedly took his leave. After returning home, he recited and savored the poem, his dreams and thoughts entangled with it. After a day or two, unable to restrain himself, he prepared another gift and went back. Rui Yun received him with great pleasure. She moved her seat closer to him and quietly asked, "Can you arrange one night of togetherness?" He said, "A poor and straitened man has only his foolish devotion to offer his kindred spirit. A single thread of a gift has already exhausted my meager means. To be near your fair countenance is already enough for my wishes; as for intimate union, how would I dare entertain such a dream?" When Rui Yun heard this, she was sad and displeased, and they sat facing each other without another word. He Sheng stayed a long while without leaving, and the old woman repeatedly called Rui Yun to hasten him, so he returned home. His heart was very depressed, and he thought of squandering all his family property to buy one night of pleasure, but after the night was spent they would part—how could he endure such feelings? Pondering this, all his hot desires faded, and from then on all contact ceased. Rui Yun sought a suitable husband for several months but found no one fitting; the old woman was quite vexed and intended to force the matter but had not yet acted. One day, a scholar presented a gift, sat and spoke briefly, then rose and pressed one finger on the girl's forehead, saying, "Pity! Pity!" and left. When Rui Yun saw the guest off and returned, they all looked at her forehead and saw a finger mark, black as ink, which became more distinct when washed. After several days, the ink stain gradually widened; after more than a year, it spread across her cheekbones and reached her nose. All who saw her laughed, and the tracks of carriages and horses ceased entirely. The old woman stripped away her adornments and made her rank among the servant maids. Rui Yun was also frail and unable to bear rough service, and grew increasingly haggard. He Sheng heard of this and went to see her; he found her with disheveled hair in the kitchen, her ugly appearance like that of a ghost. She looked up and saw him, then turned her face to the wall to hide herself. He Sheng pitied her, and spoke to the old woman, saying he wished to ransom her as his wife. The old woman agreed. He Sheng sold his fields and exhausted his possessions to buy her and bring her home. When she entered the door, she clung to his clothes and wept, not daring to presume herself his wife, but offering to serve as a concubine, awaiting another to come. He Sheng said, "What a man values most is a true friend: when you were in your prime you could still recognize me—how could I forget you because of your decline?" And so he never took another wife. Those who heard of this all mocked and laughed at him, yet his affection for her grew ever deeper. After more than a year, he happened to go to Suzhou, where a certain He Sheng was staying at the same inn. The latter suddenly asked, "There is a famous courtesan in Hangzhou named Rui Yun—how is she now?" He Sheng replied, "She has married." He asked again, "To whom?" He said, "That person is roughly of my own station." The other said, "If he can be like you, one may say she found the right man. I wonder what the price was?" He Sheng said, "Because she had a strange affliction, she was sold cheaply. Otherwise, how could someone like me afford to buy such a beauty from the pleasure quarters?" The other asked again, "Is that man truly like you?" He Sheng, finding the question odd, questioned him in return. The other laughed and said, "To be honest, I once saw her fair form and greatly regretted that with such peerless beauty she should be cast adrift and ill-matched, so I used a minor art to dim her light and preserve her uncut jade, waiting for a true connoisseur who would pity her talent." He Sheng asked urgently, "If you can spot her, can you also cleanse her?" The other laughed, "How could I not? But it requires that the person in question sincerely beg for it!" He Sheng rose and bowed, saying, "The husband of Rui Yun is none other than myself." The other was delighted and said, "Only a true man of talent in this world can be so full of feeling, never changing his heart for beauty or ugliness. Please let me return with you, and I shall present you with a fair lady." Thereupon they traveled back together. When they arrived, He Sheng was about to order wine. The other stopped him, saying, "First let me perform my method; we should first give the one preparing the feast a joyful heart." He then had a basin filled with water, pointed his fingers and traced characters over it, saying, "When she washes with this she will recover. But she must personally come out and thank the healer." He Sheng smiled and carried it away, standing by while Rui Yun washed her own face; at once it became smooth and radiant, as beautiful as in former days. The couple were both grateful to him and went out together to express their thanks, but the guest was already gone. They searched everywhere but could not find him—perhaps he was an immortal? Qiu Da Niang Qiu Zhong was a man of Jin, but his native district has been forgotten. At the time of great upheaval, he was captured by bandits and carried off. His two sons, Fu and Lu, were both young; his second wife, née Shao, raised the two orphans and managed the family property well enough to keep them in comfort. But year after year the harvests failed, and the powerful and overbearing further oppressed them, until they could scarcely secure food and rest. Zhong's uncle Shanglian, coveting the profit of her remarriage, repeatedly urged her to do so, but Shao was steadfast in her resolve and would not waver. Shanglian secretly drew up a contract with a prominent clan, intending to take her by force; the negotiations had already been completed, but no one else knew of it. A villager named Wei Ming, who had long been crafty and sly, was on persistently bad terms with the Zhong family and sought every opportunity to injure them. Taking advantage of Shao's widowhood, he fabricated slanderous rumors to defame and humiliate her. When the prominent clan heard of this, they found her conduct unvirtuous and desisted. After a long while, Shao gradually came to hear of both Shanglian's conspiracy and the outside gossip. Bitterness knotted in her breast; day and night she wept, and her limbs gradually lost sensation, until she took to her bed. Fu had just turned sixteen, and since there was no one to do the sewing, they hastily arranged his marriage. His wife, the daughter of the Xiucai Jiang Qizhan, proved quite worthy and capable, and she managed all affairs. Thereby their means gradually improved, and they had Lu study with a teacher. Wei was jealous and envious, but he feigned friendship and frequently invited Fu to drink, and Fu relied on him as a bosom companion. Taking the opportunity, Wei said to him: "Your mother is bedridden and cannot manage the household; your younger brother eats without doing any work—why should you and your wife toil like oxen and horses? Moreover, your younger brother will soon take a wife, which will cost a great deal of money. In my opinion, it would be better to divide the property early; then poverty will fall to your brother and wealth to you." Fu returned and consulted his wife; she scolded him. But Wei daily instilled his insinuations, and Fu became deluded; he directly told his mother of his intention. His mother was angry and reviled him. Fu grew even more resentful, and began to treat the grain and money as if they belonged to others, squandering them. Wei took advantage of this to entice him into gambling, and the granaries gradually emptied; his wife knew but dared not speak. When at last they ran out of provisions and his mother asked in alarm, he told her the truth. His mother was furious but could do nothing, so she divided the estate. Fortunately, his wife Jiang was virtuous, attending to her mother-in-law's meals morning and evening as usual. After the division, Fu became even more unrestrained, indulging wildly in drink and gambling. Within a few months, all the fields and property were pawned to pay gambling debts, while his mother and wife knew nothing of it. Fu's funds being exhausted, he had no recourse; he therefore mortgaged his wife to raise money, but found no one willing to accept her. A man of the town, Zhao Yanluo, originally a great outlaw who had escaped the law, and who domineered over the countryside with his own might, had no fear that Fu would default on his word; he readily lent the money. Fu took it, and within days it was gone again. He hesitated, intending to break the mortgage agreement. Zhao glared at him fiercely. Fu, greatly frightened, tricked his wife and handed her over. Wei heard of this and secretly rejoiced; he rushed to inform Jiang, intending to ruin his enemy. Jiang was furious and brought a lawsuit. Fu was terrified and fled. When Jiang's daughter arrived at the Zhao household, she realized she had been sold by her husband; she wailed bitterly and sought only death. Zhao first tried to comfort and reason with her, but she would not listen; then he threatened her, and she cursed him all the more; enraged, he whipped her, but she still would not yield. She then pulled out her hairpin and stabbed herself in the throat. They hurriedly rescued her, but it had already pierced her esophagus, and blood gushed out. Zhao quickly bound her neck with cloth, still hoping gradually to break her will. The next day, the official summons arrived; Zhao went insolently, paying it no heed. The magistrate, seeing the girl's serious injuries, ordered him to be caned, but the runners looked at each other and dared not apply the punishment. The magistrate had long heard of Zhao's tyranny; now he was even more convinced, and in great anger he summoned Zhao's household retainers and had him beaten to death on the spot. Jiang then carried his daughter home. It was only after Jiang's lawsuit that Shao learned of Fu's misconduct; she cried out and nearly died, sinking into a deep stupor. Lu was then fifteen, helpless and orphaned with no one to rely on. Earlier, Zhong had a daughter by his first wife, the eldest Daniu, who had married in a distant prefecture. She was of a violent and fierce disposition; whenever she returned home to visit, if the gifts did not satisfy her, she would quarrel with her parents and often leave in anger. For this reason Zhong had grown to dislike her; and because the road was long, for several years no one had inquired after her. When Shao was at death's door, Wei wished to summon her so as to stir up discord. It happened that a trader from the same village as Daniu was passing by, so Wei entrusted him with a message, also tempting her with the prospect of the family property. After a few days, Daniu indeed arrived with her youngest son. Upon entering the door, she saw her younger brother attending to their sick mother and the dismal scene; she could not help feeling sorrowful. She asked after her brother Fu, and Lu told her everything. On hearing it, Daniu's anger choked her throat, and she said: "With no adult in the house, they let people trample us thus! Our family's fields and property—how could those villains have swindled them away?" She then went into the kitchen, lit a fire, and cooked gruel; first she served her mother, then called her brother and son to eat together. After eating, she went out in anger and went to the county office to lodge a complaint against the gamblers. They were frightened and collected money to bribe Daniu. She accepted their gold but still pressed the suit. The county magistrate arrested Jia, Yi, and others, gave each a beating, but made no inquiry about the land. Daniu, furious, took her son and went to the prefectural capital. The prefect hated gamblers above all. Daniu forcefully stated her orphaned and pitiful state, and the schemes and swindles of those villains; her words were impassioned and forthright. The prefect was moved, and ruled that the county magistrate should recover the land and return it to the owners; he also ordered punishment for Qiu Fu as a warning to the unfilial. After her return, the county magistrate, carrying out the order, pressed the matter, and thus all the former property was restored. Daniu had long been widowed; she sent her youngest son back home and instructed him to attend to his trade with his elder cousins and not come again. Daniu thus remained at her mother's house, caring for her mother and teaching her younger brother, and all within and without was orderly. Her mother was greatly comforted; her illness gradually improved, and she entrusted all domestic affairs to Daniu. The local bullies, whenever they slighted or oppressed her, would find her grasping a knife and going straight to their doors, arguing vehemently, and none failed to yield. After more than a year, the family's lands and property increased daily. She often bought medicines and delicacies to send to Jiang's daughter. Seeing that Lu was growing up, she repeatedly urged matchmakers to find him a bride. Wei told people: "The Qiu family's property all belongs to Daniu; I fear it will never be returned." Everyone believed him, so no one was willing to discuss marriage with them. Now there was a certain young gentleman Fan Ziwen, whose family's famous garden was the finest in Jin. In the garden, famous flowers lined the paths, leading straight to the inner chambers. If someone unwittingly strayed in and happened upon the gentleman's private feast, he would angrily seize them as thieves and beat them nearly to death. It happened that at Qingming, Lu was returning from his tutor's, when Wei led him out for a stroll, and they reached the garden. Wei was an old acquaintance of the gardener, so he had them let in, and they wandered through the pavilions and terraces. Soon they came to a place where a rushing stream crossed; there was a painted bridge with red railings leading to a lacquered gate. Looking beyond the gate, they saw luxuriant flowers like brocade—it was the gentleman's private study. Wei tricked him, saying: "You go in first; I have some private business." Lu believed him, crossed the bridge, passed through the gate, and entered a courtyard, where he heard girls laughing. He was just stopping when a maidservant came out, caught sight of him, turned and went back. Lu then started in alarm and fled. Soon the gentleman came out, ordered his servants to tie him up and chase him. Lu was greatly distressed and threw himself into the stream. The gentleman's anger turned to laughter; he ordered his servants to pull him out. Seeing that his appearance and dress were elegant, he had them change his clothes and shoes, and drew him into a pavilion, asking his surname. His manner was kindly and his words gentle, showing great intimacy. Soon he went inside; then came out again, smiling, took Lu's hand, crossed the bridge, and gradually reached the place they had been before. Lu did not understand his intent and hesitated, not daring to enter. The gentleman pulled him in, and he saw through the flower hedge an indistinct beauty peeping at him. Once seated, maidservants served wine. Lu declined, saying: "In my childish ignorance, I mistakenly trespassed into the inner chambers; to be pardoned is already more than I dared hope. I only beg that you release me to return early; the favor would be deep." The gentleman would not hear of it. In a short while, dishes and roasts were brought in abundance. Lu rose again, excusing himself as full and drunk; the gentleman pressed him down in his seat and laughed, saying: "I have a musical tune-name; if you can match it, I will let you go." Lu assented and asked for the subject. The gentleman said: "The tune-name is 'Hunbusi' (Nothing Like It)." Lu pondered for a long time and replied: "Silver made into 'Meinaihe' (Helplessness)." The gentleman laughed heartily and said: "Truly you are Shi Chong!" Lu was utterly puzzled. Now the gentleman had a daughter named Huiniang, who was beautiful and well-read; daily she sought a good match. One night she dreamed that a man told her: "Shi Chong is your husband." She asked: "Where is he?" He replied: "Tomorrow he will fall into the water." In the morning she told her parents, and they all thought it strange. Lu happened to fulfill the dream omen, so the gentleman invited him into the inner chamber and had his wife and the young ladies observe him. When the gentleman heard his matching reply, he was pleased and said: "The tune-name was composed by my daughter; she thought about it many times but found no match. Now you have supplied the antithesis—this too is a heavenly fate. I wish to give my daughter to be your helpmate; my humble abode lacks no chambers, so you need not trouble with a personal bride-greeting." Lu was flustered and declined, pleading his mother's illness as reason he could not enter the household as a son-in-law. The gentleman allowed him to return and consult with his family, and sent a groom to carry his wet clothes and provide him a horse for the journey. After returning, he told his mother, who was startled and considered it inauspicious. Thereby they began to know Wei's treachery; yet because out of misfortune good had come, they did not take revenge, but only warned their son to keep far away from him. After more than ten days, the young master again sent someone to convey his intentions to the mother, but she still did not dare to respond. Daniu responded on her behalf, and immediately employed two matchmakers to deliver the betrothal gifts. Before long, Lu was married into the young master's household. After a year or so, he passed the district examinations and gained a considerable reputation for talent. When his wife's younger brother came of age, the respect shown to him diminished somewhat; Lu became angry and took his wife back to his own home. His mother was now able to walk with a staff. Over the years, thanks to Daniu's management, the house and grounds were also in quite good repair. When the new bride returned, servants and maidservants were as numerous as clouds, quite presenting the style of a great household. Wei, seeing herself again rejected, grew even more envious and hateful, regretting that she had no flaw to exploit, so she led a fugitive from the banners to falsely accuse Lu of harboring stolen goods. In the early years of the dynasty, the laws were most severe; Lu was sentenced to be banished beyond the passes. The Fan family, using influence and bribes up and down, managed only to have Huiniang exempted from the journey; all his fields and properties were confiscated by the officials. Fortunately, Daniu held the document of property division and boldly took up the case, and the newly added fertile lands, several hundred acres in all, were all recorded under Fu's name, allowing mother and daughter to live in peace. Lu, believing he would never return, wrote a divorce document and sent it to his father-in-law's family, then went off alone and forlorn. After traveling several days, he reached the north of the capital and stopped to eat at an inn. There was a beggar loitering anxiously outside the door, whose appearance closely resembled his elder brother; when he drew near and questioned him, it was indeed his brother. Lu then related his own story, and the brothers were grief-stricken. Lu took off his lined jacket, divided a few pieces of silver, and instructed him to go home. Fu wept as he accepted and they parted. Lu reached the frontier and was placed under a general's command as a slave. Because Lu was frail and scholarly, he was put in charge of the account ledgers and lodged with the other servants. The servants questioned him about his family background, and Lu told them everything. One among them started in surprise and said, "This is my son!" It turned out that Qiu Zhong had first herded horses for a bandit chieftain, and when the bandits later surrendered, Zhong was sold into the banners, at that time following his master to garrison beyond the passes. He recounted the past to Lu, who then realized that this was truly his father; they embraced and wept bitterly, and the whole room was moved to sorrow. Soon after, Zhong said indignantly: "What sort of runaway is this, to have falsely accused my son!" He then tearfully reported the matter to the general. The general immediately appointed Lu as a clerk; he sent a letter to the prince and gave it to Zhong to take to the capital. Zhong waited for the imperial carriage to emerge, then first submitted a petition of grievance. The prince made diplomatic efforts on his behalf, and thus the injustice was redressed, ordering the local officials to redeem the properties and return them to the Qiu family. Zhong returned, and father and son each rejoiced. Lu asked in detail about the members of his household, intending to ransom them. He learned that after Zhong had entered the banners, he had twice taken new wives but had no children, and was now a widower. Lu then made preparations and returned home. At first, when Fu parted from his younger brother, he prostrated himself and surrendered himself. Daniu, supporting the mother, sat in the main hall, took up a staff, and asked him: "If you are willing to accept a beating, you may be allowed to stay for now; otherwise, since your lands are gone, there is no place for you to eat—please leave." Fu wept and prostrated himself on the ground, willing to accept the blows. Daniu threw down the staff and said: "A man who sells his wife is not worth punishing. But the old case has not yet been settled; if you offend again, you will be reported to the authorities." She then sent someone to inform Jiang. Jiang's daughter scolded: "What relation am I to the Qiu family, that you come to tell me this?" Daniu repeatedly recounted this to Fu and mocked him; Fu was so ashamed and embarrassed he dared not even breathe. After half a year, though Daniu provided him with ample food and supplies, she employed him like a menial servant. Fu worked without complaint, and when entrusted with money, he never acted carelessly. Daniu, seeing that he had no other intentions, then informed the mother and requested that Jiang's daughter be brought back. The mother thought she could not be won back. Daniu said: "Not so. If she were willing to serve a second husband, would she have willingly suffered such torment? It is unavoidable that she harbors this anger." She then took her younger brother and personally went to offer apologies. Her father-in-law and mother-in-law reproached them quite severely. Daniu ordered her brother to kneel at length, then asked to see Jiang's daughter. After repeated requests, she adamantly refused to come out; Daniu searched her out and dragged her forth. The girl then pointed at Fu and cursed him with spittle; Fu was so ashamed and sweating that he had nowhere to hide his face. Only then did Mother Jiang pull him to his feet. Daniu asked when she would be willing to return. The girl said: "I have long received great kindness from you, sister. Now that I have received your command, how could I speak otherwise? But I fear I cannot guarantee he will not sell me again! Moreover, kindness and duty are already severed; how could I have the face to live with a black-hearted scoundrel? Please prepare a separate dwelling; I shall go there to serve the old mother—that would be better than shaving my head and becoming a nun." Daniu pleaded on Fu's behalf and made an appointment for the next day before taking her leave. The following morning, she sent a carriage to bring her back. The mother met her at the gate and knelt before her. The girl threw herself to the ground and wept bitterly. Daniu consoled her and stopped her tears, then set out wine to celebrate. She had Fu sit beside the table, then raised her cup and said: "The bitter struggle I undertook was not for my own benefit. Now that my younger brother has repented and the chaste wife has returned, I wish to hand over the account books; I came with only myself, and I shall leave with only myself." The couple both rose from their seats, changed expression, and knelt in a circle, weeping and pleading; only then did Daniu relent. Before long, the order of redress came down; within a few days, all the fields and houses were restored to their original owners. Wei was greatly alarmed, not knowing the reason, and hated that she had no means to act again. Just then there was a fire at the western neighbor's house; Wei, pretending to help extinguish the blaze, went over and secretly set fire to Lu's house with a bundle of thatch. A gale also sprang up and the conflagration spread, burning almost everything to the ground; only the two or three rooms where Fu lived remained, and the whole family gathered there. Not long after, Lu arrived; they met with both grief and joy. At first, when Fan the Elder received the divorce document, he took it to discuss with Huiniang. Huiniang wept bitterly, tore it to pieces, and threw it to the ground. Her father followed her wishes and did not force her further. When Lu returned and heard she had not remarried, he joyfully went to his father-in-law's house. The Elder, knowing of his disaster, wished to keep him there; Lu would not agree, and so he took his leave and withdrew. Fortunately, Daniu had some hidden gold, which she brought out to repair the damaged walls. Fu, carrying a spade, went to work on the construction; while digging, he uncovered a buried hoard of silver. At night, he and his younger brother together excavated it; it was a stone pit a full zhang across, filled entirely with unmoving treasure. From then on, they hired laborers and undertook great works; towers and buildings rose up together, as magnificent and stately as those of a hereditary noble house. Lu, feeling gratitude for the general's righteousness, prepared a thousand pieces of silver to ransom his father. Fu volunteered to go, so Lu sent robust servants to accompany him. Lu then welcomed Huiniang home. Before long, his father and elder brother returned together, and the entire household was filled with joy. Daniu, after returning to her mother's home, forbade her son from visiting, fearing that people might gossip about her private affairs. When her father returned home, she firmly insisted on leaving. The brothers could not bear it. Their father then divided the property into three parts: the sons received two, and the daughter one. Daniu firmly declined. The brothers all wept and said: "If it were not for you, sister, how could we have today?" Only then did Daniu accept. She sent for her son and moved the family to live together with them. Someone asked Daniu: "He is only a half-brother, why are you so deeply concerned?" Daniu replied: "To know one's mother but not one's father—that is only the way of beasts; how could a human imitate that?" When Fu and Lu heard this, they both wept. They had craftsmen build her residence, all equal to their own. Wei, calculating that for more than ten years she had brought misfortune upon them yet only increased their fortune, was deeply ashamed and remorseful. She also admired their wealth and wished to be on friendly terms with them, so she took the opportunity of Zhong's birthday to approach them with gifts. Fu wished to refuse them; Zhong could not bear to decline, and accepted the chicken and wine. The chicken, its feet bound with cloth, escaped into the kitchen; the cloth caught fire from the stove, and it flew to roost on the firewood pile. The servants and maids saw it but paid no heed. Soon the firewood ignited and set the house ablaze, throwing the whole family into panic. Fortunately, there were many hands to help, and the fire was extinguished at once, but everything in the kitchen was reduced to nothing. The brothers all said the gift was inauspicious. Later, at their father's birthday, Wei again presented a sacrificial sheep. Unable to refuse, they tied the sheep to a tree in the courtyard. That night, a servant boy, beaten by a manservant, angrily ran to the tree, untied the sheep's rope, and hanged himself. The brothers sighed and said: "Her blessings are worse than her curses!" From then on, although Wei was profuse in her attentions, they dared not accept even a single inch of cloth from her, preferring instead to reward her handsomely. Later, when Wei was old and poor, reduced to begging, they would regularly give her cloth and grain, repaying her malice with kindness. The Historian remarks: "Alas! The Creator's ways are by no means determined by men! Those who harm them only increase their fortune—how utterly senseless are the schemers! Yet those who receive love and respect and instead meet with misfortune—is that not even stranger? From this one may know that even a single handful from the waters of the Thief's Spring will stain you." **Cao Cao's Tomb** Outside the city of Xu there was a river with turbulent currents, near the bank dark and deep. In midsummer, someone went in to bathe and suddenly, as if struck by axe or blade, his body was severed and floated to the surface; later another person met the same fate. This caused widespread astonishment. The county magistrate, hearing of it, sent many men to dam the upper reaches and drain the water. They saw that beneath the bank was a deep cavern, inside which was placed a revolving wheel, and on the wheel were arranged sharp blades like frost. They removed the wheel and dug inward, finding a small stele inscribed entirely in Han seal script. Examining it closely, it was the tomb of Cao Mengde. They broke open the coffin and scattered the bones; all the gold and precious objects buried with him were taken. The Historian remarks: "A later worthy wrote in a poem: 'Dig up all seventy-two decoy tombs, and surely one will hold your bones.' Who would have known it lay beyond the seventy-two? How cunning was this Man! Yet after more than a thousand years his rotting bones could not be preserved—what good did all his deception do? Alas, Man's wisdom was precisely Man's folly!" **Dragon-Soaring Prime Minister** Dai, a scholar from Anqing, had in his youth been dissolute and unrestrained in conduct. One day, returning home drunk from elsewhere, he encountered his deceased older cousin Ji on the road. In his drunken stupor, he was so muddled that he forgot Ji was dead, and asked, "Where have you been of late?" Ji replied, "I am already a ghost—have you forgotten that, cousin?" Only then did Dai suddenly recall it, yet being drunk he felt no fear. He asked, "What business do you have in the underworld?" Ji answered, "I now serve as a registrar under King of Transmigration." Dai said, "Then you must surely know the fortunes and misfortunes of the human world?" Ji said, "That is precisely my duty—how could I not know? But it is excessively troublesome, and unless a matter is of great concern, I cannot remember everything. Only three days ago, I chanced to consult the register and still saw your name listed." Dai urgently asked what it said, and Ji replied, "I dare not deceive you—your name is entered in the Dark Prison." Dai was terrified, and his drunkenness dissipated; he pleaded bitterly for deliverance. Ji said, "That is not within my power to effect; only good deeds can put a stop to it. Yet your record of evil fills the page, and no lesser goodness can redeem you. A poor scholar like you has what great influence? Even if you performed one good deed daily, it would take more than a year to balance the accounts, and now it is already too late. But if from this day forward you cultivate your conduct, there may yet be a time of release from the underworld." Hearing this, Dai wept and prostrated himself, begging piteously; but when he raised his head, Ji had already vanished. Dejected, he returned home. From then on, he cleansed his heart and reformed his ways, daring not to make a single misstep. Previously, Dai had committed adultery with a neighbor's wife. The neighbor learned of it but did not expose him, hoping to catch him in the act. But ever since Dai reformed himself, he broke off entirely with the woman; the neighbor lay in wait but could not catch him, and nursed a grudge. One day, he met Dai in the fields, and feigning friendliness, engaged him in conversation. He tricked Dai into looking down an abandoned well, and then pushed him in. The well was several fathoms deep, and he was certain Dai would die. But Dai revived at midnight and sat in the well, shouting loudly, yet no one heard him. Fearing that Dai might come back to life, the neighbor waited until the next day and went to listen; hearing his voice, he hastily threw down stones. Dai moved into a side cavity and dared not make another sound. The neighbor, knowing he was not dead, dug earth and filled the well until it was nearly full. In the cavity it was pitch-dark, truly no different from hell itself. The hollow space offered nothing to eat, and Dai saw no way to survive. Crawling forward, he found that beyond three paces there was water everywhere, with no place to go, so he returned to his former spot. At first he felt hunger, but after a long while he forgot it. He reflected that deep underground there was no good deed he could perform, and could only recite the Buddha's name continuously. Then he saw will-o'-the-wisps floating about, flickering throughout the cavern, and so he addressed them in prayer: "I have heard that all green flames are wronged ghosts; though I am still living for now, I too can hardly return. If you would converse with me, it would console my loneliness." He then saw the wisps gradually drift across the water toward him; within each flame was a figure, about half the height of a man. He asked where they had come from. They answered, "This is an old coal pit. The owner was mining coal and disturbed an ancient tomb, whereupon Lord Longfei released the waters of the earth-sea and drowned forty-three men. We are their ghosts." He asked, "Who is this Lord Longfei?" They replied, "We do not know. But the Lord is a literary scholar and now serves as a staff officer to the City God. He too pities our innocence and every few days bestows on us rice porridge. But we are chilled to the bone by the cold water, and the day of our deliverance is far off. If you should ever return to the human world, we beg you to gather our scattered bones and bury them in a common grave—that would be a great blessing to us below." Dai said, "Should there be even one chance in ten thousand, what difficulty would that be? But we are so deep in the earth—how can I hope to see the light of day again?" He then taught the ghosts to recite the Buddha's name, using lumps of earth as beads to keep count of their recitations. He lost all sense of day and night: when weary he slept, when awake he simply sat. Suddenly he saw a lantern light from far within the depths, and the ghosts joyfully cried, "Lord Longfei is distributing food!" They invited Dai to go with them. Dai worried about the water blocking the way, but the ghosts urged and supported him along, and he drifted as if walking on air. After winding their way for about half a li, they came to a place where the ghosts released him and let him walk on his own; the ground rose steadily, as if climbing a flight of steps several fathoms high. At the top of the steps, he saw verandas and corridors, and in the hall a single candle as thick as an arm was burning brightly. Dai, who had not seen firelight for so long, joyfully rushed forward. Seated above was an old man in scholar's robes and cap. Dai halted and dared not approach. The old man, having already noticed him, asked in surprise, "How does a living person come here?" Dai came forward, prostrated himself, and explained. The old man said, "You are my distant descendant." He bade him rise and offered him a seat. He introduced himself: "I am Dai Qian, styled Longfei. Formerly, because my unworthy great-grandson Tang colluded with ruffians and dug a well near my tomb, disturbing my rest in the night-chamber, I flooded it with seawater. Now, what has become of his line?" Now, among Dai's recent kin there were five branches, and Tang was the eldest. At first, a powerful family in the district had bribed Tang to mine coal beside their ancestral graves. The younger brothers feared his power and dared not protest. Before long, underground water suddenly burst forth, and all the miners perished in the well. The families of the dead brought great lawsuits, and both Tang and the powerful family were thereby reduced to poverty; Tang's descendants were left without even a place to stand. Dai was a descendant of Tang's younger brother's line. He had once heard the story from his elders, and so he told the old man. The old man said, "With such unworthy offspring, how could their line prosper! Since you have come here, you must not neglect your studies." Thereupon he gave Dai wine and food, then placed on the desk a set of examination essays—all composed in the Cheng and Hong styles—and compelled him to study them intently. He also set topics and assigned compositions, like a master teaching a pupil. The candle in the hall burned constantly, never trimmed yet never extinguished. When Dai was tired he slept, unable to distinguish morning from evening. The old man would often go out, leaving a boy servant to attend to him. He felt that a period of several years had passed, yet fortunately he suffered no hardship. But there were no other books to read, only those hundred examination essays, which he had recited over four thousand times each. One day the old man said to him, "Your term of karmic retribution is fulfilled; you should return to the human world. My tomb adjoins the coal pit, and the yin wind there pierces the bones. When you have achieved success, you must move my remains to the Eastern Plain." Dai respectfully agreed. The old man then summoned the crowd of ghosts and had them escort Dai back to his former sitting place. The ghosts all arrayed themselves and bowed, exhorting him once more. Dai still did not know by what means he might get out. Now, earlier, when Dai had gone missing, his family searched everywhere; when nothing was found, his mother reported it to the authorities, and many people were detained, but there was still no clue. After three or four years, the official left his post, and the investigation also lapsed. Dai's wife, unable to remain chaste, was married off to another. At that time, a villager happened to reopen the old well, and entering the pit, he found Dai and felt him—he was still alive. Greatly startled, he informed Dai's family. They carried him home, and after a full day, Dai was able to tell the whole story of what had happened. Ever since Dai had fallen into the well, the neighbor had beaten his own wife to death, and was sued by her father; after more than a year of litigation and cross-examination, he was released, reduced to skin and bones. Hearing that Dai had come back to life, he was terrified and fled. The clan proposed to investigate and punish him, but Dai would not allow it, saying that what had happened before was truly brought on by himself, a punishment from the underworld—what blame had the neighbor in it? When the neighbor perceived that Dai bore no ill intent, he finally crept back home. Once the well water had dried up, Dai hired men to enter the pit and gather the bones, and provided coffins and burial plots for each, interring them in a communal graveyard. He also consulted the genealogical records and found the name Qian, styled Longfei; he prepared offerings and sacrifices at his tomb. The Educational Commissioner, hearing of these strange events and also admiring Dai's essays, admitted him to the provincial examinations that year with an outstanding rating, and Dai passed the provincial exam successfully. After returning home, he selected a burial site on the Eastern Plain and relocated Longfei's remains for a proper interment; he made offerings at the grave each spring and autumn, year after year without fail. The Historian of the Strange remarks: "In my native village there were men who mined coal. The pit was flooded, and more than ten men were submerged in it. They drained the water to search for the bodies, and only after over two months was it emptied—yet not one of the more than ten men had died. For when the water surged in, they all swam to a high place and thus escaped drowning. When they were lowered down and brought up, they collapsed upon seeing the open air, and only after a day and night did they gradually revive. From this one learns that a man underground is like a snake or bird in hibernation—he does not die so quickly. Yet none had remained so for several years. Unless one possesses supreme goodness, how could a living man survive three years in the underworld?" Coral An Dacheng of Chongqing was called An Sheng. His father was a xiucai of the second rank and died early. His younger brother Ercheng was still young. Sheng married a wife named Chen, whose childhood name was Coral. She was of gentle and virtuous nature. But Sheng's mother Shen was violent, perverse, and unkind, and treated her with cruelty, yet Coral bore no resentment. Every morning at dawn, she would dress in fine clothes and go to pay her respects. Once when Sheng was ill, the mother said she was inviting lewdness and scolded her for it. Coral withdrew, removed her ornaments, and presented herself plainly. The mother grew even angrier and struck her own head against the floor. Sheng, being filial by nature, beat his wife, and only then did the mother somewhat relent. From then on she hated her daughter-in-law all the more. Though the wife served with the utmost care, the mother would not exchange a single word with her. Sheng, knowing his mother's anger, also lodged elsewhere, to show that he was separated from his wife. After a long while, the mother was still displeased and would rail at whatever object came to hand, her intent always aimed at Coral. Sheng said, "I took a wife to serve my parents. If things are like this, what use is a wife?" So he sent Coral away, ordering an old woman to escort her back to her own family. Just as they passed the village gate, Coral wept and said, "As a daughter, I could not be a proper wife. How can I return and face my parents? Better to die!" From her sleeve she produced scissors and stabbed her throat. They hurriedly saved her; blood gushed out and stained her collar. They helped her back to the house of Sheng's aunt by clan, a woman named Wang. Widow Wang lived alone with no husband, so she took Coral in. The old woman returned, and Sheng instructed her to conceal the truth, though he secretly feared his mother would learn of it. After several days, learning that Coral's wound was healing, he went to Wang's door and told her not to keep Coral there. Wang called him in; he would not enter, but only with great fury ordered Coral to leave. Soon Wang came out leading Coral, and seeing Sheng, asked, "What crime has Coral committed?" Sheng reproached her for being unable to serve his mother. Coral said not a word, only hung her head and sobbed, her tears all red, staining her plain clothes. Sheng, filled with pity and distress, could not finish his words and withdrew. After several more days, the mother had already heard of it. Angry, she went to Wang's house and heaped abusive reproaches upon her. Wang, proud and unyielding, gave back as good as she got, recounting her misdeeds in turn, and said, "The woman has already been put out. To which member of the An family does she still belong? I am keeping Miss Chen for myself, not keeping a wife of the An family. Why trouble yourself to meddle in another's affairs?" The mother, furious but at a loss for words, and seeing Wang's defiant manner, returned home in shame and frustration, weeping loudly. Coral felt ill at ease and thought of going elsewhere. Now, Sheng had an maternal aunt, Yu Yao, who was Shen's elder sister. She was over sixty, her son dead, leaving only a young grandson and a widowed daughter-in-law; she had always treated Coral kindly. So Coral took leave of Wang and went to stay with Yao. Yao, having learned the facts, roundly condemned her younger sister's violence and perversity, and wished to send her back. Coral insisted this could not be done, and also begged her not to speak of it. Thus she lived with Yu Yao, and they were like mother and daughter-in-law. Coral had two elder brothers who, hearing of her plight, pitied her and wished to bring her home and marry her off again. Coral firmly refused, only spinning and weaving with Yu Yao to support herself. Since Sheng had put away his wife, the mother tried every means to arrange a new marriage for her son, but her fierce reputation had spread, and no one near or far would match with them. After three or four years, Ercheng grew up, so they first arranged his marriage. Ercheng's wife, Zanggu, was arrogant, fierce, tyrannical, and avaricious—redoubling the mother's own nature. If the mother showed displeasure in her face, Zanggu would show displeasure in her voice. Ercheng was timid and dared not take either side. Thus the mother's authority suddenly collapsed; no one dared cross her, and she had to watch Zanggu's expression and ingratiate herself, yet still could not win Zanggu's favor. Zanggu treated the mother like a servant; Sheng dared not speak, only personally taking over the mother's labors, doing all the washing of utensils and sweeping and cleaning. Mother and son would often weep together in secret, where no one could see. Before long, the mother, from pent-up distress, fell ill and took to her bed, unable to move or relieve herself without Sheng's help. Sheng could not sleep day or night, and both his eyes turned red. He called his younger brother to take his turn, but as soon as Ercheng entered the door, Zanggu would call him away. Sheng then rushed to tell Yu Yao, hoping she would visit. On entering, he wept and recounted his grievances. Before he had finished, Coral came out from behind the curtain. Sheng was overcome with shame, fell silent, and tried to leave. Coral barred the door with both hands. Sheng, frantic, ducked under her elbow and fled home, not daring to tell his mother. Soon after, Yu Yao arrived. The mother was delighted and made her stay. From then on, Yao's household sent someone every day, and whenever they came, they brought delicacies for Yao. Yao sent word to her widowed daughter-in-law: "We do not go hungry here; do not keep doing this." But the offerings from home never ceased. Yao would not eat much of them herself, but sealed and kept them to give to the invalid. The mother's illness gradually improved. Yao's young grandson, also by his mother's order, brought fine cakes to inquire after her health. Shen sighed and said, "What a virtuous woman! Sister, how did you come by such a one?" Yao said, "What do you think of the wife you cast out?" Shen said, "Ah! She is certainly not as terrible as that one! But how could she be as virtuous as my nephew's wife?" Yao said, "When your daughter-in-law was here, you knew no toil; when you were angry, she knew no resentment—how is she not her equal?" Shen then wept and confessed her regret, asking, "Has Coral remarried?" Yao replied, "I do not know; let me inquire." After several more days, Shen recovered completely. Yao wished to leave. Shen wept and said, "I fear that if you go, I shall die after all." Yao then discussed with Sheng the division of the household, separating Ercheng. Ercheng told Zanggu. Zanggu was displeased and insulted her elder brother, even including Yao in her abuse. Sheng offered to give all the good fields to Ercheng, and only then was Zanggu pleased. After the deed of partition was drawn up, Yao departed. The next day, she sent a carriage to fetch Shen. Shen arrived at her house and first asked to see her nephew's wife, praising her virtue at length. Yao said, "The girl has a hundred good points—how could she have not a single flaw? I have always been able to tolerate her. If you had a daughter-in-law like mine, I fear you would not be able to enjoy her either." Shen said, "Alas, what an injustice! Do you take me for a block of wood or a stone, a deer or a pig? I have a mouth and nose—how could I touch fragrance or stench and not know it?" Yao said, "As for Coral, who was cast out, what do you imagine she says of you?" Shen said, "She curses me." Yao said, "If you truly examine yourself and find nothing to curse, then how could she curse you?" Shen said, "Flaws are common to all. It is precisely because she is not virtuous that I know she curses me." Yao said, "When one who ought to resent does not resent, her virtue can be known; when one who ought to leave does not leave, her devotion can be known. All those things that were sent and served to you before were not from my daughter-in-law—but from your daughter-in-law." Shen started in surprise: "How so?" Yao said, "Coral has been staying here for a long time. All that was supplied to you before was what she spun and wove at night and sent." Hearing this, Shen wept many tears and said, "How can I ever face my daughter-in-law again?" Yao then called Coral. Coral came out with tears in her eyes and prostrated herself on the ground. The mother, mortified and pained, struck herself, and only after Yao's repeated urging did she stop. Thus they became mother-in-law and daughter-in-law again as before. After more than ten days, they returned home together. The few acres of thin land in the household were not enough to support themselves; they depended solely on Sheng's pen for a living and Coral's needle for toil. Ercheng was fairly well-off, but the elder brother did not ask of him, nor did the younger brother concern himself with them. Zanggu, because her sister-in-law had been cast out, despised her; the sister-in-law also detested Zanggu's fierceness and would not acknowledge her. The brothers lived in separate courtyards. Zanggu would often bully and torment others, and the whole family turned a deaf ear. Zanggu, finding no one to vent her cruelty on, abused her husband and a maid. One day the maid hanged herself. The maid's father sued Zanggu; Ercheng appeared in court to plead for her, received a severe beating, and was still ordered to produce Zanggu. Sheng interceded with all his might to extricate them, but in the end they could not avoid it. Zanggu had all ten fingers put in the rack, and the flesh was stripped completely off. The official was greedy and violent, demanding an exorbitant bribe. Ercheng mortgaged his fields and borrowed money, paying the full amount before they were released. But creditors pressed him daily for repayment; left with no choice, he sold all his good fields to a village elder named Ren. Ren, since half the fields had been ceded by Dacheng, required Sheng to sign the deed. Sheng went. Ren suddenly spoke of himself, saying, "I am An Xiaolian. Who is this Ren to dare buy my property?" Then turning to Sheng, he said, "In the underworld, I was moved by your filial piety and that of your wife, so I have come back briefly to see you." Sheng wept and said, "If Father has spirit, quickly save my younger brother!" He said, "That unfilial son and fierce wife are not worth pitying! Go home quickly and raise money to redeem my blood-bought property." Sheng said, "Mother and I barely keep ourselves alive—how can we get much silver?" He said, "Under the crape myrtle tree there is buried silver; you may take and use it." Sheng wanted to ask more, but the old man had already fallen silent; after a moment he woke, dazed and knowing nothing. Sheng returned and told his mother, but she did not fully believe it. Zanggu, having already led several people to dig at the vault, dug four or five feet into the ground but found only bricks and stones, with no sign of the so-called silver, and went away disappointed. Sheng, hearing of their digging for the treasure, warned his mother and wife not to go look. Later, learning that they had found nothing, the mother secretly went to look; seeing only bricks and stones mixed in the soil, she returned. Coral went next, and saw that within the earth there was nothing but white silver. She called Sheng to verify it—and indeed it was so. Sheng, thinking it was his late father's legacy and not wishing to keep it for himself, called Ercheng to divide it equally. The amount exactly matched what had been taken and spent; each bagged his share and returned home. Ercheng and Zanggu examined theirs together; when they opened the bag, it was filled with rubble and stones, to their great astonishment. Er Cheng was suspected by his wife of having been fooled by his elder brother, so she sent Er Cheng to spy on his brother. At that time, the brother was laying out gold on the table and celebrating with his mother. Er Cheng then told his brother the truth. The elder brother was startled, but his heart was filled with pity for him, so he took up the gold and gave it all to him. Er Cheng was overjoyed. He went and repaid his debts, and was very grateful to his brother. Zang Gu said, "This only shows all the more how deceitful your brother is. If he did not have a guilty conscience, who would be willing to give back to others what had already been divided?" Er Cheng was half in doubt, half in belief. The next day, the creditor sent a servant to say that the gold given in repayment was all counterfeit, and that they would take him to the authorities. Both husband and wife were stricken with fear. Zang Gu said, "What now! I always said your brother was not so virtuous as to do this—this is to bring about your ruin!" Er Cheng, terrified, went to beg the creditor for mercy, but the creditor was furious and would not relent. Er Cheng then mortgaged his fields to the creditor and let him sell them as he saw fit, only then recovering the original gold and returning home. Examining it closely, he saw two broken ingots of gold, with only a leek-leaf's thickness of real gold wrapped around them—the rest was all copper. Zang Gu then plotted with Er Cheng: keep the broken ones, and return the rest to his brother to test him. And she taught him to say, "Having repeatedly received your generous kindness, I am truly unable to bear it. I have kept but two ingots as a token of your virtue in giving. The property that remains is still equal to yours. I have no need for so many fields; I have already relinquished them—whether you redeem them or not is up to you." The elder brother, not understanding his intent, insisted on yielding them. Er Cheng declined firmly, so the elder brother accepted them. Weighing them, he found them short by more than five taels. He ordered Coral to pawn her dowry trinkets to make up the full amount, then took them to the creditor. The creditor suspected they were the same old gold, and cut them with shears to test them; the grain and color were both genuine, with not the slightest difference, so he accepted the gold and exchanged the deed with the elder brother. After Er Cheng returned the gold, he expected that there would certainly be some discrepancy; but when he heard that the old property had already been redeemed, he was greatly astonished. Zang Gu suspected that at the time of the digging, the elder brother had first concealed the real gold. Furious, she went to his house and reproached him with harsh abuse. Then the elder brother understood why the gold had been returned. Coral confronted her with a smile and said, "The property is still there—what is there to be angry about?" She had the elder brother produce the deed and give it to them. One night Er Cheng dreamed that his father reproached him, saying, "You are unfilial and unbrotherly; your allotted time in the underworld is nearly up, and not an inch of land will be your own—what will you gain by clinging to it!" He woke and told Zang Gu, wanting to return the fields to his elder brother. Zang Gu mocked him for his folly. At that time Er Cheng had two sons, the elder seven years old and the younger three. Before long, the elder son died of smallpox. Zang Gu became frightened and had Er Cheng return the deed to his elder brother. He spoke of it again and again, but the elder brother would not accept. Soon after, the younger son also died. Zang Gu grew even more fearful and personally placed the deed at her sister-in-law's place. Spring was nearly over, and the fields lay fallow and untilled. The elder brother, having no choice, planted and cultivated them. From then on, Zang Gu reformed her conduct, attending upon her mother-in-law morning and evening like a filial son, and treating her sister-in-law with great respect. Before half a year had passed, her mother-in-law fell ill and died. Zang Gu wept bitterly, to the point that she would not take even a spoonful of food or drink. She said to others, "My mother-in-law died too soon, so that I could not serve her—this is Heaven not permitting me to redeem myself!" She bore ten children but none survived, so she adopted her elder brother's son as her own. Both husband and wife lived to a ripe old age. The elder brother had three sons, all of whom passed the imperial examinations. People said this was the reward for filial piety and brotherly love. The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Without encountering the tyranny of the insolent, one does not recognize the loyalty of the steadfast minister. The household and the state share the same principle. The rebellious daughter-in-law reformed, yet the mother died—it was because a house full of filial piety had no virtue to counterbalance it. Zang Gu restrained herself and said that Heaven would not permit her to redeem herself—who but one who has awakened to the Way could utter such words? Yet though she deserved to die under duress, she lived to a ripe old age—Heaven had already forgiven her. 'Life springs from worry and distress'—how true that is!" The Five Passions In the south there are the Five Passions, just as in the north there are fox spirits. But while northern fox spirits can still be driven away by a hundred means, in Jiangsu and Zhejiang the Five Passions—whenever a family had a beautiful woman, they would forcibly defile her, and fathers, brothers, and all dared not raise a protest—were especially harmful. There was a man named Zhao Hong, a Wu merchant. His wife, née Yan, was quite elegant. One night, a tall and imposing man entered from outside, gripping a sword and looking about; all the maids and old women fled. Yan tried to leave, but the man blocked her way, saying, "Do not fear me. I am Fourth Lord of the Five Passions. I love you and will not harm you." He then took her by the waist and lifted her as if she were an infant, placed her on the bed, and her skirts and belts came undone of themselves, whereupon he took his pleasure with her. But his size was unbearable, and in her daze she moaned in agony as if at death's door. Fourth Lord, pitying her, did not exhaust his full instrument. After getting off the bed, he said, "I will return in five days," and left. Zhao had set up a pawnshop outside the gate. That night the servant girl ran to tell him. Zhao, knowing it was one of the Five Passions, dared not ask further. At dawn, he saw his wife too exhausted to rise, and felt deeply ashamed; he warned the household not to spread the news. It took her three or four days to recover, but she dreaded his return. The maids and old women dared not stay in the inner chambers and all took refuge in the outer rooms; only the wife sat alone before a candle, nursing her sorrows and waiting. Before long, Fourth Lord arrived with two companions, both handsome young men. There were pages who set out wine and delicacies, and they drank with the wife. She hung her head in shame and timidity; when pressed to drink, she would not. Her heart trembled with fear that they would take turns ravishing her, in which case her life would surely end. The three urged one another to drink, addressing one another as "Elder Brother" or "Third Younger Brother." They drank until midnight, when the two guests at the head of the table rose together and said, "Today Fourth Lord has invited a beauty for us—we should invite Second Lord and Fifth Lord to chip in for wine to celebrate." With that they took their leave. Fourth Lord drew the wife into the bed-curtains. She pleaded for mercy; Fourth Lord forced himself upon her, and blood flowed profusely. She fell unconscious, and only then did Fourth Lord leave. She lay languid on the bed, unable to bear her shame and fury. She thought of suicide, but whenever she tried to hang herself, the cord would break; she tried repeatedly, but always the same, and she could not find death. Fortunately Fourth Lord did not come often—only once when she had recovered. After two or three months, the whole household was at wit's end. There was a man named Wan Sheng from Kuaiji, a cousin of Zhao's, fierce and brave, and a fine archer. One day he came to visit Zhao. It was already dusk, and since Zhao's guest quarters were occupied by the servants, he led his guest to lodge in the inner courtyard. Wan could not sleep for a long time, and hearing footsteps in the courtyard, he peered through the window and saw a man enter the wife's chamber. Suspicious, he seized his knife and crept closer to watch. He saw the man sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lady Yan, with food and wine laid out on the table. His wrath blazed up, and he rushed in. The man leaped up in alarm and frantically reached for his sword, but the knife had already struck his skull—it split open and he fell. Looking, Wan saw it was a small horse, about the size of a donkey. Startled, he questioned the wife, and she told him everything, adding, "The other spirits will be coming—what can we do!" Wan waved his hand, forbidding her to speak. He put out the candle, took his bow and arrows, and lay in ambush in the dark. Before long, four or five figures descended from the air. Wan loosed an arrow in haste, and the foremost fell dead. The other three roared in fury and drew their swords to search for the archer. Wan gripped his knife and stood behind the door, utterly motionless. One entered, and Wan struck him on the neck—he too fell dead. He still stood behind the door. After a long while with no further sound, he came out, knocked at the gate, and told Zhao. Zhao was greatly alarmed. They brought a lamp and saw one horse and two pigs lying dead in the room. The entire household rejoiced together. Still fearing that the two remaining creatures would seek revenge, they kept Wan at the house, roasting the pig and boiling the horse to offer him; the meat was delicious, unlike ordinary fare. Wan Sheng's name thus became widely known. After more than a month, the monsters had ceased entirely, and he prepared to take his leave. But a certain timber merchant earnestly pressed him to stay. Earlier, this merchant had a daughter not yet married, when suddenly one of the Five Passions descended in broad daylight—a handsome man of about twenty—who said he would take her as his wife, left a hundred taels of gold, set an auspicious date, and departed. The appointed day was now near, and the whole family was terrified. Hearing of Wan Sheng's fame, they earnestly invited him to their home. Fearing Wan might refuse, they concealed the true situation and did not tell him. After a sumptuous feast, they had their daughter dressed and presented to the guest—a girl of sixteen or seventeen, a lovely maiden. Wan was bewildered and did not understand the reason; he rose from his seat and bowed. The merchant pressed him back down and told him the truth. Wan was startled at first, but his life had been marked by pride and courage, so he did not refuse. On the appointed day, the merchant hung colored silk at the gate and had Wan sit in the main hall. The sun westered and the bridegroom did not come. Wan secretly thought that the groom was already doomed. Before long, he saw something drop from the eaves like a bird—it was a young man in full dress. Seeing Wan, he turned and fled. Wan chased him out and saw only a mass of black energy about to fly away. He leapt up and slashed with his knife, severing one of its feet. It howled loudly and fled. Looking down, he saw a giant claw as large as a hand—he did not know what creature it was; following the trail of blood, it led into the river. The merchant was overjoyed. Hearing that Wan was unmarried, that very night he used the bridal bed and made Wan consummate the marriage with his daughter. From then on, all those who had long suffered from the Five Passions came and begged to have him stay a night in their homes. After more than a year, he took his wife and left. Thereafter in Wu there was only one of the Five Passions left, and he dared not openly cause harm. The Historian of the Strange remarks: "The Five Passions and the Frog Spirit have bewitched the vulgar for so long that people have allowed them to commit lewd outrages without daring to whisper a word against them. Wan Sheng is truly a man of boundless spirit in this world!" Another Jin Sheng, styled Wang Sun, was a man of Suzhou. He taught in Huai, lodging in the garden of a gentry family. The garden had few buildings but was overgrown with flowers and trees. When night was deep and servants had all dispersed, he was left with his lonely shadow, his spirits and thoughts quite forlorn. One night, when the third watch was nearly spent, someone suddenly tapped on his door with a finger. He asked hastily, and was answered with "I beg for fire" — the voice resembling that of the pupil in the house. He opened the door to admit the person, and it was a beauty of about sixteen, with a maidservant following behind her. He took her for a spirit or goblin and questioned her very closely. The girl said, "I took you for a cultivated gentleman, lonely and pitiable; unafraid of the heavy dew, I came to pass this fine night with you. If I told you the reason, I would not dare come, and you would not dare admit me." He then suspected she was some neighbor's runaway daughter, and fearing to lose his moral standing, he politely declined her. The girl shot him a sidelong glance, and he felt his soul and spirit utterly captivated, suddenly losing all self-command. The maid, already aware, said, "Miss Xia, I shall go." The girl nodded. Then she scolded, "If you're going, just go — what business have you with clouds or rosy mists?" The maid having gone, the girl smiled and said, "Just now there was no one in the room, so I brought the maid along with me. So ignorant she is, she has let you hear my childhood name." He said, "You are so cautious and shrewd — that is why I fear there is some trap in this." The girl said, "You will know in time; I guarantee I will not ruin your conduct. Do not worry." She mounted the bed and loosened her garments. He saw on her arm a bracelet — a strip of gold strung with fire-pearls and holding twin pearls; when the candle was extinguished, its light illuminated the whole room. He grew even more alarmed and could never fathom where she had come from. As soon as their business was done, the maid tapped at the window; the girl rose and, using the bracelet to light her path, entered the thicket and went away. From then on, she came every night without fail. He once, when she left, followed her from afar; she seemed to sense it, and abruptly hid her light. The trees were dense and thick, and in the darkness he could not see his own hand, so he returned. One day, he went to the north of the river. His hat-strings had broken, and the wind threatened to blow it off, so he kept pressing it down with his hand while on horseback. When he reached the river and sat in the flat boat, a gust blew the hat off and it floated away with the waves. He felt quite dejected. After crossing, he saw the wind blow the hat in circles through the air, gradually descending; he caught it with his hand — and the strings were already mended. He found this strange. Returning to his study, he recounted it to the girl in full; she said nothing but gave a faint smile. He suspected she had done it, and said, "If you are truly a divine being, you should tell me plainly, to dispel my doubts." She said, "In this lonely stillness, to have such a passionate one as you to relieve my boredom — I think myself not ill-spent. Even if I could do such things, it would be out of affection for you. Why do you press me so hard, as if you wish to be rid of me?" He dared not say more. Prior to this, he had a niece by a sister, who after her marriage was bewitched by a Five Tongs demon. He worried about it but had told no one. Because he had grown intimate with the girl for so long, he poured out all his inmost concerns. The girl said, "Such creatures my father can expel. But how dare I tell my stern parent of my lover's private affairs?" He pleaded bitterly for a plan. The girl pondered and said, "This is also easy to remove, but I must go in person. These fellows are all slaves of my household. If one of them so much as touches your skin, that shame could not be washed away even by the West River." He pleaded without end, and the girl said, "I shall arrange it at once." The next night she came and told him, "I have sent the maid south for your sake. The maid is weak, and may not be able to slay him immediately." The following night, as they lay down, the maid came tapping at the door. He hurriedly rose and let her in. The girl asked, "How did it go?" She replied, "I was not strong enough to seize him, but I have castrated him." She asked with a smile for the particulars. The maid said, "At first I thought it was your household; when I arrived, I found it was not. When I reached the son-in-law's house, the lamps were already lit. I entered and saw the young lady sitting under the lamp, leaning on the table as if asleep. I gathered her spirit and sealed it under a jar. After a while, the creature came, entered the room and quickly retreated, saying, 'How is there a living person lodged here?' After scrutinizing and finding nothing else, he re-entered. I pretended to be unconscious. He lifted the quilt to get in, and again started in surprise: 'How is there the aura of weapons?' I did not want to defile my fingers with that filth, but fearing delay would cause complications, I quickly seized him and castrated him. The creature howled in terror and fled. Then I rose, opened the jar, and the lady revived like one waking from sleep — and your maid departed." He was overjoyed and thanked her; she left with him. After that, for over half a month, she never came again, and he gave up hope. At year's end, he was about to close his teaching and return home, when she suddenly appeared. He joyfully went to meet her, saying, "You have long abandoned me; I thought I must have offended you somehow. But you have not cut me off entirely, have you?" She said, "After a whole year of affection, to part without a word would still be a regrettable omission. I heard you were packing up, so I stole in to bid you farewell." He begged her to return with him. She sighed, "It is hard to speak of! Now that we are to part, I cannot bear to hide the truth: I am in fact the daughter of the Golden Dragon King. Because I was destined to have a bond with you, I came to be with you. But I should not have sent the maid to Jiangnan, for the word spread among rivers and lakes that I had castrated a Five Tongs for you. My father heard of it and took it as a great disgrace; in anger he wished to have me put to death. Fortunately the maid took all responsibility upon herself, and his fury abated somewhat; he gave the maid a hundred strokes. Now I cannot take a single step without a governess following me. I stole a moment to come, but I cannot fully pour out my heart. What is to be done?" With that, she prepared to leave. He held her back and wept. She said, "Do not do so. Thirty years from now, we may meet again." He said, "I am already thirty; thirty more years, and I shall be a white-haired old man — how could I have the face to see you again?" She said, "Not so — in the Dragon Palace there are no white-haired elders. Moreover, human longevity is not in the face; if you merely seek to preserve your youth, that is very easy indeed." She then wrote a prescription on the scroll-head and departed. When Jin Sheng returned to his native place, his niece first told him of the strange event, saying, "That night it was like a dream: I felt someone seize me and put me into an earthen jar; when I woke, the bedclothes were soaked with blood, and the monster was gone." He said, "I prayed to the River God on your behalf." Thus all doubts were resolved. Later, when Jin Sheng was past sixty, his face still resembled that of a man of thirty. One day, as he crossed the river, he saw from afar a lotus leaf floating upstream, as large as a mat, with a beautiful woman seated on it. Drawing near, he recognized the divine maiden. He leaped toward her, and both he and the lotus leaf grew small, gradually shrinking to the size of a coin and then vanished. This matter, together with the story of Zhao Hong, both occurred in the late Ming; it is unknown which was earlier and which later. If it took place after Wan Sheng had used force, then in Wu only half a passage remained, and it was fitting that it was not enough to cause harm. Shen Shi By the side of the Jing River, there was a scholar's son named Shen. His family was poor and destitute; for days on end they did not light a cooking fire. Husband and wife faced each other, with no plan to manage. The wife said, "There is no other way—why not turn to thievery?" Shen said, "A scholar's son cannot exalt his clan, but to disgrace the household and shame one's forebears—to live like Zhi is worse than to die like Yi!" The wife said in anger, "Do you wish to live yet resent disgrace? In this world, those who do not farm yet eat have only two paths: since you cannot be a thief, I might as well be a prostitute!" Shen grew angry and exchanged harsh words with his wife. She went to bed in resentment. Shen thought: Being a man, unable to provide two meals, to the point that his wife wished to become a prostitute—he might as well die! He rose stealthily and hanged himself from a tree in the courtyard. Suddenly he saw his father coming, who said in alarm, "Foolish child, why have you come to this!" He cut the rope and instructed him, "Thievery may be done; you must choose a place deep in the grain and hide. This venture can make you rich; there is no need to do it again." His wife heard the sound of something falling to the ground, woke with a start; she called her husband but there was no answer; she lit a fire to look for him, and saw the rope broken on the tree, with Shen dead beneath it. Greatly terrified, she rubbed and pressed him; after a while he revived, and she helped him lie down on the bed. His wife's anger subsided somewhat. At dawn, she pretended her husband was ill, begged from neighbors and obtained some thin gruel for Shen. After drinking it, he went out and left. By noon, he returned carrying a sack of grain. His wife asked where it came from. He said, "All my father's old friends are from noble houses; formerly I was ashamed to fawn, so I disdained to ask them. The ancients said: 'One who has not met with success may do anything.' Now I am about to become a thief—why care about that! Quickly cook the grain; I will follow your words and go out to rob." His wife suspected he had not yet forgotten his earlier angry words, and bore it silently. She washed the grain and made porridge. After Shen had eaten his fill, he urgently sought a hard piece of wood, chopped it with an axe into a club, and holding it, was about to go out. His wife saw that his intention seemed genuine, and pulled him back to stop him. Shen said, "You taught me to do this; if things go wrong and I am implicated, you must not regret it!" He tore his robe from her grasp and left. At dusk, he arrived at a neighboring village, and lay in ambush about a li from the village. Suddenly a violent rain came, drenching him from head to foot. Gazing into the distance, he saw a thick tree and intended to take shelter there. But a flash of lightning illuminated that he was already near the village wall. In the distance there seemed to be a pedestrian; fearing he might be seen, he noticed that the grain beneath the wall was dense and thick, so he quickly entered and crouched to hide among it. Before long, a man came, of great and sturdy build, who also entered the grain. Shen was frightened and dared not move at all. Fortunately the man went off at an angle. Peering slightly, Shen saw him enter the walled compound. He thought to himself that within the wall was the mansion of the wealthy Yuan family; this must be a rooftop gentleman (thief). He waited for him to come out with his gains, then he should share in them. He also thought: that man is strong and vigorous; if he takes it all and gives none, it will surely come to blows. He estimated his own strength was no match; better to topple him when he is unprepared. Having settled the plan, he lay in wait for a long time. Just as the rooster was about to crow, the man finally climbed over the wall and came out. Before his feet touched the ground, Shen suddenly rose and struck him in the waist and spine with his club. The man fell with a thud—it was a huge turtle, its mouth gaping like a basin. Greatly startled, Shen struck it repeatedly until it was dead. Now previously, Elder Yuan had a daughter, extremely intelligent and beautiful, and her parents both doted on her. One night, a man entered her chamber, and pressed close to her in intimacy. When she tried to cry out, his tongue was already in her mouth; she became dazed and unconscious, allowing him to do as he wished and then he left. Ashamed to tell anyone, she merely gathered many maids and old women, and tightly barred the doors. That night when she went to bed, she did not know how the door opened by itself; when he entered the chamber, all the women were stupefied, and he violated the maids and old women one and all. They then told each other in alarm and reported it to the elder; the elder instructed his household to take weapons and surround the embroidered chamber, while those inside sat by candlelight. About midnight, all inside and outside suddenly became unconscious; then as if waking from a dream, they saw the daughter lying naked, looking dazed, and only after a long while did she regain awareness. The elder was deeply resentful, but could do nothing. After several months, the daughter became emaciated and quite ill. She often told people, "Whoever can expel this creature shall be rewarded with three hundred taels of silver." Shen had also heard of this in ordinary times. That night he obtained the turtle, and realized that the creature haunting the elder's daughter must be this thing. He then knocked at the gate to claim the reward. The elder was delighted, invited him to the seat of honor, and had people carry the turtle into the courtyard and cut it into pieces. He kept Shen overnight, and the strange affliction indeed ceased. He then paid him the promised amount, and Shen carried the silver home. His wife, because he had not returned for a whole night, was anxiously worrying and expecting him; when she saw Shen enter, she urgently questioned him. Shen did not speak, but placed the silver on the bed. His wife opened and looked at it, nearly fainting with shock, and said, "Have you truly become a thief?" Shen said, "You forced me to do this, and now you say such things!" His wife wept and said, "I only said that in jest before. Now you have committed a crime punishable by beheading—I cannot be implicated by a bandit! Let me die first!" And she ran out. Shen chased after her, smiling, and dragged her back, telling her the whole truth. His wife was then delighted. From then on he made a living and was called a common wealthy man. The Historian of the Strange says: "People need not fear poverty, but lack of conduct. Those whose conduct is upright, though starving, will not die; if not pitied by men, they still have the protection of ghosts. The poor of this world, where profit lies, forget righteousness; where food lies, forget shame—people would not dare entrust them with even one coin, so how can they be forgiven by the gods and spirits!" There was also a poor man of the county called Yi B. As the last days of the twelfth month drew near, he had not a complete garment on his body. He thought to himself: How shall I get through the year? He dared not speak to his wife, but secretly took a white club, went out and hid in a graveyard, hoping that someone traveling alone might pass by, and he could rob him of all he had. He waited with great anxiety, but there was no trace of anyone; the wind among the pines pierced his bones, and he could no longer endure. He was on the verge of giving up, when suddenly he saw a man approaching bent over. Secretly overjoyed, he brandished his club and rushed out. It was an old man carrying a sack by the roadside, who said piteously, "I truly have no valuables on me. My family has no food, and I have just begged five sheng of rice from my son-in-law's house." Yi B snatched the rice, and then wanted to strip him of his padded jacket, but the old man begged bitterly. Yi B took pity on his age and let him go, carrying the rice home. His wife asked where it came from, and he lied, saying, "It was from gambling debts." He secretly thought that this plan was quite good. The next night he went again. Before long, he saw a man carrying a club coming, who also entered the graveyard, crouching and looking about, apparently of the same profession. Yi B then cautiously came out from behind a tomb. The man asked in surprise, "Who are you?" He replied, "A traveler." Asked, "Why don't you go on?" He said, "I am waiting for you." The man laughed involuntarily. Each understood the other's intent, and they talked of their hardships of hunger and cold. As the night deepened, they caught nothing. Yi B wanted to go home. The man said, "Though you practice this trade, you are still a novice. In the village ahead, there is a family marrying off a daughter; they will be busy preparing until midnight, and the whole household will surely be exhausted. Follow me, and we shall share whatever we get." Yi B was pleased and followed him. Arriving at a gate, they heard the sound of baking cakes from next door, knowing they were not yet asleep, they lay in wait. Before long, someone opened the gate and came out carrying a pole to fetch water; the two took the opportunity to slip in. They saw lamplight in the northern chamber; the other rooms were all dark. They heard an old woman say, "Elder sister, go check the eastern chamber; your trousseau is all in the cabinet—I wonder if you forgot to lock it?" They heard a young girl's voice, lazy and coquettish. The two thieves were secretly delighted, and quietly crept to the eastern chamber; groping in the dark, they found the lying cabinet; they opened the lid and reached in—it was deep and bottomless. The man said to Yi B, "Get in!" Yi B did so, and found a bundle, which he passed out. The man asked, "Is that all?" He said, "That's all." Then the man tricked him, saying, "Search again." Then he closed the cabinet and locked it, and left. Yi B was inside, desperate and without plan. Before long, a light came in, shining first on the cabinet. They heard the old woman say, "Someone has already locked it." Then the mother and daughter went to bed and put out the candle. Yi B was greatly alarmed, and so made a sound like a rat gnawing. The daughter said, "There is a rat in the cabinet!" The old woman said, "Don't let it ruin your clothes. I am extremely tired; you should go check it yourself." The daughter shook out her clothes and rose, opened the cabinet. Yi B burst out, and the daughter fell over in fright. Yi B unbolted the door and fled. Though he got nothing, he secretly rejoiced at having escaped. The family of the bride was robbed, and the news spread far and wide. Some suspected Yi B. Fearing, Yi B fled a hundred li eastward, and hired himself out as a servant to an innkeeper. After more than a year, the rumors gradually ceased, and then he brought his wife to live with him, and no longer plied the white club. This is his own account; because it resembles the case of Shen, it is appended here. Heng Niang 　　Hong Daye was a man from the capital. His wife, née Zhu, was quite graceful in appearance, and the two deeply loved and cherished each other. Later, Hong took a maidservant named Baodai to be his concubine. Her looks fell far short of Zhu's, yet Hong doted on her. Zhu felt this was unfair and frequently fell out with him over it. Although Hong did not dare to openly sleep in the concubine's quarters, he doted on Baodai all the more and grew distant from Zhu. Later, they moved their residence and became neighbors with a silk merchant surnamed Di. Di's wife, Hengniang, first called upon the courtyard to pay her respects to Zhu. Hengniang was around thirty, with looks only of a middling person, but her speech was light and charming. Zhu took a liking to her. The next day, Zhu returned her visit and saw that their household also had a concubine, who was just over twenty and very pretty. Having lived as neighbors for nearly half a year, they never once heard a single word of scolding or dispute. Yet Di alone doted on Hengniang, while the secondary wife's position was merely a vacant title. One day, Zhu saw Hengniang and asked her, saying, "I formerly thought a husband's love for his concubine was because she was a concubine, and I often wanted to exchange a wife's title to be called a concubine. Now I know it is not so. What arts does Madam possess? If they can be taught, I am willing to face north as a disciple." Hengniang said, "Alas! You push him away yourself, and yet you blame the man? To chatter morning and night is like driving sparrows into a thicket; the estrangement only grows greater! Upon his return, indulge him even more; should the man come of his own accord, do not take him in. After a month, I shall consider it for you again." Zhu followed her advice and adorned Baodai all the more, having her follow her husband to bed. Whenever Hong had food or drink, she also had Baodai share it with him. When Hong occasionally sought to spend time with Zhu, Zhu refused him all the more firmly, whereupon everyone praised Lady Zhu as virtuous. After a month or so of this, Zhu went to see Hengniang. Hengniang joyfully said, "It is achieved! When you return, ruin your makeup, wear no fine garments, use no cosmetic powder or oils, keep a soiled face and tattered shoes, and busy yourself with household chores. After a month, you may come again." Zhu followed her instructions: she wore patched and tattered garments, deliberately kept herself unwashed and unclean, and besides spinning and weaving, asked about nothing else. Hong pitied her and had Baodai share in her labor, but Zhu would not accept it and would promptly scold her away. After doing this for a month, she went again to see Hengniang. Hengniang said, "The girl is truly teachable! The day after tomorrow is the Shangsi Festival, and I wish to invite you to stroll in the spring garden. You must completely cast off your tattered clothes, gowns, trousers, socks, and shoes, make yourself brilliantly brand new, and come over to my place early." Zhu said, "Agreed." When the day arrived, she gazed into the mirror, carefully smoothing on white and yellow powder, every bit as Hengniang had taught. When her makeup was finished, she went over to Hengniang. Hengniang joyfully said, "This will do!" She then helped replace her hair with a phoenix bun, shiny enough to reflect shadows; seeing that her robe sleeves did not match contemporary fashions, she ripped the threads and remade them; saying her shoe style was clumsy, she took out professional shoes from her chest to complete the pair, and when finished, promptly told her to change into them. ... At parting, she gave her wine to drink and instructed her: "When you return and see the man, close your door and go to sleep early. When he comes to knock at the latch, do not listen. When he calls three times, you may let him in once. If his mouth asks for your tongue, or his hands ask for your feet, be stingy with all of it. Half a month from now, you should come again." Zhu returned, dazzling in her makeup, and saw Hong. Hong gazed intently up and down at her, rejoicing and smiling unlike his usual self. Zhu spoke little of her outing, instead resting her cheek on her hand in a lazy posture. Before dusk had fallen, she rose, entered her chamber, and closed the door to sleep. Before long, Hong indeed came to rattle the latch; Zhu firmly lay in bed without rising, and eventually Hong left. The next evening, it was the same. The next day, Hong reproached her. Zhu said, "I have grown accustomed to sleeping alone and cannot bear to be disturbed again." As the sun grew western, Hong entered the boudoir and sat waiting for her. He extinguished the candle and climbed onto the bed, doting on her like a newly wedded bride, deeply entwined and full of joy. He sought a tryst for the following night; Zhu would not allow it to be frequent, and covenanted with Hong to set an interval of three days as the rule. After about half a month, she visited Hengniang again. Hengniang closed the door and spoke with her, saying, "From now on you can monopolize the inner chambers. Yet though you are beautiful, you are not charming. With your looks, a single display of charm could snatch away Xi Shi's favor, let alone that of lesser women!" Thereupon she tested her by having her cast a sidelong glance, and said, "No! The flaw is in the outer corners of the eyes." She tested her by having her smile, and again said, "No! The flaw is in the left cheek." Then she taught her how to send a glance of autumn waves and sweetly part her lips to faintly reveal her melon-seed teeth, having Zhu imitate it. After doing this dozens of times, she finally grasped a faint likeness of it. Hengniang said, "Go back! Look into the mirror and practice it skillfully; there are no more arts left. As for between our bedcurtains, act as circumstances require and cater to what he loves—this is not something that can be transmitted in words." Zhu returned and followed Hengniang's teachings entirely. Hong was immensely delighted; his form and spirit were both captivated, and he lived in constant fear of meeting rejection. As day turned to dusk, they would joke and laugh facing one another, never parting a single step from the inner chambers, making it their daily routine, and he was ultimately unable to push himself away to leave. Zhu treated Baodai with increasing kindness, and whenever there was a feast in the chambers, she would always call her to share the mat and sit together. Yet Hong found Baodai increasingly ugly, and before the banquet ended, he would send her away. Zhu tricked her husband into entering Baodai's room and locked it shut, leaving Hong the entire night without any intimacy. Consequently, Baodai grew resentful of Hong and would curse and defame him whenever she spoke to others. Hong grew all the more disgusted and angered by her, gradually resorting to whip and cane. Baodai grew angry and failed to keep up her appearance, dragging about in tattered, soiled shoes with a head like tangled hemp, utterly unfit to be called a human being any longer. One day, Hengniang said to Zhu, "How is my art?" Zhu said, "The Dao is most marvelous indeed; yet as a disciple, I was able to follow it, but to the end I could not understand it. Why indulge him?" Hengniang said, "Have you not heard: human nature tires of the old and delights in the new, and values the difficult while making light of the easy? A husband's love for a concubine is not necessarily because she is beautiful, but because he takes pleasure in what is newly gained and rejoices in what is difficult to encounter. If you indulge him until he is sated, then even rare delicacies will grow wearisome, let alone vegetable broth!" "Why ruin one's appearance and then dazzle again?" "If you place someone out of sight so their eyes do not linger, it feels like a long separation; if they suddenly behold a brilliant makeup, it is as though someone new has arrived. It is like a poor man suddenly obtaining fine meat and grain, making him look upon coarse husked rice as tasteless. And when it is not easily granted to him, then he is old while I am new, and he finds it easy while I find it difficult. This is precisely the method by which you wished to exchange the wife for a concubine." Zhu was overjoyed and thereupon became a close confidant within the chambers. After several years had passed, Hengniang suddenly said to Zhu, "The feelings of the two of us are as one, so naturally we should not conceal our life stories. Formerly I wished to speak, but feared you would suspect me; now that we are about to part, I dare tell you the truth: I am a fox. In my youth, I encountered the misfortune of a stepmother and was sold as a concubine in the capital. My husband treated me generously, which is why I could not bear to suddenly cut ties, lingering on until this day. Tomorrow my elderly father undergoes *shijie*, and I shall go to pay my respects and will not return." Zhu held her hand and sighed heavily. Early the next morning, when she went to look, the entire household was in terror and dismay, for Hengniang had already vanished. 　　The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Those who buy pearls value the casket rather than the pearl. The sentiments of new and old, difficult and easy, are illusions that through the ages none can break; and thus the art of turning hatred into love manages to find its way between them. In antiquity, flattering ministers serving their rulers would not let them see others nor allow them to pry into books. Now I understand that preserving one's station and securing favor all have their secret traditions." Gejin Chang Deyong, a man of Luoyang, was addicted to peonies. Hearing that the peonies of Caozhou were the finest in Qi and Lu, his heart yearned to go there. Happening to have other business that took him to Cao, he borrowed a gentleman's garden there to stay in. At that time it was only the second month, and the peonies had not yet blossomed. He merely paced about the garden, fixing his eyes on the sprouting buds, waiting for them to open. He composed a hundred quatrains in praise of the peonies. Before long, the flowers gradually formed buds, but his funds were running out; he soon pawned his spring clothes, lingering on and forgetting to return. One day, at dawn, he went to the flower garden and saw a young lady and an old woman there. Suspecting they were ladies of a noble house, he hastily withdrew. In the evening he went again and saw them once more; he quietly stepped aside. Stealing a glance, he saw that she was dressed in palace attire and stunningly beautiful. In his dazzled state, a thought suddenly struck him: "This must be an immortal—how could such a woman exist in the mortal world?" He immediately turned back to search for her, and as he hurried past a rockery, he came face to face with the old woman. The young lady was sitting on a rock; they stared at each other in surprise. The old woman shielded the lady with her body and scolded, "What are you, a reckless scholar, doing here?" He knelt and said, "You must be an immortal!" The old woman snapped, "With such wild talk, you should be bound and handed over to the magistrate!" He was terrified, but the young lady smiled and said, "Let him go." She then passed over the hill and left. He returned, unable to walk steadily. He thought that the lady would tell her father and brothers, and that a scolding would surely follow. He lay down in his empty study, regretting his rashness. He secretly rejoiced that the lady had not shown anger, and hoped she would not dwell on it. With remorse and fear intermingled, he fell ill all night. When day broke, he was glad that no punitive expedition had come, and his heart gradually calmed. But as he recalled her voice and appearance, his fear turned to longing. After three days like this, he grew so haggard he was near death. At midnight, while his servant was sound asleep, the old woman entered, holding a cup, and said, "My lady Gejin has mixed this poison with her own hands—drink it quickly!" Hearing this, he was shocked, but then said, "I have no grudge or enmity with your lady; why would she give me death? But since she has prepared it with her own hands, better to drink this poison and die than to pine away with longing!" So he raised it and drained it. The old woman smiled, took the cup, and left. He felt the medicine was fragrant and cool, not like poison. Soon he felt his chest and diaphragm relax, his head clear, and he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke, the red sun filled the window. He tried to rise, and his illness seemed gone; his heart was even more convinced that she was an immortal. Having no way to approach her, he would only, when no one was about, go to the places where she had stood or sat, and kneel in devout prayer. One day, as he walked along, he suddenly encountered the young lady face to face in a deep grove of trees. Luckily no one else was there; overjoyed, he threw himself to the ground. She drew near and lifted him, and suddenly he perceived a strange fragrance all over her body; he grasped her jade-white wrist to rise, and her fingers were soft and smooth, making his very bones melt. He was about to speak when the old woman suddenly appeared. The lady told him to hide behind a rock, then pointed south and said, "Tonight, climb over the wall with a flower ladder. The red-windowed chamber on the four sides is where I live." Then she hurried away. He returned disconsolate, his soul scattered, not knowing where to go. That night, he moved a ladder and climbed the southern wall—and found a ladder already there on the other side. Delighted, he descended and indeed saw the red windows. From within came the sound of chess pieces being tapped; he stood still, not daring to advance, and finally climbed back over the wall and returned. After a short while, he went again; the sound of pieces was still frequent. He crept closer and peeked in—the lady was playing chess with a beauty in white, the old woman was also seated, and a maid stood by. He withdrew again. After three such trips, the third watch was already approaching. He lay on the ladder and heard the old woman come out saying, "A ladder—who placed this here?" She called a maid to help move it away. He climbed onto the wall but had no ladder to descend; filled with chagrin, he went back. The next evening, he went again, and the ladder was already set up. Fortunately, no one was about; he entered, and the lady was sitting alone, as if lost in thought. Seeing him, she rose in surprise, standing askance with a shy look. He bowed and said, "I thought my fortune was too thin, and feared I had no share in a heavenly being—yet tonight has come!" Then he embraced her familiarly. Her slender waist was barely a handful, and her breath was like orchid fragrance. She pushed him away, saying, "Why so hasty?" He said, "Good things are beset by many trials; delay would invite the jealousy of ghosts." Before he had finished, voices were heard in the distance. The lady said urgently, "My younger sister Yuban is coming! You may hide under the bed for a while." He did so. Soon a young woman entered, laughing, "A defeated general—dare you speak again of battle? I have already brewed tea; might I invite you for a night of pleasure?" The lady declined, saying she was weary and drowsy. Yuban insisted, but the lady sat firm and would not go. Yuban said, "So clinging—could you have a man hidden in your room?" She pulled her along, and they went out together. He crawled out from under the bed. Furious, he searched through the pillows and mats, hoping to find something she had left behind. But inside the room there was no dressing case; only a crystal ruyi lay by the head of the bed, tied with a purple kerchief, fragrant and lovely. He took it, climbed over the wall, and returned. He adjusted his collar and sleeves, the fragrance still clinging to his body, and his admiration grew even keener. Yet because of the fright of hiding under the bed, he now feared the consequences of violating propriety; he hesitated and dared not go again, but only treasured the ruyi, hoping she would come looking for it. The next night, the lady indeed came, laughing, "I had thought you a gentleman, but I did not know you were a robber." He said, "That I certainly am. The reason I momentarily ceased to be a gentleman was only in hope of obtaining that ruyi." Then he drew her into his arms and untied her skirt knots for her. Her jade-like skin was suddenly revealed, exuding a warm fragrance; as they nestled together, he felt her breath and sweat all perfumed, every exhalation fragrant. He said, "I always thought you an immortal, and now I am even more certain I was not wrong. I am fortunate to have won your favor—our fate is rooted in three lifetimes. Yet I fear that like Du Lanxiang's descent in marriage, it will end in separation and regret." She laughed, "You worry too much. I am but a lovelorn maiden, moved for a moment by passion. This matter must be kept most secret; I fear that gossiping tongues may fabricate black and white. You cannot grow wings, and I cannot ride the wind—then the calamity of parting would be even more bitter than a good farewell." He agreed, but still suspected she was an immortal, and pressed her for her family name. She said, "Since you take me for an immortal, why should an immortal need to pass on her name?" He asked, "Who is that old woman?" She replied, "She is Sang Lao. When I was young, she sheltered me with her care, so she is not treated like the other maids." She then rose to leave, saying, "There are many eyes and ears in my place; I cannot stay long. I will come again when I find an opportunity." Before parting, she asked for the ruyi, saying, "This is not my possession—it was left by Yuban." He asked, "Who is Yuban?" She said, "My younger cousin-sister." She returned the hook and left. After she left, the bed and pillows were all imbued with a strange fragrance. From then on, she came every two or three nights. He was bewitched by her and no longer thought of returning home. But his purse was empty, and he was about to sell his horse. When she learned of this, she said, "For my sake, you have exhausted your funds and pawned your clothes—I cannot bear it. And if you sell your mount, how will you travel over a thousand li to return? I have some private savings; let me help you with your travel expenses." He declined, saying, "I am grateful for your affection—I would pledge my heart and swear by my flesh, yet that would not repay you. And if I were greedy and base, consuming your wealth, how could I face the world?" But she insisted, saying, "Just borrow it for now." Then she took his arm and led him to a mulberry tree, pointed at a stone, and said, "Turn it!" He did so. She then pulled out her hairpin and stabbed the ground several dozen times, then said, "Scrape it." He did so, and the mouth of a jar came into view. She reached in and brought out nearly fifty taels of white silver. He held her arm to stop her, but she would not listen, and brought out more than ten ingots more. He forced her to return half, then covered the jar again. One evening, she said to him, "Lately there have been some rumors; the situation cannot continue like this. We must plan ahead." He started, "What are we to do? I have always been a simple and cautious man, but now for your sake I am like a widow who has lost her virtue—I can no longer be master of myself. I follow only your command; even if it comes to swords, axes, or execution, I have no time to heed them!" She planned to elope with him, telling him to go home first and arrange to meet him in Luoyang. He packed his belongings and returned to his village, intending to go ahead and then welcome her; but by the time he arrived, her carriage had already reached his gate. She entered the hall and paid respects to his family; the neighbors were amazed and offered congratulations, but none knew that she had stolen away with him. He secretly felt uneasy, but she was quite composed, saying to him, "Putting aside the fact that beyond a thousand li the patrols cannot reach us, even if they did know, I am of a distinguished family—a Zhuo Wangsun would have no power over a Changqing." His younger brother Daqi was seventeen, and she observed him, saying, "This one has a wise nature; his future will surpass yours." His marriage had been arranged, but his betrothed suddenly died. She said, "My younger cousin-sister Yuban, whom you have glimpsed before, is not uncomely, and she is about the same age; a match with her would be a fine couple." He laughed at this and playfully asked her to act as matchmaker. She said, "If you are determined to have her, that is not difficult." ” he asked joyfully, “What plan?” She said, “My younger sister and I are on the best of terms. Two horses pulling a light carriage—it would take but one old woman’s round trip.” The scholar, fearing that his former liaison would be exposed, dared not follow her scheme; but the lady insisted, “It will do no harm.” She then ordered a carriage and sent Old Woman Sang off. Several days later, she arrived at Cao. When she drew near the village gate, the old woman descended from the carriage, bade the driver halt and wait on the road, and entered the village by night. After a long while, she came back with a young woman, who boarded the carriage, and they set out. At dusk they slept in the carriage and resumed travel at the fifth watch. The lady calculated the time and had Dazhi put on formal attire to go and meet them. Some fifty li out, he encountered them, took the wheel, and returned home; with drums and wind instruments, flower candles, they rose and bowed, completing the wedding rites. From then on, both brothers had fair wives, and the family grew richer by the day. One day, several dozen mounted bandits suddenly burst into the residence. The scholar knew something was amiss, and the whole family took to the upper story. The bandits entered and surrounded the building. The scholar leaned down and asked, “Is there some grievance?” They answered, “No grievance. We have but two requests: first, we hear that the two ladies are without equal in this world, so we beg to see them; second, we are fifty-eight men, each asking for five hundred taels of gold.” They piled brushwood below the tower as a threat to set it ablaze. The scholar agreed to their demand for gold; the bandits, unsatisfied, wished to burn the tower, and the household was greatly terrified. The lady wished to descend with Yuban; he tried to stop her, but she paid no heed. They descended in dazzling adornment, and when they were still three steps from the bottom of the stairs, she said to the bandits, “We sisters are both immortal maidens, briefly treading the dust of this world—why should we fear bandits and brigands! We would grant you ten thousand taels of gold, but I fear you would not dare accept it.” The bandits all looked up and bowed together, murmuring “We dare not.” The sisters were about to withdraw, when one bandit said, “This is deceit!” Hearing this, the lady turned back and stood still, saying, “What do you intend to do? Then plan it early! It is not yet too late.” The bandits looked at one another and remained silent. The sisters calmly ascended the tower and departed. The bandits gazed upward until they vanished without trace, then noisily dispersed. Two years later, the sisters each bore a son, and only then gradually began to speak of themselves: “Our surname is Wei, and our mother was enfeoffed as Lady of the State of Cao.” The scholar wondered that among the Wei clans of Cao there was no distinguished house, and moreover, if a daughter of a great family had been lost, how could it be that no inquiry was ever made? He did not dare press the matter, but in his heart he secretly found it strange. So he made an excuse and went again to Cao; upon entering the region, he made inquiries, and among the noble families there was no Wei clan at all. He therefore again took lodging with his former host. Suddenly he noticed on the wall a poem presented to the Lady of the State of Cao, which greatly startled him, so he questioned the host. The host laughed and invited him to go and see the Lady of Cao. When they arrived, there was a peony tree, as tall as the eaves. He asked how it came by that name, and was told that because this flower was the finest in Cao, their circle had playfully bestowed that title upon it. He asked, “What variety is it?” “Purple Robe,” was the reply. His heart was all the more alarmed, and he began to suspect the lady was a flower spirit. After he returned, he did not dare speak his suspicions outright, but only recited the poem presented to the lady to test her. Her countenance changed in distress, and she immediately went out, called Yuban to bring the child, and said to the scholar, “Three years ago, moved by your longing for me, I offered myself to repay you; now that you have your doubts, how can we remain together?” Thereupon she and Yuban both raised their children and flung them far away—the children fell to the ground and vanished. As the scholar stared in shock, both women had disappeared. He was consumed with regret and remorse. A few days later, two peony sprouts grew from the spot where the children had fallen; overnight they reached a foot in height, and that same year they bloomed—one purple, one white, with blossoms as large as platters, and their petals were even more numerous and finely divided than those of ordinary Purple Robe and Yuban. After several years, they grew into a flourishing thicket; when transplanted and divided to other places, they produced even more variant strains, none of which could be named. From then on, the peonies of Luoyang were unmatched anywhere under heaven. The Historian remarks: “When one’s longing is single-hearted, even spirits and gods can be moved; those that turn in the wind cannot be said to be without feeling. The magistrate, in his loneliness, took a flower as his lady—how much more so when she truly understands speech? Why must one exhaustively probe the source? It is a pity that Changsheng was not so enlightened!”